Twenty Five Year Old Blonde Bomb-Shell

I started my work-shift and wandered out onto the shop floor when one of my work friends, we'll call him Mark, ( Who I had previously found it safe to assume was gay - for a multitude of reasons) comes over and says "Sam's looking for you".
"Who's Sam?" i ask, still not knowing a lot of people by name.
"One of the managers"
"What's he look like?"
"Hot."
"Oh?"
"Twenty five year old blonde bomb-shell".
"Oh."
"I think i last saw 'em in the warehouse". He starts to walk away and i follow him. We go up to the lower-warehouse. "Over there". he points to an attractive mid twenties abecrombie looking guy, talking to two women. The women walk away and i go over to him.
"Mark sent me. You were looking for me?" He looks at me puzzled.
"Erm. No?"
"Oh. Sorry" i walk away back to find Mark.
"Did you find Sam?"
"Yeah, wasn't looking for me".
"What? I've just spoke to 'em. I'll give 'em a ring". He picked up the phone in the warehouse and punched in three digits. "i've got Calum with me. He just spoke to you... oh... okay... thanks Sam" he puts the phone down. "Still looking for you mate. Go back down to the shop-floor". So I do, where i find an old lady sprawled out at the end of one of the aisles. Boxes fallen on top of her. One of the managers grabs a box of biscuits from the shelf, tears them open and offers them to the woman with haste. "Calum. Get this woman a chair" she shouts to me. I find a chair around the corner and rush it over. "Have you seen Sam?" i ask giving her the chair.
"I'm Sam".
"No, no" i reply. "He's a blonde lad. Mark described him as a twenty five year old blonde bomb-shell".
"Oh did he now?" she smirks. "I'm the only Sam that works here." I look down at her badge. 'Samantha'. I look at her hair - blonde, I guess her age - twenty five. Uh oh. She shouts Mark over, and embarasses the both of us.
"Oops" i say afterwards. Mark doesn't look amused. That'll teach me to make assumptions.
Time to tune up my gay-dar.

Like Happy Little Soldiers

I was happily at work, tidying up the food and alcohol gift section when my manager asked me to go work in the hair product section. I knew that was where the arseholes worked. I went over though like she asked; as its my job, and began tidying up various hair products. Satisfied with the row i had done i went to collect some more stock from upstairs. On my return i hear the manager shouting at another employee for standing around talking all day. "Now go tidy up that Elvive section. It's a shambles" i hear her shout. I look at the Elvive section i had just tidied seconds before, it looked fine to me. The boy she shouted at carried on talking to his friend so i went about perfecting the section. The manager walks around a few minutes later while im working on another shelf. "Calum could you just tidy up the Elvive for me?" she asked nicely. "Yeah sure". i reply politely, trying to hide the confusement that must have already been splayed across my face. "Like happy little soldiers" she says twisting some bottles on the end of the row and walking away. "Right". I twist all the bottles, facing forwards. Each one's label facing precicsely to the front. At exactly the right angle. I'm pleased with my work and again move across to another shelf. The manager comes back again a few minutes later. Now she starts to get snappy. "Calum! I told you to tidy up that Elvive section!". I look at it with confusement.
"Sorry" i reply, as i don't know what else to say. "I'll do it now".
"I'll be back in five minutes and it better be done" she scowls at me. I go back to the Elvive section and start picking up the bottles of shampoo, trying to arrange them in an impossible picturesque manner. I dust the shelves with my shirt sleeve and hide any of the unsightly bottles at the back; the ones that had been tested, and the ones that were covered in dust. She comes back again. She still isn't happy. "Are you purposefully ignoring me?!" i hear her whisper bitterly over my shoulder. I turn around to face her, bewildered at her comments, still holding two bottles of Elvive. "Now go do the Elvive section!".
"But I am" i say in forfeit, holding up the two bottles.
"Oh! Not Elvive. I meant Head&Shoulders. Silly me!". She points to the other side of the aisle. Where the Head&Shoulders products are all over the floor. "Sorry" she says with a smile and dithers off to confuse more employees.

The Curious Incident of the Vomit in the Night Time.

So, I'm tucked up in bed happily, dreaming dreams of chocolate cake and ice skating, and all those other pesky happy thoughts that sneak into my head, when i'm awoken by the stench of heavily cider'd breath. It is the boyfriend coming home, he slinks into bed, after a night of heavy drinking, and soon after starts snoring. I can't get back to sleep. Wearing nothing but a pair of ripped track-suit bottoms, I get out of bed and venture upstairs to get myself a glass of whatever's in the fridge. On my return to bed, i find him not only being sick but still snoring too, eyes fastened shut. Fast asleep. He starts to choke, panicking, for his safety and the safety of the already vomit covered matress I pick him up in my arms and carry him up the stairs to the bathroom, him drenching my upper half in cider and stomache acid as we go. I put him down by the toilet, where he wakes up and continues to be sick. I make sure he is okay and do what my instict tells me to - wake up mother. I ring her, she answers on the second ring.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Fine" i explain the situation, and after she helpfully suggests a list of things to clean the matress with, things i unfortunately do not own, i put the phone down and go to find the next best thing. The only three things i can find; Coconut and Vanilla shampoo, a roll of toilet paper and a dish scourer. Lovely. I check on The Mister, put him in the bath and flick the shower on to get him clean, then go to try and salvage the matress. Before i'm nearly half done i hear him collapsing upstairs. I run up and find him half in, half out of the bath. I dry him, dress him in his warmest clothes, and put him on the couch. Blanket, duvet, sick bucket (aka empty tin of quality street). Done. I finish cleaning the matress and go lie on the floor next to the couch. I try to get to sleep again, and just as i am dozing off, i hear him coughing violently. I sit up. Choking again. I pat his back, and look confused. (i'm no paramedic). I think back to a theatre company who visited us in school all those years ago, and remember being told what to do when somebody drunk and vomiting is choking. Lie them on there side, arm over their shoulder, check their air-ways, and retrieve any pieces of vomit with fingers. Joy! Once he's settled again, i wash my hands and sit beside him till morning, making sure he doesn't choke. 7:30. No sleep, lecture at 9. I start making myself some toast when he awakes.
"Why are you being so loud? I'm trying to sleep!" he shouts peering over the top of the sofa. I look at him with tired angry eyes, grit my teeth, say nothing and continue to butter my toast.

Holidays Are Coming

Holidays are coming, Holidays are coming, Holidays are coming...

So, the winter season is upon us already, the Coca-Cola advert is on the tele', the Christmas lights have been switched on, the kiddies have decided what they want from Santa, and no doubt our Grandmas are all searching out those gifts they bought for us way back when.

What better a time for starting a blog?