After my drunken weekend shenanigans, I decided to tell my mates at work about the Throwing Up In A Garbage Bin incident, but to modify it slightly. I decided I’d make it sound like I was genuinely sick, and that I was sick at Central train station instead of in the city itself.

Big Mo: Are you okay now?
Me: Yeah, I was really sick yesterday though.
McCraig: Why, what happened?
Me: Well, I tried to come to work, but I threw up at Central station. In public, and everything.
Vanessa Undresser: So what did you do?
Me: Luckily, I ran over to a garbage bin, so it was okay.
Big Mo: (sceptical) Hang on. I thought they removed all the garbage bins from Central station, for the Olympics; so nobody could put bombs in them.
Me: Uh… that’s right. Which is exactly what I realised when I saw there was no garbage bins, and threw all over the train platform instead.

I hate digging myself into holes like that.

*****

I’m sure I’ve mentioned the concept of Work Phone Voice before. It amuses me that even the roughest sounding people talk all high and sweet when they’re on the phone at work. Torana seems to think my Work Phone Voice sounds like a DJ announcer; but McCraig in particular has a rather high-pitched voice when it comes to discussions on the telephone.

Me: I love the way your voice goes all high like that.
McCraig: What what?
Me: Your voice goes all high when you answer the phone.
Vanessa Undresser: It’s the shampoo he’s using.
Me: I thought so.
McCraig: You can’t talk, Vanessa. Your voice goes all droopy.
Vanessa Undresser: DROOPY?!
Me: I dunno what shampoo you’re using, Vanessa; but it won’t get you into the Olympics.

We’re currently experiencing small nightmare after small nightmare at work, as our gigantic database keeps crashing. We’re now calling the database ‘The Concorde’, and constantly ask each other if we’d like any in-flight snacks.

Vanessa Undresser, database whiz that she is, told us about a back end to the database that was supposed to be secret. We can do our work by using the database’s back end, but things take a little more time.

Me: It’s so slow doing things this way.
Vanessa Undresser: Yes, but at least we can do our work in the first place.
McCraig: True. How did you find the database back end, Vanessa?
Vanessa Undresser: Oh, I’ve always known the back end. The back end is all I’ve known most of my adult life.
McCraig and myself: (burst into laughter)

*****

I came up with this idea at work which seemed really obvious to me, and suggested it to my manager. Obviously I’m not going to go into too much detail as to what my idea was, but I’m really pleased - all the managers really liked it and they’ve now implemented my idea on a large-scale level. That makes me really pleased. I’ve never achieved something that large in any job before. I had another idea late last week which wasn’t as spectacular as my first earth-shattering idea, but it’s made things easier for the people I work with. The manager of operations had a quick meeting with me to congratulate me and said I seemed to pick things up really quickly, and that I was definitely in the right company.

Nobody’s ever complimented me on doing a good job before, so this was really cool. The manager also told me that I had good ‘lateral thinking skills’.

What? Lateral thinking definitely doesn’t sound like something I’m capable of. I haven’t quite mastered vanilla thinking, let alone lateral thinking.

*****

I saw this ad on TV last night:

Gruff announcer: Would you like a drug that challenges you? Would you like a drug that pays you to learn? We have some of the most exciting drugs available. Make new friends. Take responsibility. Take an Australian Armed Forces drug today - it’s not an everyday drug.

I realised, in my half-asleep stupor, that he wasn’t actually talking about drugs, he was talking about JOBS.

*****

I was drinking Fanta last week and couldn’t figure out why it tasted so weird. I later realised it was because it didn’t have any vodka in it. That’s really bad, isn’t it?

I started whinging to Adam on the weekend that I really wanted some vodka.

Me: I want vodka so bad.
Adam: We’ve got a big bottle of Beam you can drink.
Me: No, I’m craving vodka. I always crave vodka on hot days.
Adam: Idiot. Just drink bourbon.
Me: I’m not an idiot. Why, some people claim I have fantastic lateral thinking skills.
Adam: If you really did have lateral thinking skills, you’d be growing your own potatoes right now to make your own vodka.

When Adam went to his bouncing job on Saturday night, he left his mobile phone behind with me and my vodka. Some dickhead who was appearing on the mobile display as ‘Gorman’ kept ringing every five minutes. He was pissing me off so much that I eventually answered the phone.

