b3ta.com user djtrialprice
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» Being told off as an adult

Shop monkey
Little Hitlers of the world unite! Though many people would consider being a supervisor (not even a manager) in a small convenience store at the age of 40 as evidence of a failed existence, they'd be wrong.

For they get to bollock young adults on a daily basis simultaneously allowing them to vent their frustrations at how inadequate they and their little life truly is. I don't mean to be needlessly vindictive in saying this but I once worked a till in a shop part-time to make ends meet so I could buy some food and beer. I didn't do it so I could be the butt of unwarranted abuse.

The specific answer I have for this question of the week is not the time I got shouted at but when my superviser did :D

I was the only person on the shop floor while my evil troll of a superviser was back in the office counting money/having a fag/scratching herself.

Cardinal rule #1: never leave the till when you're the only member of staff in the shop.

Customer comes in asking where the talcum powder is.

"Back of the store, up the ramp."

"Where aboots?"

"I'll show you."

The store is completely empty, no other customers around and the front door has a little buzzer so that if someone else comes in I'll be able to hear. I decide to leave the till and show the guy where the talc is.

"That middle shelf there."

At this moment the troll beast has decided to waddle out of her cave.

"You've left the till unguarded! Anyone could have come in here and... blah blah blah."

Now I'm not a moron, I know *why* we don't leave the till but I made a judgement call to be helpful to a customer when I thought the risk of theft was non-existant.

But for whatever reason, I now have to endure a shouting match explaining basic concepts to me which I've already heard before. She's well into the third minute of this when the customer comes to the till to purchase his item. The lecture continues apace with me completely unable to respond as I'm just a shop monkey and easily replaceable. Any subordination and I could be given the sack (or have my weekly hours reduced to 0).

The customer however is not a victim of this strict regime and addresses the hobgoblin thusly:

"What's a matter wi you ya miserable bitch? Your boy only showed me where ma fuckin' talc wiz. Did your man no' gie ya one this morn'?"

Her jaw drops and I bite my tongue trying not to laugh as I hand him his change.

"An' wan more thing. You shouldnie discipline him in front o' customers. Dae ye ken nothin' aboot running a store?"


She turned beetroot red in embarrasment and immediately started to stack some magazines in silence out of my sight.

I carried on for the rest of my shift smiling on the inside in the glow of a small victory.
(Fri 21st Sep 2007, 14:01, More)

» Celebrities part II

When I'm drunk
I tend to turn on my PC when I get home. Now if I'm barely-able-to-stand-up, projectile vomitting style drunk, I'm usually safe as I can't get past the login screen. When I'm slightly tipsy drunk I'm not too bad as I still have enough sense not to send or post anything too damaging. However, when I'm 8 pints on an empty stomach pissed I'm a dangerous animal and my own worst enemy.

You know that feeling when you wake up in the morning with a raging hangover and you're slowly starting to piece the world back together again? What happened last night, how did I get home, what did I... and then there it is. The recollection of exactly what you did last night. Added to the splitting headache and delicate stomach you now have twisting knots of nausea and self loathing.

Why, why, why, did I spend an hour writing an email at 01:00 and click send?

After sending this particular mail I literally couldn't bring myself to check my email for an entire week. I missed trips to the cinema/pub/gigs etc. and was accused of rudely ignoring people but I couldn't admit to anyone what I'd done. So for ultimate catharthis I'll confess to the world instead... *sigh*

I rather like the cheeky, cute, pint sized, elvish stand-up comedienne Lucy Porter. So much so I turn up to her shows early to get a seat on the front row hoping for interaction instead of my usual hiding a good few rows back in obscure safety. Once when I was randomly in Edinburgh I ended up going to see her Fringe show on my own (and queued behind Toby the serial killer from Hollyoakes - two celebrity stories for the price of one here!) The last time she came to Cambridge I went along to see her with a female friend L and was keen to try and get some audience participation with her.

