Jenks
@TheLostBride
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Artist. Tips: "...quintessentially British awkwardness.." - Danny Robins "I never said you could use that quote" - Danny Robins
Joined January 2009
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I haven't told a story on here for awhile, so let me tell you about the time my old boss, Jim, almost killed us all in a fire.
It's not a funny story, it's long, doesn't really go anywhere, and at some point it just stops.
So anyway, our shop was housed in a very old building.
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Just had a very weird experience in the Post Office. It's not funny or amusing. Just weird. There's no humorous ending or anything like that, it was just...odd.
So anyway, I'm standing in the Post Office, with about 5 parcels to mail, and I've been in there for about 20 mins.
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...with my parcels, I pay, turn & race out of there as fast as I can. I walk past the queue of people, the faces of whom I shall never for the rest of my life forget, & the very last thing I heard before I left was 'I'm sorry love, we don't do passport applications here'
The end.
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While walking down by the river today, I noticed the insects now have a church.
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This is all true. I wouldn't make this up. If I was making stuff up, there'd be explosions and Transformers and shit.
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You ok, babe? You've hardly chucked your Charles and Diana commemorative frisbee.
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And that was just 1 person. I'm there thinking 'Well this is my lunch hour gone'.
Another 5 minutes pass & I'm thinking 'Well this is my life now. I live here. I will live here until the day I die, then my corpse will hopefully but slowly be shuffled forwards towards the counter.
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Then, out of nowhere, I can feel blowing on the back of my neck. Not breathing - BLOWING. I look at our reflection in the window ahead, & yeah, she's deliberately & forcefully blowing onto the back of my neck. I haven't had someone blow on my neck since I was 5 & had bad sunburn.
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@chiller
I'm not saying it's a stupid way to die, but there's something astounding about being so wealthy that you've found a way to die on a ship that already sank over 100 years ago.
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I look around at the people behind me in the queue. They looked as forlorn as I. One looked like he was writing out his last will & testament onto a parcel. Another asked if he could borrow the pen when he'd finished with it. One old guy was punching himself in the pacemaker.
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The rest of the queue is WAY back over there, but there's me at the serving counter, looking like I have a lady-shaped backpack on.
I get my parcels out & start being served.
Every time I move, I feel her behind me. She's THAT close. Of course, I don't complain or say a thing.
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I do nothing. Actually, I look slightly to my right, at the rest of the queue, wondering whether they'd noticed this was a bit weird.
Oh yeah, they'd noticed alright. 7 people, all wide-eyed and mystified, were watching the whole thing. Nobody saying anything. I wondered if...
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The flapping of her passport form starts giving me slight motion sickness, so I shuffle forwards. She shuffles forwards. I shuffle. She shuffles. Then she shuffles again. She's right next to me. We're parallel in the queue! We're joint next! Fuck right off. Suddenly, it's a race.
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'Excuse me, could I just go in front of you? I've only got a passport to do - Thanks!'
' 'Scuse me, can I just go in front? Just a passport - Thanks!'
'Can I? - Thanks!'
I look back, and this lady is slowly but surely working her way through the queue. Like a fucking scythe.
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...I raise my right foot slightly. Just shifting my weight to my left side. Then...I go to put my right foot back down.....and I'm not making this up....I feel something now below my foot. She's put her fucking foot underneath mine.
I say nothing. I adjust my balance, it's fine.
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...they thought this lady and I were together or something? Maybe I suffered with a hot neck, and she (being a caring partner) was helping me? I looked at one guy, and tried to express with my eyes 'If she pulls out a knife, you WILL tell me, yeah?'
She's still blowing.
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I'm not letting her go in front of me. No. I've lost too much of my life already. She's doing very well with the queue-jumping, but I've been in here for about 30 mins already. And my lunch will now consist of whatever I can find on the floor while running back to work. No.
