One of 'those' days....
Well, recently I had
one of ‘those’ days and, as I am sure you know exactly what I
mean, I thought I might share it with you, as I feel it’s something
we all share – wherever we are from, whatever our sexual, racial or
spiritual identity..this is common to us all…
So without further procrastination, let me tell you about this day….oh and one more thing, I should perhaps explain, I have a love/hate relationship with technology, which basically means, when it works I am very happy and when it doesn’t, I turn into the Incredible Hulk (obviously I don’t mean I multiply in size, turn green and go on a rampage – fun as that sounds)..no I mean, I am reduced to groaning between growls of ‘Mum Mad.’
Well, like every one of ‘those’ days, it started normally enough, I waved my merry band of family members off as they left the house and then thought about the chores which needed my attention. I opted to begin with a shopping trip, which, as it turned out, was a terrible idea...as I negotiated my way up and down the aisles, attempting to steer a trolley which was – without question- possessed with a malevolent spirit, I found myself halted at every turn, by countless people who were standing in the middle of each aisle, staring blankly at the shelves, as if waiting for something extraordinary to happen. So, I found myself repeatedly saying, ‘Excuse me’ to one of these human obstacles...I say repeatedly, as I would begin in a civil even friendly tone, and when that got me nowhere, I would find myself practically yelling, in the vain hope of garnering a response. After almost an hour of trying to wend my way through all of them, punctuated only by an uneasy exchange with a distinctly-miserable shop assistant, who seemed to take it personally, when I asked where the lactose free milk might be – I found myself at the self-service checkout. As I understand it, these were designed to make paying for your shopping easier – let’s face it- they don’t do that at all, as you not only have to find the barcode to swipe, which takes at least three attempts before it registers, you then have to make sure, you have only done that once. On this particular day, I found myself having swiped my pack of chicken breasts way too many times, so I glanced around and saw a very bored- looking assistant leaning heavily on a counter. I smiled and asked her to come over, after all, her badge clearly stated she was an ‘assistant’ so it seemed reasonable to receive some assistance. When our eyes met, she sighed heavily before trudging wearily over to me, without so much as a word, she tapped the screen, removed the unwanted items and walked away.
Obviously, once all the shopping was packed, I attempted to pay...I carefully slid the money into the slot and waited, only to see my note slide out again. I tried again, the machine rejected again, so after a few more attempts, I looked back at the assistant. Yet again she sighed and slowly walked back, I started to explain, but it was fairly obvious she wasn’t overly interested in anything other than forcing my money into the unwelcoming machine so I would go away and leave her in peace. When the receipt shot out of the machine, she left me to gather up my shopping bags and wandered back to assume her position, slumped on the counter, with a bored expression – a tough job but someone has to do it !
As many of you frequent shoppers know, what you have gathered in your trolley while in the supermarket, bears no resemblance to what you find yourself carrying home- when it comes to the size and weight of your purchases. So you will appreciate my predicament, as I staggered along the road, bags thumping into my legs while the handles seemed to be burning through my aching palms. Obviously I was reciting the well worn mantra as I headed home, ‘Please don’t let them break’, which they didn’t, until I had almost reached home and then one, over-stuffed carrier bag chose that moment to rip open, causing all its contents to make a bid for freedom. I spent the next few minutes, chasing tins of tomatoes down the street – and yes, I could have sworn I heard them yelling ‘Catch us if you can.’
Finally, having rounded everything up and herded those rogue cans into the house, I put everything away and settled down to check my phone – just in case one of my daughters had sent me a text message which wasn’t begging for money, or someone had posted a particularly-hilarious meme on my Facebook wall. I pressed the ‘on’ button and was greeted with a request for my password, I typed in the same combo I have been using since I bought the phone, but it stubbornly refused entry. I tried again, but still nothing, after a third attempt, an error message appeared, announcing I would have to wait before trying again. I looked around for some other means of communicating with the outside world, as my phone was obviously in a less-than-sociable mood ,my eyes fell upon my laptop. This particular machine is not known for its reliability, it randomly switches itself off, it feels the need to update almost anything on a whim – (and yes I know I am making it sound like an inanimate object has a human personality, but it does!) But even though I know all of this, I switched it on and waited, the welcome screen came and went, before it seemed completely ready for any task. Happily surprised by this turn of events, I typed in my Facebook log in and waited for the page to load..and waited..and waited and then waited some more. When nothing seemed to be happening, I tapped the ‘Enter’ key, again no response, so I tapped again – this time with slightly more force, as if – in some way- this would give this machine no choice but to leap into life. For the very briefest of moments, it looked as if Facebook was about to load, but then, I heard an ominous click and the screen was plunged into darkness.
After numerous futile attempts to switch it back on, I gave up and chose to prepare the vegetables for dinner. Naturally, there were no sharp knives to be found in the cutlery drawer, there were countless novelty straws, dessert forks and a kitchen gadget which remains a mystery to this day – but nothing which could slice even the most average carrot. Foolishly I plunged my hand into the back of the drawer, only to feel numerous unseen sharp edges, scraping though my skin. Undaunted, I found what appeared to be a suitable knife and began cutting, obviously, in keeping with the rest of my day, it was hopeless. By the time I had finished hacking up the defenceless veggies, they bore no resemblance to the neatly-chopped style of Nigella Lawson- it was more a scene of devastation, with misshapen pieces strewn across the kitchen table.
Some hours later, having not succumbed to the idea of sending my day out on a tide of cheap wine, I decided a nice hot shower would be perfect to wash away all my cares- so having carefully set the temperature, I stepped naked under the allegedly-healing waters, only to feel a scalding flood swamp my body. I frantically fumbled for the cold water tap, once reached, I was immediately plunged into an icy rain, so cold, I could barely breathe. After much turning of taps, a reasonable level was attained and I gingerly resumed my shower and began to wash my hair with a product which allegedly was ‘kind to your eyes’, it wasn’t..because when it found its way into mine, they felt as if pure battery acid had been poured into them. Now almost blinded by this godawful stuff, I stumbled out of the shower and made a grab for the nearest bath towel, which, when I could see again, turned out to be a somewhat grubby face flannel possibly used to clean muddy shoes.
Take care out there
xx
