The home of the haikulator



My Stand-up & gigs
The Coding Craftsman

The Musical!
Incredible Productions


Previous Posts

Should 'a' bin a wiki
Attracted To Me
Bloody Marketing
The Times They Are A Changin'
The Trials
Veils, Muslim or Otherwise
Better World Books

Blog Archives

October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
August 2009
September 2009
January 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
June 2010
July 2010
August 2010
September 2010
October 2010
November 2010
December 2010
January 2011
February 2011
March 2011
April 2011
May 2011
June 2011
July 2011
August 2011
October 2011
December 2011
February 2012
March 2012
April 2012
May 2012
June 2012
July 2012
March 2013
April 2013
May 2013
June 2013
July 2013
August 2013
September 2013
October 2013
December 2013
January 2014
February 2014
March 2014
May 2014
July 2014
January 2015
February 2015
March 2015
April 2015
May 2015
June 2015
July 2015
August 2015
January 2016
February 2016
March 2016
April 2016
May 2016
July 2016
August 2017
January 2018
August 2018
September 2018

Global Domination

Locations of visitors to this page

Thursday, October 26

Lunchtime Futility

I went for a haircut this lunchtime. I don't know why I bother. I don't have a lot of hair and when it's removed, I look only marginally different. I think I must just like the attention, even if it is from the more amateur of the two ladies who work in the shop - the other is now far too concerned with being a boss than being a hairdresser.

The cost of my all-over shave and head wash is £10.50. As I was leaving the office I decided that my thirst and levels of dehydration warranted getting a drink from the coffee shop, using my last pound coin. I had no other change. I only had a £10 note in my wallet, so I needed to get some cash in order to be able to pay for the full cost of my hair cut.

I parked around the corner from the shop and went to the Co-op, which has a cash machine outside of it. That cash machine, like so many times before it, was not in operation - down for routine maintenance apparently. Given that Farnborough is basically a shit-hole of a backwater, and North Camp is its backwater, I couldn't expect to find another cash-machine within a couple of paces, as you might on a regular high street. However, there is a Lloyds-TSB around the block - exactly the opposite end from where I would be getting my hair done. It's not a long walk, but it was a barrier to the single-mindedness I usually apply to simple tasks like getting a hair-cut. I decided to walk, since I'm far too lazy.

I walked to the bank and their cash machine was also down for maintenance. Of course. It's lunchtime, let's put the slowest member of staff onto the very important task of changing the till roll in the machine - that won't cause any problems with one cashier on duty inside. Oh yes... sorry... it's supremely stupid, but they didn't need me to tell them that. I kept quiet. Instead, I queued. There were two people in front of me in the queue. The guy at the front was being served. I was there with my cashpoint card in my hand and there was a big-boned (I'd say fat, but that would give the impression that she was a big wobbly hefter, when, in fact, she was just a bit on the chunky side) woman in front of me. Wearing yellow.

When the first guy had finished, the ugly duckling in front of me waddled slowly to the cashier and pronounced deliberately that she would like to withdraw £10 from her account. No shit! Someone's pissing about with the cash machine, you'd have to go inside to get money. Then she proceeded to take about a minute and a half to locate her cashpoint card from within her handbag. Now, she'd had the entire duration of the previous person's transaction to get her shit together, and did she? No! What did she think she was doing in the queue? Was she there to admire the scenery? Was she meant to keep very still and hold down her section of the carpet? What could possibly have been so all-importantly-occupying that she failed to prepare herself for the task ahead by locating the cashpoint card. Perhaps she thought it was more easily at hand... but quite frankly that's a ludicrous excuse. She was clearly a very deliberate person who didn't have the intellect to operate a handbag. And she was in my way. In a situation where there's once person serving, life slows down to the rate of the slowest person in front of you. Duckling girl!

Following her production of the card and when she'd received her cash, did she get out of my sodding way? Well, ultimately yes, or I'd still be there, the slamming down of my cashpoint card on the counter becoming a regular heartbeat leading me ever closer to my frustrated demise, rather than a singular event, which I used to purge my soul of the built up irritation borne of two cash machines failing and the low-specification intellectual capacity of the bulging imbecile in front of me. However, before she got the hell out of my way, she proclaimed that she thought it was marvellous to receive two £5 notes, rather than a single £10 as the cash machine might otherwise have given her.

I'm so happy for her.

I asked for my £20, which I received as two £10's - as if that were important to anyone - signed my receipt and got the hell out of there. It wasn't difficult, though it was a few steps away from my original intention of parking, getting money and getting a haircut. I now had a walk around the rest of the block to get myself back on track.

At the hairdresser's, though the boss was in the back, there was a single person being haircutted and I was put into a queue of one. Fair enough. I thumbed through a tabloid newspaper, sickened, as usual, by the style of writing, the attitude in the editorial style, the whole image of British subculture it represents and the fact that I was bothering to put myself through coming into contact with it. Eventually it was my turn.

I am not in a talkative mood at the moment. I just want an easy life. As usual, it's the trivial things which annoy me the most. However, I was given a reasonable haircut and headwash. At the end, I presented my original £10 note and one of the ones I'd expended a great deal of personal stress to get hold of. The hairdresser told me she didn't have change - could I pay the extra 50p next time.

Could I...

...I would never have dreamed of going for a haircut without the requisite money, but now 20 frustrating minutes of my life seemed to be totally in vain.


My neck hurts.


Post a Comment

<< Home

All content ©2001 - 2012 Ashley Frieze