Friday, 17 July 2009

Supervisor Steve and Sanitary Bins

You may be aware that my supervisor Steve is the funniest man ever to have walked the land. I would very much like to give him his own television show but as I am in no position to do such a thing he remains Head of Despatch at our postproduction company. Here are some of his antics in the last week or so…

On Thursday last week Mike had a bit of milk left in the bottle once he’d used the rest for his cereal so he asked Steve if he wanted to drink it as he tends to enjoy our dregs. On taking a sip Steve stated seriously, ‘God, that milk’s cold. I can feel it entering my lower colon.’ If this wasn’t amusing enough he went on to say, ‘I can feel it rushing past my appendix.’ I was laughing so hard at his deadpan expression and choice of internal organs that
saliva nearly fell out of my mouth. On typing this up the hysterics began again so I’ll be sure to read this little paragraph if I’m ever feeling miserable.

The same day our other supervisor Jack had a clear up of his desk area, which inspired me to do the same as I’m a bit of a scrap-paper fiend. On sorting through my pile of paper I came across a poem I wrote about a year ago; in an attempt to get Mike’s comedic juices flowing I'd set us an exercise from the
book of a comedy genius whose stand up comedy course I had attended in 2007. The task was to write a love poem written by a sanitary engineer. This is mine:

Love Poem of a Sanitary Engineer (bog fixer, sanitary bin installer/taker awayer)

How I love thee, Sanitary Bin,
Not only your outsides but all that’s within.
The glistening fluid that highlights your grey hair,
Makes me want to stand all day and stare.
I’ve never smelt a smell as sweet,
As the smell that you excrete.
And the way you overflow with love and rose stained strings,
Fills me with desire and makes my heart sing.

Personally I think this is quite good but I feel the title should be something more like Ode to Sanitary Bin. That would be more fitting and romantic.

On Friday Steve used the word gusset twice and said that you can eat pubic crabs if you feed them up enough. I won’t be accepting an invitation to dinner at his house in a hurry.

On Tuesday of this week, after eating two of the brownies I made at the weekend, he declared, ‘She’s good at brownies that go in your mouth and brownies that come out her bum.’ That man has a way with words. I’d go as far as to say he’s the Shakespeare of the 21st century.

On Wednesday however his Shakespearean reputation was in tatters when he insulted me in front of everyone in the office. He was saying that we are all ageist (he is around 50 years old and has a real age complex) and so I took it upon myself to remind him that he could be done for sexual harrassment and weightism, as he’s constantly telling Mike that he’s a fatty, so he has no legs to stand on. We were all laughing about it and having a good time. He said that he wouldn’t call Mike fat if he actually was and then these words came out of his mouth, ‘You don’t hear me saying anything about Sonia’s complexion do you?’ and rather than realising he’d gone a bit too far he continued to go on about my skin and how it makes me have low self esteem. It was word vomit central. I was so shocked I exclaimed, ‘Oh my god, Steve!’ and as I looked at my computer screen tears involuntarily started coming out of my eyes without so much as a facial crumple. I was hurt that he used something against me that he knows I struggle with. I could hear him typing an email straight after and I nearly said, ‘If you’re typing an email to me I wouldn’t waste your time,’ but I didn’t want to seem presumptious. But sure enough I got a new email alert and this is what he’d sent:
Sonia - I am a fucking twat.

I didn't mean any of those comments. When I start I do not know when to stop.

You are the last person that I would ever want to hurt.

I am so sorry. Please forgive me.

A few seconds later he came over and said, ‘Did you see my email?’ to which I replied that I was not interested. He kept saying sorry over and over and then proceeded to ask me what I was having for tea. I asked him very politely, ‘Please can you just leave me alone, is that alright?’

The next morning he came straight over to me saying such things as, ‘Are we going to forget about tomorrow?’ (he meant yesterday) and, ‘Just be the bigger person here.’ I went a little bit mad and said, ‘Don’t you dare make me feel bad for something that YOU have said to me,’ and I suggested that he leave things for a while. As a man with a daughter around my age and a wife you’d think he’d know better. You’d be wrong.

Today after a frosty start we are starting to see some sunny intervals and I’m sure come next Monday I’ll be singing his praises and quoting his genius but no doubt he’ll wind me up again with his antagonistic ways some time soon.

All in a (well eight) day’s work.

(Please note that Steve has a Yorkshire accent.)

Steve, Mike and Jack

Thursday, 2 July 2009

A Lovely Story About Poo: Number Two

There has been a lot of talk about Britney in past blogs and I feel I have been neglecting the topic of toilets. Anyone accidentally landing on the Ramblings of a Toilet Blocker blogspot could be forgiven for feeling lied to and I wouldn’t hold it against them if they sued me for false advertising.

So this blog is for them…

A few weeks ago I went for dinner with a friend, let's call her Paula, who is in a very complicated on/off relationship. She was telling us that she had been talking to her ‘lover’ on the phone whilst she was sat on the toilet doing a poo. Paula decided that it would be appropriate to tell him what she was up to and he said, ‘Nothing you could do would put me off you.’ Lovely sentiment but wait, it continues... ‘I would use your poo as toothpaste.’ I WOULD USE YOUR POO AS TOOTHPASTE, people! Now I love poo but this, my friend, is taking things too far. I draw the line at touching, eating and using it as toothpaste.

