Chase just reminded me...
I was on a choir tour of New England, and we were in New York for a couple of days. A bunch of us asked the hotel receptionist to recommend a restaurant close by, and so he directed us to this little Italian place a couple of blocks away.

The meal was good, nothing spectacular, and came to about $20 a head. I put some lot of it on my credit card, and the others paid in cash. I also included a tip on the credit card, and those paying by cash put down the appropriate tip as well.
We were just leaving when the owner of the place, a dried-up, middle-aged ex-whore with a mouth (and indeed a face) like a dog's arse, started screaming at us, whilst brandishing the cash part of the tips we had left. Apparently we had not put down enough of a tip; how the hell did we expect her waitresses to live off that? Who the hell did we think we were?

Of course, the proper thing to do would have been to point out that the cash was only part of the payment, there was a significant amount of tip on the credit card payment, and to be quite frank, surely it's her who should be responsible for how much her waitresses get paid, if she's so worried about it.

Naturally, we threw a $10 bill at her and ran away, and called her a foul, grasping old bitch once back in the security of our hotel rooms.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 10:11, Reply)

Teachers
They never switch off. Not ever. Even after years of (ahem) domestic bliss with Mrs Osok, she still will flip into frowny eyebrow telling off mode causing terror in the civilian population and scaring any nearby domestic livestock. Anyhoo...

This particular incident arose after 'we' had decided to rehome two of our puddy tats (out of five). OK, not a nice thing really, but with two Osoklets crawling around it was getting a bit busy. So 'we' decided that two sisters could go together to keep each other company. Sounded great - nice house in the country, big garden, outbuildings, small fluffy animals to mutilate and eat, all that.

So, after actually catching the fluffy psychopaths, applying bandages to my perforated and slashed extremities and taking off the gloves and body armour, 'we' set off. Long trip, during which she cries. Constantly. For two hours. And also informs me halfway there that one of the two mogs was her favourite and she didn't want her to be deported to Suffolk. Perfect timing there. When 'we' arrive, I am told to be quick. So, drop off the puddys, who seem quite interested in the new gaff, return to car, get an earful of full blown hysterics etc etc. Hey Ho.

Two days later the little buggers legged it, doing a Stalag Luft PuddyTat job - locked house, nothing open etc. Current location unknown, but food mysteriously disappears so they're no doubt hiding in the bushes and sniggering in a fluffy manner watching distraught humans running around trying to tempt them out with fishy treats.

Sooo... after a week of THE SILENCE, I get THE TALK. I vaguely remember the words 'disappointed' blah blah 'not discussed' blah blah 'feelings' blah blah. After THE TALK I assumed a mournful expression and said I was guilty of a crime somewhere in seriousness between genocide and morris dancing. She said she felt like a load had been taken off her shoulders etc etc. All happy.

You'd think she would have noticed that I was blind drunk at the time, was lying on the floor with my head inside the osoklet's playgym, and had been paying absolutely no attention...

Still, it did mean sexual privileges were restored and I didn't have to check for cut brake lines or IEDs under the car every morning.

I'm now thinking of getting a 'Cat Trafficer' T-Shirt made.


(awaiting fluffy-lover incoming - why do you think this was posted on a Tursday?)
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 10:08, Reply)

In US immigration
Logan airport, Boston, 2004. Work trip to a conference and business meeting.

As you do when you get to somewhere on an aeroplane, I had turned on my mobile phone upon disembarking (or "deplaning" as it's now known in the states) and entering the terminal. As it was taking a while to realise it couldn't find Vodafone any more and would have to ask favours from the local boys before it got a signal, I stuck it in my jacket pocket and forgot about it, unwittingly disregarding the signs saying that cellphones weren't to be used in this part of the airport. A few minutes later, I was standing in the seemingly interminable queue for immigration waiting to be seen by one of those blokes who seems to have had a humorectomy, when my mobile, which was in my jacket pocket, decided it had now negotiated favourable terms with the local GSM network and had logged on, whereupon it did the Nokia BEEP BEEP thing as a couple of texts came in.

One of the aforementioned humourless operatives, a large imposing woman whom you would hesitate to challenge to any contest involving physical prowess, glared directly at me, pointed to the notice with a red line through a mobile phone and bellowed "NO CELLPHONES!"

