I promise I’m not making up a work of this. Overheard, while in the queue at Sainsbury’s, Mortimer Street.
Guy on phone: “yeah, use mine, mate. It’s in my cupboard in the kitchen, between the immodium and my binoculars. No worries, see you later”.
What on earth can he have been talking about?
I love overheard conversations, don’t you?
You know what, I was going to think of 10 of these, but then thought “fuck it, why do I want to be thinking about work while out of work?”, so I’ll just post what was going to be number one:
“It’s actually better to be really busy than not busy, as it makes the day go quicker”; “yeah, yeah definitely”
Do feel free to comment below on the things people say at work that annoy you the most though.
Think of it as therapy; think of me as a doctor.
I do like being in an empty tube station, for geometric as well as emotional reasons. Check out those straight lines!
It was a normal day. Really, it was. We are all aware that when a novel starts with that kind of assertion, the next thing you know the world explodes, or a dinosaur turns up, obviously, or the main protagonist turns into a vampire and falls in love, but in this case I can’t reiterate it enough: it was a normal day. Normal in that Alexandre Renard was walking his regular route from Liverpool Street Station, London, into work, listening to music as he always did, having got up approximately 10 minutes too late to have breakfast, which he had done since setting his alarm clock for a specific time each day when he started his current job (9 months ago). He was about to go into the coffee shop he visited every morning, to make his regular order, (a large caffe latte with an extra shot of espresso, if you’re wondering), where he would have a routine conversation with a barrister [sic – it was a little running joke he had with himself], then get into his office, have a look at the time on his phone to see that it was 8.54am again, and sit down. A normal day. So Alexandre, commonly known as Alex – he actually preferred Alexandre as that was what his Mum used to call him, but a trait he had picked up in his 4 years of living in London was deliberate understatement, and he thought he might look pretentious if he insisted on being called Alexandre, so Alex it was – got his coffee and on taking a sip of it let out a tut: he couldn’t stand it when they filled his coffee cup to the brim; as soon as he started walking with it, coffee started bubbling and foaming from the lip of the lid, like a rabid dog, and very few people want to drink coffee from the mouth of a rabid dog. Still, seeing as this was still a coffee cup and not a rabid dog, and in relative terms was a very mundane complaint, Alex started drinking the coffee, and sat down at his desk. It was 8.54am. So far this may sound like a life of office-based drudgery that many people lead, and in many ways it was, but Alex was more of the attitude that one works to live, rather than vice versa, so as long as he was doing something that gave him a vague mental challenge, was with decent people, and moreover paid him enough money to enjoy life then he was happy with that. But he didn’t really like talking about his day-to-day responsibilities, so we won’t be doing that either.
Alex was 25; he was of above average height, but was often perceived to be even taller, given his willowy physique. He had a mop of dark brown hair, which no matter how hard he tried, he could never make do anything except just flop there. His face was dominated by his large, beaky nose; while he wasn’t unattractive, with eyes that matched his hair, and relatively plump lips, in the aesthetic power struggle between his facial features, the nose would always come out on top. He had an air of detachment about him, and frequently missed what people said. It wasn’t that he was hard of hearing, more hard of concentrating. He would regard himself as a happy person, or content at the very least, but from an outside perspective it was difficult to tell. He was often regarded as a deep person, and while he was certainly thoughtful, the depth of his inner thoughts often didn’t descend lower than imagining what certain animals would sound like if they could talk.
Okay, how far can you get into this without turning it off in disgust?
I’m not even a massive fan of the original, but I only made it to 1:21. If you make it to the end you will have my respect and pity.
How many times, when someone starts a new job, and are being shown around to meet the rest of the office, do the say words to the effect of “huh, I’m never going to remember all of these names!”. I’m going to say 100% of the time. Literally 100%. And people within earshot always go “HA HA HA!”.
Banter.
This morning, I was talking to one of my parishioners, and used the expression “a cautionary tale”. When I said it, it echoed back in my mind as “a Sean Connery tale”.
And you know, I thought to myself “that’s a lot like life”.
I’m not drinking this weekend, partly to try to feel virtuous, and partly because of the number 4 thing I forget to do (see previous post), but I had a rain-soaked, yet refreshing walk earlier, and saw, among things:
STRANGE GOOSE!
CAMBERWELL BEAUTY!
SOME OLD KILN THING!
And tonight, while the oven was pre-heating, and because I’m a really cool, not anally retentive at all kind of guy…
I MADE A MAP OF THE WORLD OUT OF DOMINO FRIDGE MAGNETS!
10. Buy lightbulbs
9. Phone my Dad
8. Go to bed at a reasonable time
7. Just stay out for one or two drinks, and subsequently…
6. Not write shit all over the internet when I come back from the pub*
5. Put food out for the birds
4. Not spend all my wages in the first three weeks of the month
3. Practice guitar more
2. Get my washing out of the machine
1. Take my lunch to work
I’ve actually got to go and get my washing out of the machine now.
*In case you’re wondering, I haven’t been to the pub tonight.
Confessions of an idle mind 