I was going to write something else about the Olympics. I really was. But then I got lazy. I got a book from the library about Canada. I entered a competition to win a €100 HMV voucher (give us!). I went to the playground. I worked on my singing voice. You know. Life got in the way. Now too much time has passed. Everything that I could say about ‘em has already been said. Probably better. And the paralympics are on now. So fuck it.
You wanna talk about some of the most awkward commonplace situations ever?
You do?!
Well that’s great news. You’re in the right place ol’ buddy, ol’ friend, ol’ pal!
After you… And you, and you, and you…
Okay so you’re coming out of… I dunno… the bank. There’s a frazzled looking woman on her way in. She’s pushing a buggy with a crying toddler inside. She’s trying to open a Milky Bar to give to the kid to try and get him to shut the hell up while she’s doing her banking. She’s carrying two bags from Dunnes, one from Heatons, she’s about to drop her keys and her phone is ringing somewhere inside her giant handbag. Hold the door open for her. She’s having a crappier day than you.
Behind the frazzled mother, dawdles a little old dear in with a tweed hat and orthopaedic shoes. You have to hold the door for her too. It’s the right thing to do. Hold it for the jolly looking farmer. Why not? He smells like shit, you can tell he’s probably illegally parked his tractor to run in and pay his credit card real quick, but heck, he looks appreciative and you’re in good humour.
But what about the woman with the Tesco bags? She’s still a good six steps away. Do you wait and hold it for her? Or do you let it go and get back to your car before your parking is up? Thing is, if you let it go, it’ll probably close just as she gets to it, rendering you the prick who let the door slam in the poor woman’s face. But then, if you hold it for her, why wouldn’t you hold it for the guy six steps behind her?
Where do you draw the line? What’s the etiquette? I’ve been here many times; caught holding a door for a flood of people, all taking advantage of your spontaneous good deed. Sure, it’s all graciousness and smiles until the fifth person doesn’t even bother saying “thank you”. Then you’re left reeling at the sheer audacity and lack of gratitude of the general public, vowing never to bother your arse again because “no one would feckin’ hold a door for me if it was the other way around!”
Until the next time you come out of the library and there’s a friendly chap who just has one too many books to effectively get through the door himself… I got it dude, after you…
Sorry? Say That Again…
“Hi, I’m Holly. What’s your name?”
“Vpojdsfasos.”
“Sorry? What was it?”
“Vawpadkkslcm.”
“Stacey, was it? Sorry. I’ve very bad hearing. One more time?”
“Iolkjanflkan.”
“Ah… It’s good to meet you…”
What was that chick’s name? I’ve no idea. Couldn’t hear her. Three times. Didn’t care enough to ask her a fourth. Which would be fine, except what if Vaalkefnvlew is really sound and you end up getting on really well with her? What if you’re having some drinks together and you’re laughing and she knows your name and your dogs name, you’ve taken loads of pictures together and you’re gonna definitely add each other on Facebook?! That’s great but… YOU DON’T KNOW HER NAME!.. You bolox… It’s too late to admit that now. You’ve been faking it for hours. She’d think you were some eegit if ya asked her name at this stage. Sure you’ve been to the toilet together for Christ’s sake!
“Yeah, yeah, give us your number, I’ll definitely text ya… 086… 313.. 8251.. cool… So I’ll just save that… under…. Uh…. Under your name… Which is… Hey, you know what?! I’m gonna save you under ‘Fleetwood Mac’ coz we were singing it earlier and it’ll be really funny and crazy and cool!”
Look at this video of these two cool dudes showing us how it goes when you forget someone’s name… They’re so awesome and brilliant at acting…
How Much If I Put This Back?
Okay, so you’re broke. And I don’t mean, ‘shit, I can’t go to the cinema this week’ broke, I mean, ‘shit, I have to choose between meals and petrol this week’ broke. Maybe you’re broke because it’s another week till payday. Maybe you’re broke because you bought tickets to The Foo Fighters next summer, in case it sells out. Maybe you’re broke because you bought a round for everyone in the pub at the weekend in another stupid fit of drunken generosity. Regardless, you’re broke. And now you need milk… and Lucozade… And Buffalo Hunky Dorys… And maybe a pizza…
But, you’re a feckin’ genius so you know that these things are totally within your reach.
€1.90 from down the side of the couch.
€2.65 from the inside pocket of the jacket ya had on ya on Saturday night.
€0.90 from on top of the washing machine.
And €3.20 that your room mate left on the table to buy dishwasher tablets with later.
Sorted.