I attempted to feign innocence, as she couldn't have seen the phone in my pocket, but I think my poker face needs a bit of work, because I felt my face going bright red. Then before I had a chance to surreptitiously slip my hand in my pocket and turn it off, it beeped again.

Large lady wasn't happy.

This time, I had to apologise and take it out and switch it off.

I think my face was still glowing by the time I got to the immigration desk.

_{Incidentally, you know that green form you have to fill in every time you fly to the US, which has all these bizarre questions on it? Well, would anyone actually answer Yes to any of them? I mean, what terrorist is going to admit that they were going to America to blow something up? FFS. What's the point?}
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 9:39, Reply)

Apparently i'm old enough to own a car
but not old enough to look like i'm not going to steal it.

This was a little while back but i was still about 22 or so, i'd just got back to my car from doing some shopping and i decided i'd hang around and have a cigarette before driving home, not at all uncommon.

So i was stood there, leaning on the boot of my car, smoking away, no other cars nearby, just my unshaven self and my Saxo.

Along toddles a rather stern lady with a distinct air of headmistress about her who proceeded to berate me about my current proximity to my own car.

"Get away from that car" she bellowed at me, i ignored this because why the fuck would i be getting told to get away from my own car.
"Excuse me, move away from that car!" Again, slightly more angry this time.
"What?" I replied, looking pretty dumbfounded.
"You shouldn't be leaning against someone else's property, you'll damage it, get away!" Finally the crazy broad was making sense, bizarre, ignorant sense.
"It's my car, you know." I replied
"No it's not, get away from it!"
By this point my mouth was open and i really just didn't know what to say. I decided the best idea would be the take the keys out of my pocket and demonstrate, as if to a toddler, how the key -- lock -- open door scenario works, to which she hmphs and promptly walks off without so much as an apology.
(Dies Irae, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 9:10, Reply)

Friend of mine
Recycled the best line from Mean Girls when he was approached by a rather short, rather large woman after he had burped loudly in a store.
"How rude!" she said.
"Danny deVito!" he screamed waving his hands everywhere, "I love all your movies! Can I have your autograph?"
( difficultchild, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 4:08, Reply)

This just happened about 30 minutes ago...
Walking through a crowded train station, there's the usual bottleneck at the ticketed exits and so I'm in one queue behind someone taking a long time to complete the extremely easy task of putting their ticket in the slot when a space opens up at the gate next to me.
As you do, I quickly stepped left, pushed my ticket in and went to walk through...
A booming voice cuts in from behind me "Where I come from young man, that's called cutting in!!!!".
I'm just about to call "fuck off" over my shoulder and keep going when I see where the voice came from.
A white haired old lady with thick glasses, a tartan skirt and a blue cardigan - the absolute caricature of every grandmother you've ever seen.
"I might be slow but I'm still in a queue," she says, waving a finger, "and if you had ANY manners at all you should be ashamed of yourself!"
So with the queue banked up and a crowd now all staring to see what heinous crime I've just committed against this poor dear old lady, I removed my ticket, took a step back and allowed her to pass in front of me as I mumble "sosorryididntseeyoupleaseafteryou".
On the other side she turned and glared, holding up the line even more before saying "Cheeky boy!", turning and hobbling off.
I should like to point out at this stage that I am 43 years of age.
( difficultchild, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 4:06, Reply)

yeah, drunk
didn't realise there was an intercom system on that big wheel in manchester until they stopped the ride and shouted at us for rocking the car.

i'm still surprised we were allowed on though after The Man told us we were too drunk for it and danny told him to fuck off.

if i hadn't been too drunk, i probably would have felt told off.
(smorgasbord, Thu 27 Sep 2007, 1:08, Reply)

This takes me back...a year....
After one particularly messy night out in my first year at university, we decided to visit a nearby hall of residence and have some fun. Spying an open door, I preceded to run through it, undo my jeans and to piss freely around the corridoor, laughing to myself manically.

All was well until a door I was covering with wee opened, and the female occupant began to scream. Shitting myself, I ran out of the door with my tackle out, praying the girl in question didn't recognise me.