And thankfully I didn't have to try too hard, Ms Porter had arranged a music quiz as part of her show. I know every song ever in the entire history of music so thought I'm well in with a shout here. Feeling not very nervous owing to my several pints of Dutch courage the opening bars of Gold by The Sugarcubes started playing throughout the hall and I was shocked to find my hand was the only one raised.

"Sugarcubes. Erm, Gold."

"That's right! Come up on stage and choose a prize."

"That gold beer thingy."

Tiny bit of chat and I was back in my chair feeling all giddy, happily drinking my godawful tin of tramp strength beer. My mate L and I managed to have a few words with her after the show and give her directions out of Cambridge (no mean feat). I continued drinking my way through town slowly working homeward.

It's at this point when I stupidly remember how Lucy kindly offered all us punters the chance to contact her for free tickets to pre-Fringe shows. Contact her by email that is. I fired up the PC, composed the following, spell checked it to fuck and hit send before stumbling upstairs for some well deserved shuteye.

From: me
To: Lucy Porter
Subject: thank you for the gold label
I very much enjoyed the can of barley wine as it helped me on my journey to the destination I finally arrived at - home, and merrily pissed. I hope you also made it home safe due to, or even in spite of, mine and L's directions.

myname, the long haired bloke who liked The Sugarcubes, Neil Young, Shed Seven and music quizzes in general. If you ever feel like hosting another in Cambridge let me know and I'll be sure to attend.

Attached is a picture not of a trophy cabinet but my living room windowsill. From left to right it contains: a limited edition bottle of Kahlua, The Big Lebowski is my favourite film and I'm more than a bit partial to a White Russian or seven; a strange one-off trophy given to me by my parents of an apple carved from wood which is a bit of a family in-joke (it's a long story); the very lovely, if slightly difficult to drink, tin of barley wine I was generously awarded this evening; and finally Gerald, my sunshine buddy.

I imagine that being as you are a famous person there is a significant amount of asynchronicity regarding the information known about you. To balance this out - if you're interested in the slightest that is - I post answers to b3ta's Question Of The Week (http://www.b3ta.com/questions/ - the Best Of page to the previous weeks questions is 24 carat comedy *ahem* gold ;)

This website which is a favourite of sick minded London commuters has this section whereby people are invited to post their amusing tales to random weekly questions. My most popular answers can be found here, www.b3ta.com/users/profile.php?id=30288. If you do a search on this page for "Gerald" you can find the story behind my little green sunshine buddy who now sits next to an empty can of high strength Gold Label.

So thank you Ms Porter for a most entertaining evening. I saw your Fringe show about Love in Edinburgh a couple of years back. I saw it again when you played the Junction in Cambridge. Of course by then the conclusion of the show was a little more bitter sweet as you were no longer with the man who you wooed so successfully with your nurse's outfit. I'd like to point out now that, as the only prize winning bloke whose relationship status was not questioned, I am very much single. If you're at all interested in changing this state of affairs feel free to email back and I will whisk you off your feet in a blaze of romantic whisking.

Or is this the kind of thing you get from internet based weirdos every week and you're sick to the back teeth of it?


When I finally logged back into my email I was relieved to find no reply. However, if anyone has seen her standup routine since this summer can they confirm that it doesn't contain any material based on me and my ultra cool chat up technique?
(Fri 9th Oct 2009, 15:54, More)

» I'm your biggest Fan

Clement Freud - proper legend
I'll be honest, I hadn't even heard of Clement Freud until 2002 when he decided to run for the post of Rector at the University of St Andrews against Germaine Greer.

I first saw this stout, slow moving man at the hecklings where each candidate delivered a speech prior to answering questions from the audience. Though his body may have been frail, his diction and wit were second to none and he won me over instantly.

"During the campaigning for this election a great deal has been made of the fact that I'm 78. Don't worry as this is an entirely temporary situation. Next year I fully intend to be 79."