Me: Adam’s phone. Hello.
Gorman: Who?
Me: AH - DUM’S PHONE.
Gorman: Where’s Adam?
Me: Adam is at work.
Gorman: Is he?
Me: Who are you?
Gorman: Where is he?
Me: You’re Gorman, aren’t you?
Gorman: Yes. Where’s Adam?
Me: He’s at work.
Gorman: When did he go?
Me: Earlier. About an hour ago.
Gorman: How come his phone kept ringing before?
Me: I picked it up because you kept calling. It was shitting me.
Gorman: So where is he?
Me: AT WORK.
Gorman: How did he get there?
Me: The train.
Gorman: Now hang on. His train line is down. There was a derailment there yesterday.
Me: I know.
Gorman: So he didn’t catch the train then, eh?
Me: The trains are going to the city via a different train line.
Gorman: Hmm.
Me: He’s at the pub. Working.
Gorman: Who are you?
Me: Jeb.
Gorman: Hmm.
Me: Okay. Well… I’m going.
Gorman: Hmmm.

It later eventuated that Gorman was actually Leather Pants Man, which was probably why he sounded so jumpy.

I drank far too much vodka that night. I was sitting at home without a shirt on, which is perfectly acceptable in weather as humid such as which Sydney experienced on the weekend. However, it was probably a bad move to drunkenly forget to put a t-shirt on when I ran up to the petrol station at 3am for more Fanta. Even worse, dear old Ethel was doing the graveyard shift - Ethel is a harmless old lady who has probably inhaled too many petrol fumes for her own good.

I realised when I was paying for the Fanta that I didn’t have a shirt on. Because I was drunk, all I could think to say was:

Me: Oh, shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry. (drunkenly not realising that I hadn’t said what I was sorry for)
Ethel: That’s alright, dear. (looks up and down at me) I think we’re both sorry.

Adam later arrived home and asked me sincerely if I was an alien. I’m still not sure what that was all about.

*****

There’s a particular park bench in a particular park where I like to eat my lunch, but other people have been occupying my park bench on my last two lunch breaks.

On Monday, I was innocently munching away on my lunch when a Homeless Bum Man sat down next to me. He wasn’t technically doing anything wrong - well, not until he put his feet up against my legs, anyway. I think that was a hint he was trying to sleep.

Today was worse. I was reading a copy of Rolling Stone while I was eating my lunch, and a man sat down next to me and started playing a strange instrument that sounded like a really high-pitched oboe. I’d never seen it before. The oboe itself appeared to be beyond his control - it was darting around everywhere, trying to look around like a curious child. He started directing it up to my ear, and I was convinced I was sitting next to a bona fide loony. Perhaps it was the Rolling Stone I was reading that made him think I was interested in his music.

He then abruptly stopped, and asked me in a voice not too dissimilar to that of Ian ‘Consuming Passions’ Parmenter (”…and now let’s add more ALCOHOL to this salad! Mmm, I better taste that! Nope, MORE ALCOHOL!”) if I would like to play his instrument myself.

Me: No thanks.
Oboe man: It’s quite easy.
Me: Yes, but no thanks.
Oboe man: Do you play any instruments?
Me: No. Oh, well, I sort of learnt piano for a year in high school.
Oboe man: Really?
Me: Yep. Except I told everyone I was learning keyboard instead of piano, because it didn’t sound quite so soft.
Oboe man: Have you ever played anything else?
Me: Ummm… I learnt the recorder in grade three.
Oboe man: A PAH-FECT introduction to THIS instrument!

He was getting quite genuine about the whole thing, and I worried he was going to suddenly pull a knife on me when I was least expecting it (well, he was insane), and quickly excused myself.

See, I really like my park bench, but these strange people keep bugging me.

*****

When I Was A Kid, My Parents Wouldn’t Let Me…

* Go to scouts. This was THE thing to do after school when everyone was in primary school. My dad always starkly refused, not budging from his standpoint that ‘my son won’t be poofing around in those stupid clothes’.
* Stay over at a friend’s house for the night. My mother distrusted the parenting abilities of all my friends’ parents to the point where it was embarassing. Especially when I wasn’t even allowed to go around to the house of my friend who was only living with his mum.
* Watch cartoons in the morning. I have no idea why, but no matter how hard myself and my sisters begged, we weren’t allowed to watch Cartoon Connection before school. In the end, my mother relented slightly and allowed viewing on Friday mornings only, but this was pointless, because all the cartoons on Friday were crap.
* Play with plastic bags when we got home from the supermarket. Although I suspect this rule was universal amongst many parent-child relationships. I used to get so frustrated about not being able to play with the plastic bags that I used to throw the cans of tinned fruit my mum would buy at my little sister’s head. This quite also possibly explains my current relationship with her.