Apparently, hall wardens don't like being disturbed at 4 in the morning to be asked to identify which student has been caught on CCTV urinating like a good 'un over anything within a five-foot radius of himself.
(the cat is pouncing on your face on, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 23:24, Reply)

i was once told off
by a student at the college i attended a few years ago who had downs-syndrome. me and my friends being loutish youths at the time decided that playing frisbee with trays from the cafeteria seemed like a really good idea and proceeded to hurl them across the grassed area for a few minutes before said downy sprinted in the direction of one of the trays, picked it up and started a shouted babble at us about not being allowed to do this. as we we're all in fits of laughter and very immature we continued doing it to the apparent great displeasure of our new found friend. what a fantastic day that was. especially seeing him afterwards acting and mouthing the entire thriller song in a fantastically over theatrical way.
( Mr Jamie, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 21:40, Reply)

student politics
I am not a wee small tiny lad, and am quite quick of the acid tongue so I don't tend to bring out the bullies in others. But when I was younger...

Having just started Polytechnic in London I emerged from a tube station to find a series of trestle tables all set up with the posters hanging down the front declaring it to be 'Socialist Worker' new issue day. Hey ho. However, as I turned to leave, one of the free-roaming man-woman-thing sellers with a braided bleached coloured mullet, 13 piercings and a ludicrous beret blocked my path, proffering the paper and saying 'are you political?' in an aggressive, sneerful way.

Mind's a blank... no answers... thsi was John Major's britain and nothing was so bad that I felt it worth talking about. "No" said I with a hopeless shrug and a grin.

The woman (must have been all of 6 months older than me but all fired up with righteous anger) started yelling out loud "Don't yu think it was time your voice was heard amongst the deception and lies of the tory government? Don't you think the oppression of the poor should be fought over all the way up to the steps of westminster? Don't you think we should stop the (first) Gulf war?" and waiting to see if I would be cowed in fear, intoxicated by her passionate argument, or a latent communist waiting in the wings.

My answer- (without thinking) "Nope. And I think it's right to kick Iraq out of Kuwait".

My god, as I walked away the tirades of abuse that followed me down the road were reaching screaming pitch and she threw some of the Socialist Worker papers after me (don't fly very well....) and I made good my escape.

The next day at the Freshers' fair, various societies and clubs had stalls out in the Polytechnic's main halls, anthing from film clubs to rowing to tennis to politics. Ah, politics.

Wandering about the maze of stands I was called out to by people behind one of the stalls- "Hey mate, want to make a difference in politics?".

An entirely new set of people were standing behind the - you've guessed it - Socialist Worker Party bedecked stall. Opposite them, for some bizzare reason the Young Conservatives had been given their pitch. The two lads behind the stall lolled back on their chairs with lazy smugness borne of family riches. So I went over to their stall and took some pamphlets and a blue smiley badge with me, much to the boos of the socialist worker yobs opposite.

Oh, I didn't join anyone apart from the Keith Chegwin Appreciation Society. And then two months later I stopped going to Poly. But I learned a leson or two that day about how NOT to recruit people to your cause.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Wed 26 Sep 2007, 21:04, Reply)

The Night Bus
A few weeks ago, after a drunken night out in the centre of Bristol, I was berated and thrown off the night bus by the driver.

Well. As I boarded and handed over my night rider ticket, I casually say to the driver "Cheers, fella!" What is wrong with that you say?

This would have been all fine and dandy in the usual circumstances, but the driver, as it turns out, is a pre-op transsexual. How was I to know with the beer goggles on. "She" took a rather lot of umbrage about this comment and went into a flying rage. Half the bus were in hysterics as I went redder and redder, smaller and smaller. She gets out of the driver's seat and starts pacing up and down the bus chucking off all the people that were laughing. "I have just about had enough of all this bullshit for one day, you drunken shits!! Get off my bus."

More laughter ensued as this was said in a deep gruff voice!

I shouldn't laugh about it and I did apologise as she drove off in a huff!

at least I wasn't barred from Oceana, eh, Limey!! lolz
(ToMeToYou is bumming a Unicorn on, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 20:12, Reply)

Barmaid
When I go to a bar, I will often buy my drinks periodically throughout the night, pay the exact amount each time, and leave one big tip at the end of the night to cover the whole affair. It's never been an issue before.

