You Need To Get Out More

There are a few quite people at work who I’ve said nothing more than a passing hello to. And one guy who doesn’t even give that. He doesn’t say a word to anyone. It’s a bit off-putting. Potential serial killer off-putting.
Over the last few months I’ve managed to get more than just a hello from one quiet colleague.
Before I ever talked to him all I really new about him was that he owns a tortoise and likes to get breakfast at MacDonald’s. But since I’ve occasionally been working next to him I’ve managed to get some more information from him.

He’s forty seven and has lived in the same house all his life. His brother is fifty and he’s never moved out either. They don’t really speak to eat other, only a passing hello and that’s it. Not even at Christmas as he said it’s just a normal day in the house. Might get a turkey but that’s about it.
“He’s a piss head, he can’t be bothered to go upstairs to the toilet if he’s drunk late at night so he opens up the back door and goes out there. And if it’s cold outside then sometimes he will piss in the kitchen sink,” he told me.

He’s never been aboard and has never even owned a passport. The furthest he’s been from home is a few days in a Yarmouth caravan park when he was a kid.

It really doesn’t seem to bother him that he doesn’t do much with his life. I imagine that he doesn’t have good days or bad days. He just has days.
Today I asked him what he will be up to over the weekend.
“Get a takeaway, go to Sainsbury’s, give the tortoise a run around in the back garden, maybe take the car for a little drive around so it keeps ticking over. That’s about it really.”
“So you never go to the pub for a few beers?”
“Oh no, I might have a can of Guinness at home but that’s it.”
So seeing that he’s never out drinking I ask him if he’s ever, and I repeated ever in his whole life been out past midnight. I wasn’t surprised when he said no.
“Not even on something like new years eve?” I ask him.
“No, it gets too rowdy doesn’t it. It’s just another night to me.”
I couldn’t help but dig deeper, to get to know more of the things that he doesn’t do, and when I ask him the last time he went on the tube to the centre of London or around there he tells me it was 1980. He lives in a London post code close to the Essex border by the way.
“I guess it’s changed a lot since then. I wouldn’t go on the tube now, not with all the bombs and terrorists,” he adds.
“What were you doing up there?”
“It was a training induction thing for this job. Did a few days in Mount Pleasant and then a few days in Kings Cross. Someone told me that there were lots of prostitutes in Kings Cross and they were right. I walked past one and she asked me if I wanted a good time. I said no thanks I’m going to get a Wimpy.”

Too Much Information

Everyone on facebook has ‘friends’ on there who are nothing of the sort. I have people I went to school with and have never seen since or would never care to see again. And a few friends of a friend who I met at a party once. In fact I would probably cross the road if I saw them coming my way so I don’t feel like I have to stop and say hello and ask how they are and they say good and they ask how I am and I say yeah I’m good. Then stand there having nothing to say, and as I don’t care what they have to say we say ‘well see you later then.’

None of my real friends play Farmville or Mafia Wars or Pet whatever it‘s fucking called.
None of my real friends give a mundane running commentary on their life with update’s every couple of hours.
None of my real friends constantly tell everyone what their kid is doing. ‘My little man went to the toilet all by himself!!! I am so proud of him.'
None of my real friends take pictures of the dinner they just cooked and post it up.
None of my real friends status updates are crap poetry that they’ve just written.
None of my real friends take a camera with them every fucking time that they go anywhere and put them up on face book the next day. It’s like it didn’t happen if their isn’t any photographic evidence. They are tagged in about two thousand pictures. Think I’m tagged in about thirty five.
None of my real friends just constantly moan in their status updates. Maybe there’re just looking for sympathy. Well sorry but you won’t find it hear. No, but it does make me laugh. One girl especially. She constantly updates, and the updates are a running commentary on her life combined with whinging.
I know so much about her yet I’ve only met her a handful of times. She gives away way too much information. Like saying she’s had enough of the pills that the doctor is prescribing her and she thinks it’s time for some professional help. Too much information. You don’t constantly have to be an open book.
Another update was a rant about how much she hates her job and her colleagues. Then at the end she adds that she also has the worst period ever. Too much information.
I could delete her as a friend but I read all her updates and all the comments because they crack me up. She is totally devoid of humour but she’s unintentionally making me laugh.

Right, I’m hungry think I’m going to make a cheese and marmite sandwich, but first I need to find my camera.

Shit Ghanaian Bloke At Work Says

There’s a popular fan page on facebook called, Shit My Dad Says. It’s quotes what this bloke’s dad says. (didn’t really need to explain that but you know)

I was thinking that maybe I should start a page called, Shit That The Ghanaian Bloke At Work Says. I won't but I thought about it for two seconds.
He’s a very friendly guy about fifty who looks like Errol Brown out of the band Hot Chocolate.
And example from this week, about the couple at work who are expecting a kid:
Him: “Now everybody knows. Everybody knows that he is pregnant.
Me: What do you mean he is pregnant, how can he be pregnant?
Him: Yeah, he and she is pregnant.
Me: No she’s pregnant.
Him: No when a woman is pregnant then the man is pregnant too. He put it in her. You know, it takes two to tangle.
Me: You mean it takes two to tango.
Him: Yeah, it takes to tangle.

He’s very proud that he’s got British citizenship, as he told me while stood to attention with his chest pushed out. “I am British man. I have British passport. I sing to the Queen and I can bend down and she can hit me on each shoulder with her stick.”

After a recent altercation with a manager he comes over to me and says, “He is stupid he talks all jaba jaba jaba all the time. He thinks that he can get away with me because he thinks I am stupid African man. Well I’m not. I am British man.”

He’s lived in London for thirty years but his command of the English language sometimes suggests otherwise. To comic effect.
Him: Why do I always get these letters for E14? E14 The Arse Of Dogs, All The time.
Me: How do you pronounce it, the what of dogs?
Him: The Arse Of Dogs. All the time I get The Arse Of Dogs.
Me: You mean The Isle Of Dogs.
Him: Yeah, The Arse Of Dogs.