So, safely inside the aisles of your local supermarket you beeline for the frozen foods and collect one sumptuous stuffed-crust loaded cheese pizza (€3.99). You opt for the store brand milk to save a few cent (€1.60). Your regular bottle of Lucozade, no Sport or Cherry Cola for you (€1.99) and a packet of Buffalo Hunky Dorys (€.70).
Smug in the knowledge that you’re under budget and wont look like a bum when you pay, you make your way to the counter. Subtotal: €1.60, €3.79, €4.49. FUCK! The pizza was priced wrong! It’s €4.99! We’re on €9.48! Balls… Stuffed crust Chicago Town Loaded cheese for €3.99 was too good to be true in the first place. You knew that. This is your own fault.
“Oh Fiddlesticks, you know what? I didn’t bring my purse! I’ll… I’ll just… not get this then.”
Now what? There’s a line of bemused people forming behind you and you can’t afford your dinner. There, look, waffles. €2.00 for 6. Do rightly. Grab ‘em! Go! Laugh! Pretend it happens all the time because you’re so fun and scatty.
“Hahaha! Aren’t I so silly?!”
Now get out. And don’t come back until you’ve taken control of your habits.
To Eat or Not To Eat?
Food is a very personal thing. No two people will ever have exact matching tastes in food. I like garlic bread. My best friend once tried to kick me out of a bed in an Amsterdam hotel because I’d had garlic bread at lunch. She really enjoys peanut butter. I can’t stand the stuff. My brother wont eat peppers. My sister gags at the thought of steak. I’ll eat carrots but I wont touch cabbage. I love chicken but I don’t do fish. I’m wary of cous cous and hummous because I’m not really sure what they are. You know? Food is just a matter of personal preference.
So what do you do if you’re at someone’s house for dinner and they dish up something that you wouldn’t let past your lips in a month of Sundays? Like, I dunno, you’re at your boyfriend’s house meeting his parents for the first time and his Mam serves you a big plate of liver (cooked to perfection) with brussel sprouts, chick peas and a side of shit flavoured pate. What do ya do?
“Mmmm, looks delicious Mrs. Badchef! You’re quite the cook!”
You’re not actually gonna eat any of that crap are you? Why don’t you just go out to the garden and have a few worms instead? You could pretend to be sick. She might get offended though. It’d be a bit convenient to get suddenly ill just at that very moment. You could say that you had a big lunch and would she mind if you had it a little later (by which you mean let the dog enjoy it after she’s gone to bed)? It’s a tough call to have to make. Although, if your boyfriend had any manners he’d jump in and save you.
What I’ve been served / What I would rather eat
Do You Think You’re Funny?
You walk into the room and into the middle of a conversation between two of your friends.
Friend 1: “Yeah, that’s what they wanted to do but apparently it’s too big…”
You: “That’s what your mom said last night! Oh!”
Friend 2: What?
You: “Your mom… Like, the joke… Implying that I did the nasty with your mom… And she said it’s too big… You know?”
Friend 1: “We’re talking about my mom’s inoperable brain tumor…”
You: “Oh… Shit…. I… Jesus, that’s… I’m so sorry… I was just messin’, I didn’t mean… Is your mam gonna be okay?…. I’ll uh, I’ll get my coat.”
Humour 101: Know your audience.
Don’t tell jokes about paedophiles around parents. Don’t make cracks about sex around your dad. A priest isn’t gonna appreciate any hilarious one-liners you’ve got about the catholic church and all that… controversy.
You covered your friend’s car in masking tape? That’s very funny and all, except he’s gotta collect his granny from the her hospital appointment in half an hour and now he’s really pissed.
Just… Be careful.
“Happy Birthday Dear Friend O’ Mine, Happy Birthday To You!
You know when you’re at someone’s birthday and the band takes a wee break for the emergence of the cake? The person comes in with the candles glowing and everyone bursts into a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ except the only thing anyone can hear is the horrific singing voice of the person standing next to them.
The ‘Happy Birthday Song’ is usually just a big hilarious mess. Mostly because no body, no where, no how, sounds good singing it (much like ‘Silent Night’ at Christmas… “Sleeeeeep in heavenly peeeeEEEEEEEACE!). I believe it was likely written by someone with a great sense of humour. And then there’s the fact that everyone sings it in different keys, with some coming down or going up to try and match the majority key. Some people opt for a bit of “you look like a monkey”, some people stick to the script.
I usually just move my lips a bit and try to look like I’m really into it.
