I'm not talking to you

I often joke that I only have a set number of words available on any given day, my Daily Word Allocation.  Well, half-joke.  I'm not a big talker, so if I have a long conversation with someone then that's it, DWA used up.  No more talking again til the next day.

Remember this next time a conversation held with me late in the afternoon ends abruptly.

This is why I've never been a big fan of Subway.  The food is ok I guess, it's the number of words required to order that I can't cope with.  What sub would you like?  What kind of bread?  Did you want that toasted or not?  What cheese?  What salads?  What extras?  What sauce?  What drink?  Would you like a cookie?  Do you have a Subcard?

Arrrghhh!

Compare this to, say, McDonald's.  What would you like?  Big Mac combo.  Coke ok with that?  Yup.  Four words and I'm fed.

Even better are those quaint little self-serve coffee shops.  You know the ones, with plastic cabinets that have flip-up fronts on them that make it impossible to keep the front open AND get the tongs in AND hold the paper bag open AND get your custard square into it without scraping all the icing off around the edge of the bag.

At least with these there can actually be no talking on my part whatsoever.  I take my food up to the counter, I hold the bag open obligingly, they tell me how much, I wave my EFTPOS card in the air to indicate method of payment, I swipe, I enter my PIN, I smile, I leave.

But, technology is now threatening my custom at the quaint little self-serve coffee shop.

Subway has online ordering.

And it's a double bonus.  Not only can I just click checkboxes and choose from drop-down menus without uttering a single syllable, but I can also do so at my leisure.

I can now mull over which bread I'd like without having to remember the seventeen options the pimply-faced little oik just rattled off impatiently.

I can google the difference between Swiss and English cheese and make an informed decision rather than picking the last one Pimply-Face said cos that's the only one I can remember and I can't bear to ask him to repeat them.

I can ruminate over the pros and cons of the 23 available sauces without caving to the pressure and just picking one at random.

You could argue that I still have to use one word, my name, when I go to pick up my order. Originally, this was true. But not any more.

I've picked up so often from the Willis Street Subway that they know me now. I just have to turn up, wave my EFTPOS card, swipe, enter my PIN, smile, and leave.

And my DWA remains untouched.

Naked Bums

I've always felt that using a public toilet is like pressing naked bums with a stranger.

That's why I hover.

When I say "public" toilet, I mean that in the true sense of the word.  "Public" as in any person who is in the vicinity and needs to pee can use it.

But there's that in-between toilet where it's not exactly public, but nor is it your own private ensuite sanctuary.

It's the work toilet.

It would appear that not everyone knows the correct work toilet etiquette.  In fact, I'd even go as far as to say that I am the only one who does know the correct WTE.

The most important WTE rule is this:  If I've got my knickers around my knees, I'm not up for a chat.

My mind boggles every time someone wants to have a polite conversation with me while I'm peeing.

The door is closed ladies.  It's even locked.  This means no talking.  Ever.

What if I phoned you from the toilet for a chat?  How would you like that?  Not much, I suspect.  So why is it ok in real life?  The simple answer is that it's not.  So stop it.

In a perfect world, I'd have my own personal work toilet so that I'd never to have to encounter anyone else there.  This would avoid that awkwardness when you enter the ladies and there is already someone there.

You've spent all day on the same floor as them.  You may not have exchanged a single word.  But for some reason when coincidentally you both need to relieve yourselves at the same time this is a cue for a chat.

About what?  Not about peeing, that would be inappropriate (?!?).  In fact, you don't even acknowledge that you're in the ladies.  You might as well be in the kitchen, or the lift.

What I really want to say at times like this is:  "I'm here to pee. If I want to talk to you I'll come and see you, but right now I'm here for one purpose and one purpose only.  And it's not for a chat."

Briscoes – you’ll never buy better

(If you are not female and do not live in New Zealand, move along, there’s nothing to see here.)

Does anyone ever buy anything at full price from Briscoes? 

Is it even possible?

You can’t flick aimlessly through the TV channels without having the shite scared out of you by Crazy Briscoes Lady, grinning manically as she folds towels or flicks sheets. 

She’s like something out of a Stephen King novel.

Yet CBL has fanclubs.  And Facebook groups.  People blog about her (truly).  There’s even been the suggestion that she and Vince Martin should hook up.

If I met her in real life I suspect she’d be one of those women who make me feel inadequate.  My coffee mugs don’t match.  Some even have chips in them.  I don’t have nice tableware, because we never eat at the table.  I don’t have fresh flowers anywhere in the house.  In fact, you’d be lucky to find fresh fruit.

Her real name is Tammy Wells.  She even sounds like someone out of a Stephen King novel.

ROFL BTW OMG LOL TTYL

At work we use Microsoft Communicator.  It’s basically a live chat, for those not up with Bill’s latest technology.

The good thing about Communicator is that spelling and grammar don’t count and you can use all those handy little acronyms.  The bad thing about Communicator is that spelling and grammar don’t count and you can use all those handy little acronyms.

The other day this resulted in awkward embarrassment on my part.

I was chatting on Communicator with a workmate who is a little younger than I am.  Perhaps a little ‘hipper’ than me.  In fact, I think we can safely assume I’m not that hip, mainly because I’m still using the word ‘hip’.

She made an observation during our chat that something was ABD.

Now I know LOL, BRB, OMG and TTYL.  But ABD had me stumped.

A Bloody Disaster?

All Bad Dawg?

Awfully Blimin’ Disappointing?

Absolutely Blindingly Diabolical? 

Yeah, I know, none of these was likely.  So in a ditch attempt to appear cool I went with the least unlikely.

Me:  A Bloody Disaster?
Hip Workmate:  What is?

Me:  ABD

HW:  Umm, what?

Me:  ABD, is it A Bloody Disaster?

HW:  What are you on about?

At this point I’m feeling a little awkward and thinking that I’ve somehow made a huge faux pas, but no idea how or what.

So I copied and pasted her original comment into the chat window.

She’s based in Sydney, but I’m pretty sure I heard her laughing from Wellington.

HW:  I meant to type BAD! 

Me:   Huh?

HW:  It wasn’t supposed to be ABD, it was supposed to be BAD.  It was bad!

I'll google it...

I google everything.  I use it so often I now treat it as a verb.  I know I’m not the only one.  Google was, after all, the most visited site in May 2011. 

Yes, I googled that.

One thing I love about Google is clever little autocomplete feature that pops up when you start typing in your search criteria.   I don’t know if that’s what it’s actually called, but that’s what I call it and it’s my blog.

Sometimes it’s so accurate it’s a little bit scary. 

Sometimes it’s so bizarre it’s even scarier.  

Here’s a good example of accurate:

And here’s bizarre:

So after looking at the results of the first search, I landed at blogger.com.  This looks easy, I thought, I’ll just come up with a name for the blog and start ranting.

Ah, how naïve I was.

Do you know how many blog names are already taken?  I'd estimate roughly all of them.  Even the really clever, obscure ones.  Even the stupid ones. 

I spent days googling, trying to come up with a name I was happy with that was available.  Then a few more days googling trying to come up with a name I was indifferent to that was available. 

Eventually I settled on a small but mediocre list of possibilities.  I ran the list past my GSO* and he chose this one. 

I was actually leaning more towards www.stroppybint.blogspot.com, but he pointed out that I’m not always that stroppy.  Bless.

*Gay Significant Other