Let's lighten the mood
2020-09-28 Comments
In a time where we’re bombarded with doom and gloom in the news headlines, I thought I would reflect on some funnier times and experiences in my life.
Ssh, silence please!
My mum and I used to love visiting the local library. It was a very small villagey, quiet one, consisting of only the ground floor and was the size of a small hall. On a couple of occasions we walked out giggling. One particular time, I had finished school and was to meet my mum in the library. I entered and could see her immediately by one of the shelves. I quickly walked towards her and as I got there, was met with a fog of stink. She’d just let one off a few seconds before I arrived and it was still hanging in the air. I made a face and she had a smirk on her face. We both dashed towards the door stifling a laugh.
The other time was when she was on the other side of a shelf and I heard her let one rip. I giggled to myself. Shortly after that, I had the urge to fart too but by suppressing it, actually caused it to come out full force and it certainly sounded louder than it should have against the silence of the library. In fact, I’m sure it made shockwaves as it forced its way out. It surprised me a bit. Was it my imagination or did some of the spines of the books on the lower shelves behind me melt? I could have sworn the magazines on one of the reading tables nearby fluttered a bit with the rippling affect of my high pressured flatulence. My mum shot round the end of my aisle and had a grin on her face and we walked quickly to the exit, not looking back!
Sorry...I really didn’t mean to do that
This tale is about the time I went to visit my dentist. I had to attend a mould fitting because I went through teeth straightening a few years back and as a follow up treatment, I have to wear retainers. I go back there every year to get the new ones done. As usual, I say my “Hellos” to the dentist and his assistant. Then all is quiet while he reads his notes and the assistant is preparing the rubber mix. As the dentist reclines my chair and I get ready to open my mouth he starts asking me questions. But this isn’t all, after he’s done his initial look around my mouth and teeth, he’s faffing around with the mould, so I let my jaw relax a little.
He then brings in the top mould and I quickly open my mouth and he’s squidging the rubber around rocking my head left and right with the tugging. Once it’s set, he yanks it out and prepares for the mould for the lower teeth. After holding my jaw open for the lower mould my face is aching. Finally, he pops out the set rubber and passes it off to his assistant. Next comes the picking out the rubber bits that get caught in the gaps of the teeth. I open my mouth again and he starts working at the back to pick the bits out and then as he’s about to work on the front teeth, my jaw has an involuntary spasm. He's too relaxed and doesn't react in time and I end up chomping down on the tips of his fingers like a bear trap. I quickly release his fingers and he pulls back his digits and gives them a little rub.
Luckily, he’s very professional about it, after his initial jumping out of his skin and retrieving his fingers, he returns to his calm self. I am mortified. I apologise profusely and he brushes over the incident and carries on. Call me paranoid, but he seems to be more tentative whilst he’s working on me now. It must be an occupational hazard, where the patient nibbles on him now and again, I think to myself, to make me feel better. Once I’m done, I rinse with the mouthwash to get rid of all the bits of moulding rubber, latex glove and dentist's nails. Then I'm out of there like a bat out of hell!
Norman Bates, recreated
I used to work for a business travel company and they would get a lot of free vouchers from airlines, hotels, rail companies and other travel and hospitality businesses. One year for a Christmas raffle, I had won a pair of rail tickets. My sister and I hadn’t been to Scotland before and decided to plan a weekend trip to Edinburgh. What we didn’t know was that there was a concert for that particular weekend and accommodation was scarce. We had already booked the train tickets and there was no changing the dates. I had one of my colleagues look into finding us somewhere to stay and he found a place that was near the Royal Mile, which was quite a find. It was the last room (double room, no ensuite) of a B&B so we didn’t have much choice.
When the time of the trip came, my sister and I were very excited. We were taking the direct train and would get to Scotland by the early afternoon. The journey was uneventful and we didn’t have too much trouble locating the B&B. It was a lovely large sandstone building and we were quite impressed. We pressed the doorbell and waited. Then the door opened and this tall chubby middle-aged guy was filling the doorway. The first thing we noticed, was that he was English, with a Southern accent. He awkwardly bid us welcome and one of the first things he asked, was if we were related. We told him “Yes, we’re sisters”. Looking back, we should have pointed out that the surnames on the booking, which would have given it away. Then he looked us up and down and said “Are you sure, you don’t look like each other?”. We were polite and laughed his comment off. “Yes, we are. I guess I look like our mum and my sister looks like our dad”, which is totally true. But he seemed to doubt us, for whatever reason.
