b3ta.com user Lucoire
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» Customers from Hell

Customers are knobs. Never work for Primark!
Way back when, back in the days of teenagerdom I was unfortunate enough to work at Primark on Saturdays. This was a new store and Lincoln had never seen the likes of it before, so naturally every Saturday they aaaall came out of the woodwork to buy thongs for a quid.

A 'regular' came in one day, and was just what you'd expect from Lincoln chavviness - orange face (white neck!), scrunchies in her badly dyed and greasy hair, smelling like god-knows-what and looking like she'd put her eyeshadow on with a shotgun. I was on customer services and up she trundles, bag in hand. She dumps contents of said bag onto my counter, right in front of me and says "wanna bring these back duck".

In front of me, just dumped on my workspace, was a pile of unwashed thongs.

Now, anyone who's ever been shopping for clothes knows that there's a returns policy, where undies aren't included and can't be returned. She was adamant and even when I got my fucking MANAGER she blamed me for being "a prude".

She tried that for most Saturdays over the 9 months I spent in that hellhole.
(Sun 7th Sep 2008, 15:14, More)

» Family Feuds

It's been nearly 10 years
since I last saw my mother. The abuse started early, temper tantrums if we didn't put the tins of tuna in the cupboard the right way round, make any kind of noise and you were bawled at. I'm one of three, part of a set of twins with a younger half sister (who still sees Fiona, nothing abusive ever happened to her, not that I'd wish it on anyone).

My mother would go through men like some people go through cheap shoes; one after another, using them for all their worth and moving onto the next one, then decided we needed a 'fresh start' in North-East Scotland. We moved up there in October 1998, very confusing for a couple of 10 year olds (half-sis didn't move with us, she was living with her dad by this point), and even with this fresh start the abuse didn't stop... locked in cellars, left to fend for ourselves for days on end... beatings, mental abuse... I'm still in therapy now.

Then, in April 2001, my Great Grandad died. We'd gone back down to Nottinghamshire for the Easter Holidays and didn't even know he'd been in hospital since November of the previous year. Fiona had been told but she didn't bother telling my twin or myself. He was a wonderful man, and something about his passing made my sister and I realise we finally had to tell someone what was happening.

Three months later, after a long custody battle and a stint in Foster Care, we were living with our Nan and nobody's seen or heard from Fiona much since. She went to see my Great Nana a few times, sent her a wedding photo when she married someone old enough to be her father, but that's it. I never want to see her again.

Now I live on the other side of the country because her sisters are utter mentalists too, I think there must've been some kind of radiation in the area they grew up in that's completely fucked with their heads... my Aunts moan at me, say they never see me enough... but I'm happy to cut myself off and live on the other side of the country. I see my twin and my Nan, my Great Nana whenever I can, but I've got to the point where I don't want to be around damaging people.

Sorry for lack of funnies, bit of a heart-pouring moment this morning...
(Fri 13th Nov 2009, 6:38, More)

» Food sex

A looong(ish) time ago...
I was with a young man I'd met at uni, and he'd come to spend the weekend with me at my family home. We'd bought some of that chocolate body paint (sweet, syrupy stuff - see the Ann Summers website), and anticipated a weekend of fun.

Well, fun was had, and in our post-"fun times" state we just dropped the tube on the floor of my bedroom and drifted into a satisfied sleep.

What we hadn't done is screw the top on the tube, so it had leaked all over my rug (on the floor! The rug on the floor!), making it look as if one or both of us had shat on the floor.

To make matters worse, I tried to scrub it off with a pale green towel...

Think of the looks I got when I put *that* out for washing!
(Thu 6th Aug 2009, 18:14, More)

» Teenage Crushes - Part Two

This is the most shameful...
James May. Screw Richard Hammond, I WANT THE MAY!!!

I don't know what it is, maybe it's the kind nature, the floppy hair or the way he's always a little puzzled and confused. All I know is he makes me weak at the knees.

Oddly, and I've just realised this, if you were to add 20 years to Mr. Lucoire and take about 6" of hair off him, he would resemble Mr. May. Excellent.
(Thu 5th Nov 2009, 19:20, More)

» Will you go out with me?

Lots of cider and heavy metal!
It was I who bit the proverbial bullet and asked out the current Mr. Lucoire.

I'd gone to Birmingham to meet him, nervous as hell but there'd been a lot of flirting over MySpace messages/MSN and the like so I thought things would be ok in real life. Unfortunately, Mr. Lucoire and I are both horrifically shy.

Long story short: I went and sat in on his band's rehearsal and managed to 'make my move' (i.e. stealing a couple of kisses) before we made our way to Scruffy Murphy's (awesome metal pub in Brum - go there). We'd downed the same amount of cider, both probably wanting a bit of dutch courage before he pulls me onto his knee and kisses my face off.

I pull away and ask, rather drunkenly with a semi-Nottingham accent; 'would you consent to being my boyfriend?' (childish, but it worked).

To summarise: Cider helps, kids. I wholeheartedly encourage using alcohol to make you bolder.

Oh oh oh!!! *POP* aahh... free from the shadows. No more lurking for me!
(Tue 2nd Sep 2008, 16:06, More)
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