The Shampoo Incident

I had only been in the bath for a few minutes before my wife came into the bathroom. Your hair looks lovely, I said. Thanks, she said, I'm trying out a new shampoo.

You can't use it, she said, in a subtle yet firm manner. There was no hint of asperity, but a wiser man would have obeyed. You can keep using that one, she said, with a lipsticky urbanity, pointing at the industrial-strength unbranded tub sitting on the shelf. The kind of shampoo that would strip the hair right off a camel's back.

Yeah yeah, I found myself thinking. It wasn't a deliberate dismissal, more of a knee-jerk reaction from deep within my sub-conscious. I didn't even feel as though I was being disobedient. There may have been a tinge of guilt within my soul, but I felt strangely confident in my own savoir-faire. In retrospect this is worrying.

The moment she left the bathroom I reached for her shampoo. I spent a few minutes goggling at it, like an ostrich at a brass door knob^*, or a penguin at a piece of cheesecake^**, then I slapped it on my head (the shampoo, not the cheesecake).

I still don't know why I did it. I've always been fascinated by shampoo. A constant barrage of shampoo commercials has burned into my skull the misguided belief that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching me^*** the answer lies in shampoo.

I also love newness, like when you open a new bottle of shampoo or bar of soap, or try on a new pair of socks. I dare you to find me one person in this world who does not LOVE putting on new socks.

Later in the day I again commended my wife's hair. It's the new shampoo, she said. The one you're not allowed to use. Foolishly I confessed to her there and then. I don't imagine letting loose a wholehearted guffaw of youthful mischievousness helped the situation.

I can't believe you used my shampoo, she exclaimed. You have a grade 2^****, you don't even need to use shampoo!

What could I say? I couldn't defend myself against her logic, so I just shuffled away and made myself a cup of tea.

^{* I stole this analogy from Wodehouse.
** I made this one up, funny isn't it?
*** I couldn't resist chucking this one in, comes from a Gary Larson panel.
**** I'm a shaven-headed thug.}

James Bond's Alpha Romeo

The two women were wasting my time. I've always felt very protective of my time, I don't have much of it, and I have no allowance in my schedule for that kind of tomfoolery. Or any kind of tomfoolery.

When I write, it is pretty much always in my lunch break. My precious, inestimable, invaluable hour-long slot that rapidly disappears as imbeciles steal my time from right under my nose, twisting it, beating it and flushing down the toilet.

I'm an off-the-cuff writer (like most of my friends here), meaning my endless, mindless, brainless drivel just splurges out in one hit, and then lunch is over, so I post it. Not that I'm particularly proud of that, as the resulting flood of grammatical errors is enough to make a grown man cry.

Note, I use the word "writer" loosely here. When I say writer, in my head I just hear "blah blah kerfuffle blah".

So in order to make the most of my hour, I shoot straight out of work and straight to the same old same old pub, which has cheap coffee, cheap beer, free wifi and (best of all) hardly any customers.

So today that was where I headed, ready to utilize my hour with the sort of efficiency that makes me a good programmer, but destines me to be a bad listener (I try, I really do).

Bringing about my demise, two women single-handedly (or quad-handedly?!) whittled away at my hour as they dithered, faffed and fuddled their order. In the time they took to klutze their way through the simple task of buying two burgers and two drinks I could have carved an Alfa Romeo GTV6 out of a single tree trunk using nothing but nail-clippers and a teaspoon. For the sake of flippancy and continuing the recent hamster theme, I could also have carved an entire colony of hamster joy-riders. Fully seat-belted in.

For the sake of expediency, and for the sake of my diminished lunch break, here's a quick questionnaire for you.

Q) Did the two women have any idea what they wanted to eat or drink before they attempted to order?

Q) Did the two women state they were paying together using a two-for-one deal before they ordered, or did they wait until after the order had been put through the till? Or did they try to pay cash, before discovering that they did not have the correct change? Or did they try to pay separately by card, but discover that individually their costs were below the "minimum card limit"? Or did they somehow, with mindbogglingly imbecility, manage to combine the above three options into one huge mammoth-sized fuddle?