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An incredibly slow race. I'm not letting her get in front of me. And at no.....fucking.....point was any sound or word uttered from either of us. We both know what's going on now. One of us will lose today. We both continue shuffling. We're leaving the rest of the queue behind.
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I'm thinking 'Well, someone will say no at some point, surely?'
But she's getting closer & closer. Ordinarily, when I have parcels, I'd let people go ahead of me. Some days, I spend hours in there, letting others go first, moving my way backwards through the queue. Crying.
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She's stopped blowing.
This is bad.
The staff's just looking at me. I look at the queue. They look back at me. They're no help.
Nobody says a fucking thing.
I shuffle and stand upright again. I do not feel well. I'm convinced she's going to kill me.
The staff finish with...
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She's nearly on me, and I'm practicing in my head, what I'm going to say to her, so I don't look like a bastard.
'I'm sorry, I can't, I have a baby waiting in the car'
No.
'I'm sorry but I'm very sick.'
'I have crippling diarrhea'
Suddenly, she's right behind me.
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My back twinges, so I go to adjust my balance slightly. Suddenly my right foot has room again. She's withdrawn her foot. I can't adjust in time & I slowly start tipping backwards. An inch.
I make contact with her.
SHE'S TAKING MY WEIGHT.
I'm now leaning backwards against her.
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I don't put anymore pressure down, as I don't want to be done for assault. I glance at the queue, to see if they're still with me - yep - they are. All wide-eyed and horrified.
She's still blowing. I think 'Wait! Is she trying to make me wet myself? Can blowing do that?'
Then..
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Every person in front of me is taking FOREVER.
'Can I mail this parcel as a letter?'
'Can I mail this letter as a parcel?'
'Why didn't my son receive the Christmas present I sent him?'
'I think I have a winning scratchcard at home, if I bring it in, can you check it for me?'
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Suddenly, the guy being served is done! HAHAHA! I race forwards and beat her to the counter.
She comes with me.
I think 'Oh fuck, she's going to ask the staff if she can get served first or something'
No. She just stands behind me. Right behind me. An inch behind me.
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I keep looking ahead. No eye contact (which is usual for me). For some reason, she doesn't ask me or speak to me at all. Instead, out of the corner of my eye, I can see her frantically waving her passport form at me. I'm just concentrating on the counter. Eye on the prize.
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The lady serving me has noticed, because I can see she's gone wide-eyed too, but of course she won't say anything, and just keeps serving me.
'Second Class small parcel please'
Now, because I have a longstanding back problem, I can't stand perfectly still for long periods. So..
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My mother used to suffer with travel sickness. It would often come on suddenly and unexpectedly. This one time, we were on a family trip through the Cotswolds when she shouted, "Dave! Dave! Dave! Stop the car! I'm gonna be sick!" to my father.
My dad brought the car to a stop...
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So I'm standing in the Post Office queue, concentrating on keeping the gap between myself and the people in front and behind me at the right distance. The lady serving the customer at the front of the queue asks him 'For safety purposes, can I just ask what's inside the package?'
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After another 5 minutes of me going 'Steady J. You've got everything to live for.', I'm finally 1 away from being served. Not long now, and I'll be free. FREE!
Suddenly from the back, I hear 'Excuse me, could I just go in front of you? I've only got a passport to do - Thanks!'
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Overheard an insane conversation earlier, in the Perranporth Beach public toilets.
If the person on the phone was one of you lot, a follower of mine, then of course I'm wrong, it was a perfectly reasonable conversation and please forgive me.
So, I'd just finished peeing, when..
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Trigger warning: death, family, brassicas.
I might get into family trouble with this, but when my mother died, she had a cabbage on the top of her coffin. I've never known pressure like it, four pallbearers carrying a coffin, while trying to keep a free-rolling ball on top.
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Being an adult is so fucking ridiculous. You have no idea as a kid, just how much fucking work goes into JUST. KEEPING. THINGS. THE. SAME. AND. AS. THEY. ARE. Like fucking making sure there's toilet paper in the house, food, water bills, hovering, painting a fucking hall, etc.