However, in 2001 or so, some friends and I went to Toronto to see a band we like. Before the show started, I went up to the bar to get a beer. Beers were $2, and I had a $2 coin, a $20 bill, and a $0.05 coin on me. Thinking I'd do my usual thing, I paid with the $2 coin. The barmaid looked at the other barmaid and said "Flat!" which I assume is Canadian barspeak for "The jerk didn't tip me!". A few minutes later, the second barmaid came to my table and in an overly sweet voice said, "Where are you all from?" I replied, and she literally yelled at us, "Well, haven't they ever heard of tipping there!?".

I certainly had intended to tip fairly, even generously, at the end of the night, and I feel genuinely bad that this turned out to be a faux pas. But she didn't need to react that way, and the fact that she did cost her establishment a fair bit of money, as for the rest of the night (and as I mentioned earlier, at this point the band hadn't even started yet) none of the 8 or so people at my table ordered any more food or drinks due to her tirade.
(chase, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 19:38, Reply)

The next time I'm told off by a woman...
I'm going to call her an "anvil faced harridan".

That phrase is going into my lexicon, effective immediately.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 26 Sep 2007, 17:51, Reply)

Sort of.......
As I am obviously a frightening criminal and a burden on society with psychotic mass-murdering tendencies* I had to attend a speed-awareness course, forced on me by Northamptonshire constabulary at my own expense. The very first question the condescending self-important cuntbucket asked me and my fellow international terrorist criminals** was "Why do people die in car crashes in 30mph zones". We were asked not to answer until the end of the ipcress-style brainwashing we were about to endure***.
At the end of the torture he asked us if we had any answer.
One of my fellow Regicidal conspirators**** piped up "because drivers are going too fast to stop if a pedestrian walks out in fromt of them so they swerve and hit oncoming traffic"*****
The grand inquisitor nearly spluffed as he realised his constant use of the bastinado had finally broken the will of the heretic****** and caused in a pavlovian way the correct answer to be parrotted by rote.
I then spoke up. "Excuse me? Could you tell me if it's wrong to run over a pedestrian to save my own life?" "Also, could you show me on my licence where it says that I'm responsible for the safety of those too stupid to look where they're going?"
Torquemada looked stunned and tried to reason with me " you're not seriously saying you'd run someone over if they walked in front of your car!? What if it was a child!?!?!"




I replied "YES! IT'S THEM OR ME, I'M IN A CAR AND THEY ARE NOT THEREFORE IT'S GONNA BE THEM! DO THE MATH! ONE PEDESTRIAN OR TWO DRIVERS".

They told me to leave.
I got a round of applause though!
*I was doing 34 in a 30 zone at 3:28 a.m I wa sthe only car I saw in a 17 mile trip.
**Other speeding drivers, not one being done for over 34mph
*** the most piss-boring condescending inaccurate drivel it has ever been my misfortune to endure. Even worse than Big Brother, no really!!
****See ** above.
***** 100%True, apparently!
****** See ** above.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 17:42, Reply)

