Going Downhill
One day after my daughter found an entire crop of grey hairs in my beard, something pretty terrifying happened to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my wife laugh so much... but I still haven’t recovered. Here’s what went down:
It started with the beard. My daughter is exactly like my wife when it comes to pointing out things that are happening to me as a result of the ageing process. Often, she will pick at my face as I’m talking, occasionally in the middle of important conversations.
Most of the time, it’s dirt, flakes, anything she can rip out.
The Running Man
Terrible things can make you laugh.
I mean it: truly horrible things, when they happen suddenly and are beyond your control, can make you burst out laughing before your conscious mind has even had time to process what’s happened and start to empathise or prepare to help.
So there I am, typing away at a computer console behind the counter at Blockbuster Video on King Street, Ramsgate, sometime during a really sunny day in 2000. I haven’t been there long, and I’m checking in videos with the scanner and occasionally typing codes if the scanner doesn’t pick them up.
I’m happy and working away quite efficiently. I can’t remember who else was on shift that morning: possibly Kaz, maybe Nige. I’m not sure.
THEN it happens… quickly, but with enough warning that I get to see the whole thing in glorious detail.
Socking It To ‘Em
It's a Wednesday morning, and I'm running the shift at Blockbuster Video: I'm one of the three assistant managers, and Wednesdays are pretty quiet, so it's just two other guys and me: one is working down at the front of the store while I'm cleaning at the back. The store in Ramsgate is pretty big, so he'd have to shout to be heard. It turns out that on this occasion he does shout, but I don't hear him, so he scares the living hell out of me when I turn around, and he's suddenly just STANDING there in a mad panic.
'Dave, you've got to come to the counter. Quickly.' 'What? Why?'
'Some woman just barrelled in...and she's REALLY pissed off .'
Granny’s Relish
It’s Saturday morning, and both my kids are at a local birthday party: I’m not going, because it’s a Two Party Saturday and I’ve pulled the late shift. I’ll be at Jungle Jim’s tonight, watching all the sweaty midgets get high on e-numbers before bedtime. It’s no big deal: I’m used to it.
What I’m not used to is making lunch at my nan’s house. My nan lives very close to the party location, so I’ve escaped to grab a quick bite to eat…
…except it’s not proving to be quick. In fact, it’s proving practically bloody impossible.
‘Nan! Have you got any cheese?’
‘What’s that?’
‘CHEESE!’
‘I’ve got MY cheese. It’s in the fridge. You don’t have any of YOUR cheese here: you live somewhere else.’
‘Can I have some of yours?’
‘I don’t want to go out shopping tomorrow!’
‘You go out shopping EVERY day.’
‘Yeah, well, cheese isn’t f**king cheap.’
He’s Just Not That Into You
When I finally decided that my dog had some sort of mental health issue, I didn’t mess around. I immediately splashed the cash and called in the professional: a £ 50-per-day dog whisperer called Anita who lived on the borders of Kent and claimed to offer a life-changing service for pets AND their owners. This is the email I sent her:
Dear Anita
I’m worried about my dog. Could you please come out to my house for one day (at your usual rate) and give me a diagnosis on him? His name is Jake, he’s two years old, and he has a lot of other dogs as parents: we think he’s part spaniel, part labrador, part whippet and part terrier. Here is the list of things I’m worried about:
1. He looks at me as if he hates me (can you tell if he does by talking to him?)
2. He looks at my wife the same way.
3. He doesn’t get excited by ANYTHING except other people. Even when I feed him, he just mopes over the food.
4. He’s SO happy when I go out, it’s just ridiculous. As soon as I get my coat, he goes crazy. I thought it might be excitement about going for a walk, but he gets REALLY miserable again if I actually put a lead on him and take him out.
5. I’m starting to not like him, either. Can you tell him that?
Thanks in advance,
Mr D. Stone (call me Davey)