Apart from this very socially awkward conversation, there was something a bit creepy about him, maybe it was his pageboy haircut or the camel coloured cardigan, complete with elbow patches he was wearing over his bright pink tartan shirt. Anyways, later in the afternoon, after returning from the shops, I had to use the toilet and found the bathroom on the first floor. I was lifting my top and just about to undo my belt when I noticed on the opposite door, there seemed to be an extra large dark keyhole, but no key in the door. I went over to take a closer look. I jiggled the handle but it was locked, and looked through the hole which was pitch black. Being cautious because it was a strange place, I was thinking it was a peephole with a camera behind the door. So I hung my jacket over the door handle to cover it and did my business. At this point I wasn't sure if it's just my brain playing tricks on me, fuelled by the decor and long journey but I could swear that I was hearing heavy breathing too. I pictured some horrific scene where the door would spring open and the landlord standing there with a calm look on his face holding a massive kitchen knife. Damned my love of Hitchcock!
I told my sister about the dodgy looking keyhole and to put something over the handle if she had to bathe or use the toilet. Later, once she had used the bathroom, she agreed the keyhole looked a bit suspicious.
On the morning of check out, we made sure we were good to go and literally sprinted out the door, once we gave him the cash and the keys were handed over.
Rude much?
One time on a big project, I was sent to work at a site in the US, and was partnered with a woman called Shelly. We really hit it off. She was also from London and her sister was living in California (where we happened to be working) and she was already familiar with the area. She was very bubbly and we shared a similar sense of humour. She was very well kept in her appearance and only shopped when she was in mainland Europe (particularly France and Italy), so her clothes had a very distinct style about them and she had a good eye for classy designs.
Shelly wanted to get a couple of treatments done at a local beauty shop her sister recommended. I tagged along because she was due to show me around town and I didn’t mind hanging out there. It was Asian run, so they were fast and efficient and needed no appointments. So when Shelly turned up off the street, it was a few moments before a therapist was available. It was an older woman, as it turned out, the owner.
First, Shelly had her eyebrows done. I saw the woman swipe some hot wax over her lids and then stuck bits of cloth over and ripped them off. Shelly asked how they looked and I said “good”. The therapist gave a little smirk. For her next treatment, Shelly asked for her nails to be repainted. The therapist started to remove her old varnish, then Shelly said I should get something done whilst I was waiting for her. I said I was fine and didn’t really need anything. The older woman looked up from what she was doing and then back to Shelly’s nails.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can interest you in?”. There was a bit more to and fro between Shelly and me, her trying to persuade me to get a treatment and me saying no. Then she said she’d treat me to something because she felt bad, me having to wait for her. She suggested I could get my eyebrows done, but before I could protest that my eyebrows were OK, the older woman piped up unceremoniously and said “Yes, you need it!”. There was a split second when I questioned if I had heard what I'd heard, then I looked directly at Shelly and we both burst out laughing. The older woman was straight-faced and continued, “They look bad. You look better after waxing”.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair, with the next available therapist. Head leant back, I had molten wax slathered over my eyelids and whisked off with a strip of cloth. The therapist looked pleased with herself when she held up the mirror for me to inspect her work. To be honest, I didn’t even notice the shape of the eyebrows. I was too busy looking at the angry red patches on the outer edge of my upper lids and feeling the stinging soreness of hot wax. I gave her a weak smile before heading back to the nail section to show Shelly the results.
“Good! Lot better”, the older woman said. Even before Shelly had a chance to comment. Shelly also added that it was an improvement than they were before. The plain-spoken owner was just cleaning up on Shelly’s nails and was making small talk leading up to finishing them off. Shelly insisted on paying for the bill, so I let her, since I provided some entertainment during her treatment, much to my bruised ego. Still can’t decide if the owner was being "helpful" or helping herself to more business.