Tales From The Darkside

The following are four anecdotes to be read as a "The Simpson's Treehouse of Horror" episode, which rely on a conscious break from normality and subvert expectations.

For me, at least.

1. P's & Q's and FU's Too

I needed to pick up a few things from Boots, that national institution of all things healthy. The shop was empty and I was diverted to take my basket of essentials to the beauty counter. Two youngish women behind the till were busy chatting away about their families and how much they see them, and I excused them with a polite "Good morning". They turned and looked at me like I was, and pardon the Gordon Ramsay in me, a piece of shit. Neither replied and they continued chatting, running my purchases through a till and dropping them in a bag. One held out her hand to me for the money, and subsequently returned a receipt, their conversation flowing.

Neither said a word to me - aka the inconvenience - the whole time.

Keiko used to get angry at me for making her say please and thank you, and accused the British of being overly polite. Nothing wrong with good manners. That made me quite proud in a way. And that's what I thought. Until Boots.

2. Missed Moneypenny

I took the bus to see my Grandma in the nursing home this morning (which I had to wait 20 minutes for). The fee was £1.30 and I went into my wallet for some change. The pound coin wasn't a problem and then I went for 10p's. Only I kept picking up 2p pieces. I knew there was a problem but I couldn't for the life of me stop taking 2p's. I had to stop and really concentrate to work it out. A mental block in me had retained the similar 10yen piece and transferred the aesthetic to the 2p.


It was really bizarre - I guess like a Derren Brown hypnotic occurrence where you're powerless to rationalise.

3. Fashionistas

At the nursing home, I'd just arrived as nature called my Grandma away so I fetched a chair and waited for her. As I brought the chair back, two old ladies (the old didn't really need saying, did it) tutted at me. I spent the next few minutes listening in to their criticism of my apparently "special army trousers". Granted they're a bit torn and ragged at the bottom but they're hardly offensive. Yet they couldn't believe I'd venture out in them, blamed it on my bad upbringing, and thought people like me should be shot.

Whoah there! I had to sit and take that onslaught. I mean, fine, some unkempt clothes may not be to everyone's tastes, but this was hardly the biggest crime against fashion. If you want to get angry at someone, take it out on that hideous Gok Wan creature; a name that sounds like a stir fry sauce and believes that making fat women feel good is wearing expensive clothes rather than getting down to a gym. Hey, he put himself out there as a so-called fashion expert, so I'm allowed to scoff.

The women carried on the whole time I was there, chatting away to Grandma. Never once did they say "What a lovely boy coming to visit his Grandma". But they did call me...

meshuga.

And just before I left, I took the chair back and delightfully received a final...

tut Disgusting.

4. Service with a Smile

I thought I'd walk home through Meyrick Park and stop at Bournemouth Library to check a few books I needed for the Uni course. I "Good morning"-ed the man on the desk and asked him if I could please join. He gave me the form to fill out, checked the bank statement, with address, I brought along and gave me a card. I asked him a few questions about borrowing etc, and thanked him for his help.

I found three books on the reading list, so happily took them to the lending desk, whilst reclaiming my love of all things library. Coincidentally, the same guy stamped my books, so I said "Thanks so much for all your help" and as I walked away he turned to his colleague and groaned that I was an...

"Excruciatingly positive person".

(Which is ironic because I'm daily accused by someone of verging towards negative.)

As an epilogue, I stopped at Borders to check if they had any books I couldn't find so headed towards the Psych section. I'm not sure the health profession should be comforted that 'How To Look Good Naked' is positioned at the centre.

Neither do 'ADHD for Dummies' or 'Depression for Dummies' seem particularly sensitive titles either.