I don’t know about you but talk of number twos really does tickle me. Another friend was recently trying to explain which photo she favoured of a number that had been taken at a party. She said, ‘I love the one with me looking up like a turd.’ I did enjoy her description. Not long after this, and I can’t remember what it was I'd said to evoke this reaction, she exclaimed, ‘I’m so excited, I might need a poo.’ I tell you I laughed quite heartily at this, especially as said friend isn't really one for faecal chat. She really has drawn the short straw with me as a companion.

My supervisor Jack decided it would be a good idea to start tickling me the other week - we are all very professional where I work - and I had to shout, 'No don't!!' and explained to him that I needed a poo and that if he continued I might accidentally go on my chair. A sure fire way to stop a tickler in their tracks. It wasn’t a lie though; I really did need to go.

He was telling me that one of the bookings guys likes to use the phrase 'Chew my poo,' when clients are being demanding. I do enjoy a sentence that rhymes. I often hear the same guy cry, 'Shit the bed!' when things aren't really going to plan and a more recent one that really took my fancy was, 'Shit cakes'. I liked this because I like poo and I like cakes, a perfect pairing if ever there was one.

In May I went to my friend Alex's gig at Monkey Chews in Chalk Farm, the same place I met my poo soul mate, and I was very excited because I knew that she would be there. I hadn't seen her since that first time but she would always text me intermittently with tales from the toilet and brighten up whichever day it was she’d send them. After she and Alex had serenaded the audience nine of us were stood in a circle downstairs and the subject of poo came up practically straight away. There were a few people in the circle who I’d not met before including a girl who confided that she'd been constipated of late. I told her to try eating a salad of avocado, tomato and cucumber, which usually gets me going. At that moment I mentally distanced myself and realised I was chairing a Pooaholics Anonymous meeting. People were looking to me for anus-related advice. I finally felt like I had a purpose in life and it warmed the cockles of my heart.

Another day in May I was having bowel issues which I think may have been due to nerves (it appears I am not only an emotional eater but an emotional pooer too) as I was going to the birthday party of the object of my affection who I wasn’t convinced wanted me to attend. I spent much of the day with my least favourite of all the poo groups: diahorrea. I was waiting for my friend to meet me so we could go together and my stomach was still churning so I text her telling her if she happened to have any Immodium I would love her forever. She didn’t have any but I think I’ll probably love her forever all the same but that is not relevant to this story so I shall continue... Once inside my stomach chilled out a little but, such is the case when you’re drinking pints of water, I soon needed a trip to the lav. Disaster struck when I decided to read the door-locking instructions, that were sellotaped to the door, even though I had used the toilet various times in the past and had had no problems. Reading the instructions confused me and I managed to pull the handle off the door. I went in search of someone to help show me the way when I came across the boy I was quite fond of and so told him of my predicament. We went into the toilet and he demonstrated how to do it locking us both in and then, joy of joys, he kissed me. I will forever remember being in that overlit bathroom being kissed by someone I really liked as East 17's ‘Stay Another Day’ could be heard playing in the living room and a girl’s screams emanated from the bedroom. It was a moment when lighting concepts and the need to wee were the furthest thing from my mind. A magical moment I’m sure you’ll agree.

Passing Firetrap at Seven Dials in Covent Garden on my lunch break a few weeks ago and I was delighted to see the best window display I've ever had the pleasure of setting my eyes upon. Unfortunately they’ve now changed their display to chainsaws which are very pretty but do not rub me up aesthetically quite the same way. Luckily I got a pic in the nick of time so all is not lost.

Last week I came down from the poo toilet at work to have Mike waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. He ran ahead of me into our office to tell Steve to stop his clock. It took me two minutes to do my business. They don’t say I have rocket sh**s for nothing!

I was just searching for this blog in my documents so I could finish editing it as I have been highly unmotivated of late and I came across a Word document containing potential blog ideas. One was so relevant to this blog I had to include it:

“Fri 4th April 2009 18:14

Just went into the loo to wash the sugar off my hands from my fourth donut of the day. I read the typed sign on the door as I went in which says, ‘Please do not poo!!!!’ and someone has written in pen in tiny writing underneath, ‘In the sink’. That amused me. It reminded me of the time I was in the Betsey Trotwood pub in Farringdon having a wee and there was a sign on the inside of the cubicle door saying, ‘Please do not poo in the toilet’ and someone had written underneath it, ‘Where would you like me to poo then? In the bin?’ Oh it did make me chuckle. Was up there as one of my most enjoyable non-poo toilet related experiences.”

Earlier today I was chatting to a friend on Google chat who told me that he was typing from his toilet (reminiscent of ‘Paula’ and her 'lover' apart from the fact I don’t want to use my friend’s poo as toothpaste) and he even typed the sound effects for me so that I could be fully involved in the experience. I helped by finishing it off with ~@~ which in the world of Google chat creates the picture of a poo! This trick was shown to me by a random American fellow I met outside a pub in the interval of a comedy night I was doing the door at. He gave me the greatest gift I have ever received – the gift of poomoticons. Now you have that gift don’t be scared to share it.

I hope you have enjoyed these ramblings of a toilet blocker (you’ll be pleased to know the designated poo toilet at work is getting used to my mammoth poos and doesn’t blog quite so much these days) and that you are having a lovely day.

Forever yours,

Toilet Blogger