*****

I’ve only ever thrown canned fruit at one other person’s head, and that was at a guy named Brick when I went to uni. His pain threshold was quite legendary around the student residence I lived in, and used to drink himself silly and then invite people to throw things at him. I once heard from someone that he had a pet hate of being called a ‘jock’, which I thought was strange because nobody in Australia really calls anyone a jock. Still, I tested it out on him one day:

Me: I heard you don’t like being called a jock.
Brick: That’s because I’m fucking not a jock.
Me: You act like one.
Brick: I’m just fucking good at sport.
Me: Ahh.
Brick: And I pick up lots of women.
Me: Of course. But you’re not a jock?
Brick: Not a jock.

*****

Conversation a man was having on his mobile phone on the train this evening:

Man: Yes, I can’t do that tonight. I have to go and see my daughter’s school choir perform. (pause) Well, it’s kind of strange. They sound… hmm. I don’t know how to describe it. (long pause) Did you ever hear the singer from The Bangles?

*****

My new favourite breakfast-on-the-run is ham and cheese croissants. They’re yummy. The only problem is, because I eat them on the way to work, it’s a bit of a two-hand deal. I need one hand to carry the bag, and the other to hold a croissant (I buy two at once). I’m also usually wearing my headphones when I purchase them, and then decide to take the headphones off to eat the croissants.

I usually attempt to hold my bag open, take off my headphones, untangle the cord to my walkman, hold the croissant bag in one hand while balancing a croissant in the other - all while walking at high speed on my way to work. This can often nearly result in me dropping something, or in the case of last Friday, rubbing cheese all over my headphones. Cheesy headphones are tasty, but in the long run - bad.

When I arrived at work, the first call I got was a wrong number, but it was the bravest wrong number I’ve ever recieved.

Me: Hello, how can I help you?
Cranky guy: Yeah, is this Vodaphone?
Me: No, you’ve got a wrong number.
Cranky guy: I locked myself out of my phone, I typed in the wrong PIN code.
Me: Well, you’ll need to call Vodaphone.
Cranky guy: Isn’t this Vodaphone?
Me: No. Sorry.
Cranky guy: Oh.
Me: Um… yes.
Cranky guy: So, like, do you have any jobs going there?
Me: What?
Cranky guy: Have you got any jobs going there?
Me: In what field would you be looking at?
Cranky guy: Ah, I dunno, just a job, you know, eh?
Me: Hmm. Well, here’s our recruitment email address (reads out address)
Cranky guy: What the hell was that?
Me: Our email address.
Cranky guy: I don’t bloody have email!
Me: Well… er…
Cranky guy: Fuck ya! (hangs up)

He really ruined it by hanging up. I almost thought he wanted a job so badly he probably would have gotten one. Trying to get a job from a wrong phone number… I don’t think I’ve seen braver evidence from someone attempting to forge a career than when Gina G brought out her second album.

*****

We had a production meeting last week to discuss our new product - more specifically, the fact that it needs a name. For some reason, my brain thought it would be really funny if I voiced up and suggested that we call it ‘Armpit’… so I did.

Me: Hey, why don’t we call the product… (dramatic pause)… ARMPIT! (waits for laughter)
Everyone: (nervous looks at each other)

I could see from the look on the operation manager’s face that any lateral thinking cred I may have once had was quickly shattered by the Armpit suggestion.

*****

I stood up from my desk today and began to walk towards the toilets.

McCraig: Ah, are you going to the cafeteria? Could you get me a drink?
Me: Nah.
McCraig: You’re not going to the cafeteria?
Me: (points towards toilets) No. In fact, I’m going to the exact opposite of the cafeteria.

*****

I saw a delivery truck outside our local bakery delivering pies. I noticed the brand of pie is Betabake Pies, which I find quite apt: the bakery’s pies are always half-cooked, so they are quite literally in the beta stage of being cooked.

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