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» The Police II
I have an evil Romanian twin!
I was sitting on the beach the other morning when a policeman comes up to me.
"Hello" he says.
"Er, hello" I reply.
"Oh, you're British then" (he looks a bit disappointed)
"Yes, yes I am..."
"Only we're looking for someone, and you're the spit of the description we've got, but she's Romanian" he tells me.
"Sorry, I'm definitely British" I confirm.
"Never mind then, have a nice day!"
(Sun 8th May 2011, 19:10, More)
I have an evil Romanian twin!
I was sitting on the beach the other morning when a policeman comes up to me.
"Hello" he says.
"Er, hello" I reply.
"Oh, you're British then" (he looks a bit disappointed)
"Yes, yes I am..."
"Only we're looking for someone, and you're the spit of the description we've got, but she's Romanian" he tells me.
"Sorry, I'm definitely British" I confirm.
"Never mind then, have a nice day!"
(Sun 8th May 2011, 19:10, More)
» Customers from Hell
I've worked in a bookshop for a while
And I've dealt with my share of complete nutters, tramps, hyper children, awful parenting, chav packs, dodgy old men, scary old women. I've been shouted at, flirted with (not in a good way, that's the dodgy old men), spat at, treated like an idiot, treated like scum, and I've kept my polite smile on through it all until I felt like my face would crack. It's not all bad though, occasionally someone nice comes in, talks about books, is polite and friendly and makes me feel better.
There is one person though, who I think is worth mentioning in some detail. He came in just the once. An old man. In the most startling outfit I have ever seen, on anyone, ever. From the top, then:
On his head, a dirty silver wig.
Makeup: Bright red scrubbed into scatchy old cheeks. A streak of sky blue over each eyelid. And pink lipstick smeared inexpertly around his puckered old mouth.
A sparkly silver jacket, worn over a tight faded leapordskin top, with grey chest hairs poking out of the top.
A bright pink miniskirt.
Dirty yellow leggings.
Silver trainers.
He had that musty old man smell mingled with cheap perfume.
He ambled over to me, the ever helpful smiling shopkeeper, and asked if I had any books on CHANGE.
(I did as a matter of fact, it's a book called Change, I showed it to him, he pointed at the £3.99 sticker and asked, "how much is that?" He bought it, though it probably wasn't the sort of "change" he was after)
(Mon 8th Sep 2008, 22:37, More)
I've worked in a bookshop for a while
And I've dealt with my share of complete nutters, tramps, hyper children, awful parenting, chav packs, dodgy old men, scary old women. I've been shouted at, flirted with (not in a good way, that's the dodgy old men), spat at, treated like an idiot, treated like scum, and I've kept my polite smile on through it all until I felt like my face would crack. It's not all bad though, occasionally someone nice comes in, talks about books, is polite and friendly and makes me feel better.
There is one person though, who I think is worth mentioning in some detail. He came in just the once. An old man. In the most startling outfit I have ever seen, on anyone, ever. From the top, then:
On his head, a dirty silver wig.
Makeup: Bright red scrubbed into scatchy old cheeks. A streak of sky blue over each eyelid. And pink lipstick smeared inexpertly around his puckered old mouth.
A sparkly silver jacket, worn over a tight faded leapordskin top, with grey chest hairs poking out of the top.
A bright pink miniskirt.
Dirty yellow leggings.
Silver trainers.
He had that musty old man smell mingled with cheap perfume.
He ambled over to me, the ever helpful smiling shopkeeper, and asked if I had any books on CHANGE.
(I did as a matter of fact, it's a book called Change, I showed it to him, he pointed at the £3.99 sticker and asked, "how much is that?" He bought it, though it probably wasn't the sort of "change" he was after)
(Mon 8th Sep 2008, 22:37, More)