In closing he finished with, "I see by looking at my watch that I'm running out of time. I must say this timepiece is very dear to me as it was my grandfather's. He sold it to me on his deathbed."

Later during the heckling part someone posed the following to him...

"Sir Freud, I've seen you speak before at [some event] and you told the exact same joke about Sigmund Freud's watch then."

And without missing a beat.

"Well consider how lucky you are to have only heard it twice. Some of my dear friends who've seen me speak more frequently have endured hearing that joke dozens of times."

He duly won the election to become our Rector for 3 years and my girlfriend and I made sure we attended his inauguration. In the old and majestic surroundings of Younger Hall it was a bizarre occasion: on the surface a very formal event with the ceremonial maces, properly attired officers of the university and a few verses of our latin anthem The Gaudeamus. But it was also half an hour of, what was essentially, some of the best standup I've ever heard.

I was rushing to an appointment in Paris and was driving there excitedly about to use the EuroStar for the first time. On the way I was listening to a local radio station and there was a request for a song to be played from one friend for another.

"Could you play 'Walking on Sunshine' please for my friend Janet as today she is 111."


"Oh sorry, I misread that, she's ill!"

I later recounted the story of this amusing slip up to my French hosts over drinks.

"Et alors il dit, '...qui est aujourd'hui 111. Aucun désolé, elle est malade.'"*

[dramatic pause while we all laugh]

"The French have no sense of humour."

I didn't ever meet him properly but when I graduated he was there on the front of the stage, applauding each and every student with the gusto that belied his then 80 year old body. I gave him a little bow before heading over to the podium pleased to receive such a small compliment from such a great man.

RIP Clement Freud.

*apologies for my rusty translation
(Fri 17th Apr 2009, 15:06, More)

» Pubs

drunk depressed merkin
Myself and a group of friends were in a quiet pub having some mid week drinks to cope with the high levels of stress that undergraduate students have to cope with.

As the night wore on the bar got quieter and quieter which was in stark contrast to the lone American at the bar who was becoming louder and more emotional by the minute.

Our group felt sorry for the bar staff who looked very uncomfortable but we were certainly enjoying hearing about how he didn't want a girlfriend just yet, he'd only had sex once and regretted it. He told his mum about it and though she was disappointed with him she was glad he'd decided to try being celibate again.

The conversation at our table started up again and it wasn't until a while later we realised the poor guy had burst into a fit of tears at the bar. Getting drunk was obviously his way of letting it all out.

Concerned but wanting to remain stoically British about the situation we didn't really know what to do. Then Colin decided to go up to him and see if he was ok.

"Are you alright?"

"It's so cold and wet in this country!" spluttered the now angry yank. "And there's never any sun. Where's the fucking sun!?"

The guy had a point. It was a small village on the east coast of Scotland and it was always windy, cold and wet. More to the point, we were only a couple of months into the first semester and already it was pretty much dark a little after 15:00.

We felt this guy's pain. He was clearly new to this land and thousands of miles from home. But sometimes you just hear something that cuts through all that and you can't help but laugh. Lots.

"Well, this is Scotland." said Colin, "What did you expect?"


Scotland is not like Braveheart. My only suggestion is that Hollywood films contain warnings for Americans about how they have no grip on reality in the slightest. And allow me to conclude with a joke from Frankie Boyle. "When they were making Braveheart people were saying Mel Gibson would never make a convincing Scotsman. And now look at him: a racist alcoholic."
(Fri 6th Feb 2009, 12:27, More)

» How nerdy are you?

Magic: The Gathering
There was a corner of the Students' Union bar that was devoted to members of the rock/metal music society. They'd wander in for lunch and sit there all afternoon playing some card game which required many multi-sided dice.

"What's that they're playing?" I asked.

b3ta user thrain responds with the legendary,

"Tragic: The Saddening"
(Thu 6th Mar 2008, 12:14, More)
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