Thursday, 17 September 2009

hammers


Last week, I was perplexed and amused in equal amounts by a woman who wanted to return a toaster to the store because her bread didn't fit in it.

No, really.

This drew a small crowd of perplexed and amused colleagues. A lady from the kitchenware department suggested that there was a degree of dimensional creep within the bread baking industry, and that loaves kept get larger. She asked if I had ever had problems with bread being too big for my toaster.

"Not especially, since I tend to buy bread that fits in my toaster, rather than the other way around."

This was as nothing compared to the woman today, who returned a kettle because it was too noisy.

"When you turn it on, it's just really noisy, and I don't think it's good enough for a kettle that costs nearly £60. It sounds like a rocket going off."
"Well, have you checked your kitchen for rockets? It could all just be a mad coincidence. There could be rockets hidden behind your kitchen units, and they're triggered somehow by boiling water..."

In the face of such irrepressible stupidity, you could be forgiven for thinking that I might be looking forward to my imminent return to university. And on the face of it, trading 38 of the 58 hours a week I spend tolerating self-important twat baskets for a load of mechanical engineering mind bending seems like a pretty good deal, if you like that sort of thing.

I like that sort of thing.

But in truth, I'm a little apprehensive. The last time I did any real study was in May last year, when I was preparing for my exams. And although I spent a year working in a job where the degree I am seeking to attain is a requirement for employment, the fact is that I applied virtually none of my learning whilst I was on placement. I am reliably assured by those that have been there and done that, that this is very typical of what I will experience post-graduation.

Partly I'm just unsettled by the uncertainty, the change of routine. Mostly I'm terrified of finding out just how much I've forgotten.

But not as terrified as I am of this.



Thanks, BBC news website. For all I know this fucking evil jumping fucking Cthulu spider fuck is the same size as a Toyota Corolla, can leap tall buildings in a single bound, has a petrifying gaze, and feeds on the gooey stuff that lives inside my eyeballs.

2 comments:

Pixie said...

Ben... for the love of all that is good and holy in the world... why oh fucking why would you post a picture of that hell beast for me to look at!?!??!.... is it meant to be some kind of therapy?... because frankly, it ain't working... it's just sending creepy shivers down my legs and across my back....

Also... never take the great old one's name in vain... for Cthulhu will unleash all his fishiest of fish men to come and smite you!!!

Willard said...

If you want to really see scary shit, the deep sea is where to go. Matt and I saw a documentary where there were Anglerfish (those fuck ugly things that look like Anne Widdecombe with four Ninjas worth of deadly steel knives replacing her teeth and a light on her head) that were...the size of a Bathtub.

Hideous, hideous, hideous. And they could totally take that spider in a fight.