Teaching practice
A few years ago, I attempted to do a degree in primary teaching.
To cut a long story short, I failed. this in itself would have been bad enough, but undoubtedly the lowest moment of the whole sorry experience was during my placement. I'd been struggling to manage my time, teach the children effectively and organise things, as I was knackered all day every day, having to travel for an hour on the bus each way, eating crappy food at uni etc. I was only 19, maybe I'd have handled it better if I was doing it now.
Anyhoo, I was supposed to be doing a profiling book every day, and while I'd had a few cursory stabs at it, I'd not really done what I was supposed to. The time came for me to be assessed by my link tutor, i.e. the big gun whom i had to impress enough to pass. She would watch me do a lesson, check my folder and then my profiling book. The night before it dawned on me that I hadn't done my profiling. Never fear, i thought, I've got a few hours to myself tomorrow morning before my lesson, I'll do it then. i'll be fresh and in a trigger-environment. It'll help me do it properly.
Come the next day, I arrived at school, having chucked my profiling book in my bag at the last minute. I pulled out what i thought was the profiling book, and, well you can guess the rest. it was another book the same colour (all our books were green in the first year). This one was about standards or some bollocks. Oh fuckaroo. My link tutor's going to be pretty pissed.
Right, i think, better check everything else is in order. My main file was disorganised, but everything was there at least. And then I realised I'd done bugger all on my monitoring and assessing of the pupils.
Needless to say, I received an almighty bollocking from the link tutor, who accused me of 'deliberately forgetting my book so i could get out of the fact that I hadn't done it.' This really hurt, as it insulted my intelligence: why would not bringing the book help when i had a window of opportunity to fill it in? It didn't make sense. She called me a 'silly little boy' and pointed out that 'this isn't an A level course, this is children's lives.' I only think she could have been more patronising if she'd patted me on the head, although i think she wagged her finger at me. A real dragon of a woman, too.
My class teacher and mentor then took the opportunity to lay into me about a whole load of things that I'd been doing wrong, half of which they'd 'seen coming'. Well why not tell me in a helpful and constructive way? The accused me of clockwatching (I thought occasionally glancing at the clock might help me keep time in the lesson), not giving my all (I ran myself into the ground during the three weeks, lost one and a half stone in weight (about an eighth) and kept falling asleep whenever I sat down. it was without doubt the most stressful time of my life, and they accused me of not giving my all?!! I'd barely had time to think about my folders...) and being rude. For the record I make a conscious effort to be polite and well-spoken, probably when I don't even need to be.
I quit the course not long after, when I could have resat and possibly passed. I changed to English and never looked back. (Just graduated this summer. woo!)
I never really got into that much trouble at school (which was surprising, considering how much I actually got up to.) and so i don't actually think I've ever been made to feel that small as I did during my link tutor's visit. Granted, most of it was my fault, but explaining to me in a civilised manner that perhaps teaching wasn't for me after all wouldn't have hurt. It would have also taken a lot less effort and undoubtedly lowered her blood pressure, the anvil-faced harridan.
Apologies for length and lack of humour, but I'd finally got a really appropriate story!
(pacman_40 Pocket Kleenex: for the wanker on the go, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 17:38, Reply)

last night
I was out on the third(and FINAL) date last night and was told off for
a: being too nice to her friends
b: ignoring her friends
c: staring at her friends face, her mate had the most enormous boobs and I was deliberatly trying not to stare at them
d: not joining in and getting pissed even though I'm on a strict diet and was driving.

I think I'll stand more chance of reasoning with the Taliban!
Bring them on!!
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Wed 26 Sep 2007, 16:45, Reply)

well i was embarrased
Today I was told off by my (previously friendly)GP for bringing on my kidney infection by having rigorous intercourse at regular intervals. So not only am I in pain due to said infection, but my GP thinks im a tramp and my bloke thinks he has a magnificient man tool that can poke kidneys (ha!)


Well I blushed..
(Fizzylegs cant find the time to pluck, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 16:30, Reply)

LunarJim
Yes, Addenbrookes is rahter brutalist, isn't it?

And because this is entirely on topic: when I was a young BobFossil, I entered the fancy dress competition for our Village Fete, and decided to go as Papegeno from "The Magic Flute" (yes, I was a touch pretentious, even back when I was 6).

Whilst trying to sew feathers onto a bit of cloth to wear as a cloak, I accidentally swallowed the needle (was trying to force it through using my teeth, instead of a thimble).

Mother duly took me to Addenbrookes A+E for an x-ray, and we sat around waiting for 4 hours (somethings never change). I got the x-ray, all seemed to be fine, I was assured that it would probably pass right through me, and that if I did get tummy pains, I should come back for another x-ray).

We got home, and Mother gave me a sound telling-off. For ruining a decent sheet to make a feathered cloak? No. For being stupid and not using a thimble, and thus endangering myself? No. She told me off for being so bloody pretentious, and that if I was going to be so smarmy, then I deserved all I got.

