Nutbunies and purple cows.

I’ve received a few complaints about my joke referring to Americans. I have to say I am shocked. Anyway, I feel I should clarify, I am not racist, sexist, classist, countryist or any other kind of ist that might be going around…apart from maybe shoeist, but we’ll get to that later. I don’t care if you’re a welsh, bi-sexual, green haired, transgender, single father anymore than you care if I had Crunchy Nut Corn flakes or Frosties for my breakfast, just make sure you have good shoes. Seriously though, as long as you have a brain that you vaguely know how to use and you are slightly more interesting than cold lentil soup, I’ll talk to you, possibly even be your friend. I should mention though that friendship status isn’t usually achieved until you’ve proven more interesting than a nice bowl of gazpacho.

No, I do not have an obsession with soup or any other appetiser for that matter.

One redeeming factor of my job is that I know about up and coming products that are about to reach our shelves. I knew about, and had time to be disgusted by, Vanilla Monster Munch long before they hit the innocent shelves of London. They were a big mistake and I’m sure Britain will never be the same after the trauma. No sooner had they desecrated our shelves but another ‘new products for kids’ decided to give it a go, too. Freakee Soda, both fizzy and smooth. I was aware of this items existence long before I gave in and sampled it (I still haven’t sampled VMM, and don’t plan to). Let me tell you, the adverts for it were less of a mistake than its taste and that’s saying something. Believe me.
After taking all this in to consideration I came to the conclusion, I should find other work. Preferably something where I have more company than my notebook, and myself oh, and the occasional customer. I do try and lure people in to buy things but there’s only so much sexy dancing a girl can do.

You can always tell where I’ve been, I leave a trail of diet coke cans and/or bottles behind me, empty ones of course. If you’re not sure if it’s me however, as it could merely be a faulty recycle truck, just look out for crumbs, the kind from cookies and/or bread rolls.
*looks around the shop floor. Sees it’s covered with enough crumbs for someone to happily think they are at the beach (a sandy one, duh)*
*builds a crumb castle behind a fort made from diet coke cans*

In England, or at least the London area, over the past few years there seems to have been a bombardment of take-a-way pizza and fried chicken restaurants that have opened up, some only three feet from each other. Most of these restaurants profess to sell “USA Fried Chicken”, which, personally, I find slightly disturbing. Any chicken that was fried in the USA should probably stay there. It should not be transported over to England, reheated and then kept in those metal heater counters (no, I do not know the technical name for them) for days on end. It might just be me but it doesn’t sound appetising in the least. Maybe if I had eaten for days…and there was nothing else to eat anywhere. USA style fried chicken sounds much more appealing.
Just so you know, I have nothing against the USA, just the people in it. *holds up her hands in defence* Joking, dude, I was joking. Just put the gun down…please?

At work yesterday, I was reading one of the aforementioned take-a-way restaurants’ delivery menus. Yes – that is how low I have to stoop to be entertained at my job. On the back of the menu it had a selection of fried chicken delights (for ‘delights’ read ‘meals’):-

ULTIMATE CHICKEN MEALS
Meal 1
portion of
BBQ Pork Ribs,
1 Regular Fries
& a Can of Drink

…don’t ask me where the chicken is exactly, or about the dodgy capitalisation. Your guess is as good as mine.

At what age is it no longer acceptable to allow a child to travel around in a pushchair? Three, four maybe. Whatever age it is I’m sure it’s long before eight.


Shop scene(at approximately 10:37am GMT)


Girl, (that’s me!) sitting behind the shop counter, looking bored enough to peel the skin off of her won arm, painful but can be done. Sees a potential customer lurking around outside. Girl puts on a friendly smile and lures them in to her lair of doom!…err in to the shop. Thirty minutes later, a woman and her child walk in (yes – the other customer has left by this time). The woman tells her son to choose a sweet as she is walking up to the counter. Uncomfortable silence ensues whilst her son is picking something. “He’s quite lively, how old is he?” I ask, using my most polite and non-threatening voice possible, so the woman didn’t think I was going to try and steal her child, as so many mothers seem to think I will. Fools.
“Oh, he’s eight almost nine, *insert boring babble about her son*,” she replies. So, he chooses a sweet, and runs about the shop a bit while his mother pays. They walk out and I over hear her talk to her eight, almost nine, year old son. “Don’t open it now. You can eat it in the pram.”
Girl is shocked.

He said I was beautiful. I said he didn't know me well enough to make such accusations. He frowned at my use of the word 'accusations' and told me I was the 'most interesting and appealing girl' he'd ever met. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

“This time I’ll cut you some slack.”

I don’t know what ‘slack’ is and I really don’t know why you’d want someone to cut it for you.

Courtesy of dictionary.com:-

slack1 P Pronunciation Key (slk)
adj. slack·er, slack·est
1. Moving slowly; sluggish: a slack pace.
2. Lacking in activity; not busy: a slack season for the travel business.
3. Not tense or taut; loose: a slack rope; slack muscles. See Synonyms at loose.
4. Lacking firmness; flaccid: a slack grip.
5. Lacking in diligence or due care or concern; negligent: a slack worker. See Synonyms at negligent.
6. Flowing or blowing with little speed: a slack current; slack winds.
7. Linguistics. Pronounced with the muscles of the tongue and jaw relatively relaxed; lax.

…and it still makes no sense to me. Ok, ok, so, I do understand it, I just also happen to think it’s a stupid saying, like most other sayings in fact.

Nutbunies and purple cows do not mix. Last time they were put in to a room alone together there was blood, fur, faeces, grass, leaves and feathers (don't ask - but I think there was some kind of sacrifice) all over the walls, floor and door. It was an experiment that shall not be repeated. This is due to the clean up expense, oh, and the fact that, as we all know, nutbunies and purple cows are both very rare creatures. However, when given their own personal space both species offer various features that common man have come to know and rely upon, like inflammable waste products.