“No, I was looking past you…”
This one time I was out Christmas shopping in Clery’s in Dublin. As I perused the novelty gift items, I noticed a little girl sitting in a pushchair between two aisles. Her Mam was obviously nearby doing some perusing of her own. The kid was super cute. Probably about two years old, dressed in a red, festive dress and with a little green bow on her almost bald head. I couldn’t help but stop to look at her. I didn’t go near her or anything. I just stood for a minute, taking in the cuteness. Then she copped me. And went ballistic. She started screaming and (shockingly articulately for a child of her size) calling for her mother to come because there was a girl staring at her. Shitballs! I scarpered fairly lively.
Moral? Don’t stare at babies in department stores. Apparently they can talk these days. That kid, I instantly assumed, was about to tell her mother that I was likely assessing her worth in some kind of child kidnapping operation. I didn’t need that. Not at Christmastime.
So now I mostly just mind my own bidness when I’m shopping.
You Couldn’t Be More Wrong…
You: “Salma Hayek was Johnny Depp’s wife in Blow.”
Them: “I don’t think she was.”
You: “I’m tellin’ ya! She was the wife and she loved the money and the cars and she was the full time smoking. Salma Hayek.”
Them: “No, it was that other one, I think.”
You: “Are you mental!? Did you see the movie or no? Yer man’s wife… In the movie, Blow… With the Spanish accent… Was Salma… Hayek.”
Them: “Was it not Penelope Cruz?”
Flip! It feckin’ was Penelope Cruz and all. Now that you mention it. I forgot she existed.
“Aw maybe it was. I haven’t seen it in ages.”
Backwards roll out of the conversation…
She’s My Cousin, you know…
Eminem once said, “goddamnit you little motherfucker if you aint got nothin’ nice to say then don’t say nothin’!”
Eminem’d be full of valuable advice like that.
Alas, not all of us listen to Eminem in time for him to save us from making a bolox of ourselves in front of people.
This one Monday morning, when I was just a furry grey cygnet, I was in the schoolyard gossiping with my friends about the youth disco we’d been to on the Friday night before.
“Remember when Mikey Badskin came over and asked if you’d shift Tommy Wonkytooth?”
“Yes! It was right after Jennifer Tinyhands was all over him on the bus!”
“Guys, did ya see yer one from Ballyenemy?”
“Yeah, what was she wearing?! That top was a crime!”
“What about that one the year below us! She could have done with getting that skirt about five sizes bigger!”
“That’s my cousin…”
Oh balls… Dig up! Dig up! Dig up!
“No, like I mean she looked amazing, it was just, maybe, a little… um… tight… Her hair was killer! She’s got such amazing hair! I’m so jealous!”
Ya just never feckin’ know, do ya? So nowadays, as a precaution, everybody looks fabulous. Chick with the pink boob tube? Fabulous… Girl in the ridiculous big hoopy earrings that keep getting caught in the fingers of everybody she drunkenly hugs? Fabulous… Lassie in the white dress whose underwear is visible through it? Fabulous… Yiz all look fabulous…
That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.
Well That Was Rude!
Yesterday I was about to cross the road in town. I stopped to let a car pull out in front of me. It was my friend! In the passenger seat. And I’m all, “Hey!! Well!! Hi!”. I’m waving like crazy because I haven’t seen him in a while and I’m tryin’ to make sure he sees me. And he looked at me and kind of, half-waved with a “who the fuck is that?” look on his face.
Of course he did… Because it wasn’t my friend at all. It was just some dude who happened to look really, really like him. His doppleganger, if you will. So I tried to look real busy and rushed on across the road and out of sight as quick as I could, hoping to never see that guy again.
I do this all the time! I’m walking past people I know and saying hello to them just before I realise they’re actually strangers. I’m passing people on the roads and beeping my horn and wondering why they didn’t beep back. I’m starting conversations with people after a few drinks because I know their little sister, except no I don’t, I know someone else’s little sister and this person is looking at me like I’m the biggest pest goin’.
But what do ya do? There’s no point in engaging a stranger in a whole rigmarole about how you saw them and thought that they were this friend of yours who looks like them and that’s why you were waving like an ape and you’re sorry but it’s uncanny how similar they are. They don’t care. They saw you waving and immediately assumed you were just some mentaller. They don’t need an explanation. To hell with ‘em.
If they’ve got any questions, just make something up. Tell ‘em you’re pretty sure that you joined the mile high club together on a flight from Bangkok to Bogota back in ’96. Then get offended and storm off because they don’t remember and you thought it was special.
sureitsallabitofcraic 
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