b3ta.com user kasterborous
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» Dates Gone Wrong

Everything that could go wrong DID go wrong
Let me take you back through the mists of time to 1992. I was still living in Essex, as someone had to do, and was at the time employed by the Essex Water Company. I also did a little bit of work in a local boozer for some extra beer money. One day, while working at the pub we are introduced to our newest bar maid, her name is Jenny, she is stunning. Small, petite, a brunette, intelligent, pretty and we get on like a house on fire. Now, I get on with a lot of women, but I am not God's gift when it comes to looks and I never normally get up the bravery to ask someone out as I can pretty much predict the answer without having to resort to asking Mystic Meg. Anyway, Jenny and I continue to get on during our regular shifts at the pub and then one evening I sort of mumbled a "wouldyouliketogooutfordinnersometimeitsfineifyousaynowhichyouprobablywillasIamsuchafatuglycunt.." But quite amazingly, she said yes. I was completely spazonkled by this outcome and delighted. We arranged the following Thursday, when we were both off work for the evening we would go out.

I finish work as early as possible, get home and shower and shave and preen my grotty plumage for all its worth, desperate to make myself look presentable and even slightly attractive. I go outside and get in my car. The battery is stone dead. The car is going nowhere. My only other possible vehicle to use was my works Essex Water Company van - a rather soiled shitty Ford Escort. Not really the image I was hoping to portray, but it would have to do. So I drive over to Brentwood where she lived, windows open the whole way hoping the smell of water company tools, fags and sweat would not be too overpowering when my little darling climbs in. The road she lived in had speed humps all the way down it, which I wasn't aware of, and as I turned into it I went over the first one a bit too fast and there was an alarming metallic crunching noise from under the van and the exhaust started growling like Tom Waits with a chest infection. The roaring van arrives at her front door. I knock and she appears. A vision of total loveliness. My heart genuinely skipped a beat and I mumbled something like "youlookgorgeousyouarebeautiful" etc etc. Her smile was dazzling, but it receded somewhat when she saw her carriage for the evening - a shitty mud caked Essex Water Company van. I apologised and explained about my car. She seemed OK. So off we went. I drove over the first speed bump and the entire exhaust system dropped off the undercarriage of my van. I stopped and apologised. I climbed out and ran back behind the van to pick up the mangled wreckage and threw it in the back of the van, my hands now covered in black filth. Her smile had gone, and in her hands were a big bundle of grot mags. And not just Razzle or Escort, but the sort of grot mags you need to order under a plain brown cover. Total and utter filth. Mostly nothing to do with me. One of my co-workers of the name Nigel was a complete pornoholic and collected this sort of scuff on a monumental level. I had no idea he had left some in my van which he sometimes used, and in the glove compartment as well, which Jenny had innocently opened while waiting for me to retrieve the exhaust system. I made some sort of bleating claims of innocence and threw the filth in the back of the van, but the gleaming smile had gone and she looked like she did not believe me at all. I re-started the van, but the deafening roar of the now completely fucked exhaust system was enough to induce nose bleeds, so Jenny kindly offered to drive us in her car. As I helped her into her car I managed to get a big black smudgy hand print on her pristine white top. I had booked a table at what had once been a very nice Italian restaurant in Chelmsford. When we got there it was clear things had changed. It was shit. The music was deafening and of the Italian brand of electro pop where everyone seems to go "Bingi-bangi-bongi!" a lot. The waitress had horrendous BO and kept leaning over both of us, letting us enjoy her aroma to it's full extent. The food was shit and the whole place was populated by gurning teenage fuckwits eating pizza and shouting at each other. We drove back to Jenny's house in stony silence. She did invite me in for a coffee, and then proceeded to sit and talk to me, like I was a five year old, explaining how sometimes you can like someone, but you can only ever be friends. Understand? Hmmmm? Friends? Almost like a social worker explaining housing benefit to a client not playing with a full deck.

I drove back to my place with an exhaust system that sounded like 15 Concordes all taking off at the same time and my heart sinking to the soles of my boots. To cap a fine evening off I got stopped by the Police on the way home due to the loud roaring sound of my fucked exhaust. I was surprised to find when I got home that my house hadn't been hit by an asteroid.
(Sun 7th Sep 2014, 16:50, More)

» Job Interview Disasters

Saying completely the wrong thing
Many years ago, when still living in lovely sunny Essex, I somehow managed to wangle an interview with the Essex County Council Tourism Department - I didn't believe at first they had one. I was sat down in a small office with three very officious and humourless people. Their first question was: "How would you improve Essex's image to potential tourists?" My answer: "I'd drop an atom bomb on Basildon." Here endeth the interview.
(Thu 21st Nov 2013, 16:29, More)

» Street Life

Staying at my ex-wife's place in sunny Basildon. Big party going on next door, inevitably kicks off into a "you fackin' cunt!" and "I'll kill yer!" punch up twixt both men and women. I watched for a bit out of the upstairs window which was quite exciting, but best of all when two of the protagonists decided to go toe to toe on my ex's front door step! I went down stairs and watched through the spy hole! Mere inches from the action and safe! Marvellous.
(Sun 12th Jul 2015, 14:12, More)

» Self-Inflicted injuries

So much self inflicted pain...
I once went to Chatham in Kent. I suffered. I STILL suffer. It was ghastly...
(Thu 5th Dec 2013, 0:18, More)