Thanks Mother.
[Edit: OK, I was being told off as a kid, not an adult; but I'm still bloody pretentious].
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 16:26, Reply)

Yet another "my mate at uni" story. Sorry
One of my mates at uni wondered into the local 24hr ASDA after a particuly heavy night. Joy upon joy he discovered there on the floor a green ASDA fleece left, rather stupidly, unattended. He put it on, who wouldn’t, and started wondering around the large shop.
After a few people asking him where things were he had the idea to start directing shoppers to different queues and acting like traffic plod.
All of a sudden his grabbed by big scary scouse bouncer and dragged into the back office. He was shouted at for a good 15min about stealing (yes, despite not even having stolen anything he was stealing) and told he was luckily they didn’t call the police and then he was banned from the shop for life. He even tried to go in there a few months later and was recognised and kicked out again!
It just makes me laugh at how many crackheads must have thought Christmas had come early as the security was busy for so long elsewhere.
(ab1kenobe, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 15:02, Reply)

I told someone off once
I was crossing the road at some traffic lights a while back. The driver at the front of the queue used the following technique.

1. Stare at the lights, only the lights, not around the lights, stare at the lights.
2. Accelerate hard on the ‘O’ of orange.

I had enough time to think ‘fu..’ before a I was on his bonnet and then as quickly dumped back on the road when he braked. Brilliant I thought as a stood up and inspected my cut hands...but I wasn’t angry.

Stood in front of the car I looked at the guy, he stared back impassively no sign of an apology...I still felt calm.

I decided to get on with my day, I gave the guy a barley perceptible shake of my head and turned to go. I felt proud I’d managed to keep it tight.

A movement caught my eye, he was pointing at the lights. Then he pointed at the lights again and waved his finger at me, telling me off for being on the road when the lights turned orange.

Did I tell you about my anger issues? I have two emotonal states. Perfectly calm and angrier than the angriest person you’ve ever seen. It’s not a red mist, it’s a deep dark well, a pitch black elevator with the cables cut. A frightening descent to a place where I have no control.

Or much memory.

But on this occasion I was with a work colleague who was able to tell me later what I’d done.

In short the guy got a rather server telling off. Screaming incoherently I leapt round to the side of the car, opened the door, removed the keys and threw them in some bushes, dragged him out of the car. Still not making any sense very loudly, I slammed him against the car a few times, held him around the throat for a while and generally led him to believe he was going to die. Then I bellowed at him;

“WHAT DO YOU DO?”

“WHAT DO YOU DO?”

Five or six times

“YOU WAIT FOR THE LIGHTS TO CHANGE, CHECK THE WAY IS CLEAR, THEN YOU PROCEED”

And threw him to the ground. I was a hundred yards up the road before I properly came to. My work mate gabbling about the fella shitting himself and me going psycho and getting ‘highway code on his arse’.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Wed 26 Sep 2007, 14:59, Reply)

Hospital Story
Ok, a few years ago, I went to Addenbrokes Hospital in Cambridge to have some kidney stones blasted out with Lithotripsy.

Lithotripsy involves you lying on a contraption which is essentially a cross between a sink and a bed whilst a fat man in thick child-molester glasses shatters your stones with ultrasound.

I arrived prompt for my appointment at 2pm, to be shown promptly at 4pm into the pre-med area. A plump nurse in black stockings and brogue shoes asked me to disrobe and put on one of those gowns that hospitals have which leave your posterior exposed to the elements. You're about to find out why they need to get to your bottom in a hurry when you wear one of those gowns.

Now, the Lithotripsy process is an outpatient one, and takes around an hour from start to finish, so they need to administer pain relief which will take effect quickly.

In short, they give you a strong painkiller in the form of a suppositary.

I was asked to lie down, turn to one side and being my knees up to my chest whilst stern matron shoved the lozenge up my chutney chute.

The trouble was, I had felt that I might need to pass a stool or two after the session had completed. Once the suppositary had been propelled up its trajectory that need turned to desperation.

I started to laugh.

"Are you ok?" she bellowed.

I couldnt answer, I was laughing too hard, and then my ringpiece gave way.
What I can only describe as a shit tsunami erupted from my brown knot, and in staccato fashion splattered her perfect whites.

This made me laugh even more

When the barrage subsided, she angrily scolded me for not telling her I needed to go to the toilet before she administered the medication.

There will always be a special place in my heart for Lithotripsy.
(Vic Flange, Wed 26 Sep 2007, 14:43, Reply)