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I spent a good chunk of the evening attempting to clean some of my late parents things out of the shed. That's traumatic innit?
Now I know why I put it off for 12 years.
Maybe I could've been working on that with the therapist, instead of the bloke from the skip hire company?
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@stevebhyve
When I tweet about a "shared experience" involving other people (no, not sex), I'm aware that their version may also have been tweeted. Their side.
Can you imagine though, the blowy lady's side of the story?
'I thought no! I'm not having it! So I started blowing on his neck!'
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@orbyn
(1/loads) I *genuinely* don't believe in ghosts. And if they DID exist, if we could see them, they'd be naked, as clothes don't have souls. And where're all the dinosaur ghosts? Where're the phantom spiders? You go to catch a spider & it scuttles *through* the glass...
However..
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Walking in town, a guy coming towards me put his hand up for a high-five, so (in a hitherto unseen fit of bravery on my part) I STRONGLY high-fived him but it went wrong & we interlocked fingers, long enough to stop both of us walking.
He had been waving at someone behind me.
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I'm sorry if you've heard me tell this story before. Many of you will have seen me tweet it previously. But I just love it for what it is, and I make no apologies for that.
In primary school, when I was about 7, I met this young boy. A new kid in school. I'll call him Ben.
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The vicar came up to me, said what a lovely service it was. Very moving. Then he said, "Could I...do you mind if I ask something?"
"Is it about the cabbage?"
"It IS about the cabbage. How did you know?"
"Let's find a couple of comfy headstones, I have a story about family."
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Yes, vominoes.
The skipper of the boat, in his little bridge, at one point had to put his windscreen wiper on.
After, I apologised and joked whether he would need to hose it down. I can't remember exactly what he said, but there was mention of insurance claims and scuttling.
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Hello to all my new followers. Thank you for reading the Post Office thing. If you feel inclined to have a poke around, you might find some other anecdotes of mine. I'll try not to let you down, but I might. I hope you're all having a lovely day. I'm currently eating a bagel.
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Everything she'd ever eaten came out of her at that moment. Her breakfasts, lunches, dinners, the glimmer of light in her eyes, all of it, splashed onto the front dining patio of that pub.
Then she slammed the door and we sped away.
WHAT WAS THAT LIKE FOR THE FOLK AT THE PUB!
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A drive-by vomiting.
How did they return to their meals and pints?
Some of them had to move their feet when it happened.
A car just sped up, the door opened, a woman just turned herself inside-out, and then the whole thing sped away down the road.
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When we got there, I was already in Summer wear, shorts and t-shirt. My legs now covered in dry sick, my parents just pointed me towards the ocean, while my father got to work ripping out the carpet from the back of the car, like a terrible murder had occurred.
Good times.
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"No, that's where you're wrong. I'm not in the pub. I'm on Perranporth Beach, going to the toilet."
With that, Barry and I parted ways. Like two ships, passing each other somewhere near Perranporth Beach, one of us surely heading for some rocks at some point or other.
End.
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I could never have imagined, as a child, that one day, a sticking curtain rail would drive me fucking mental and up the wall.
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Right, Twitter. Please reply/quote this with a picture of the UGLIEST THING THAT YOU OWN.
Something so vile and awful that you can't get rid of it, because you know you'll never own anything as ghastly ever again.
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@CoquusGrumio
I've clearly lived a sheltered life but they look ace for doing the dishes with.
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I walked past a house earlier and the front lawn had THREE working sonic cat scarers, slices of lemon and oranges scattered ALL OVER the lawn, and amongst it all, right in the middle, a large black & white cat taking a shit in, I suspect, the latest act of an escalating conflict.
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I'll never forget the look of shock on her sister's face. Or how she said, 'Make her do it again.'
They never seemed to see the person she was. Not in life, not in death.
So, when it came to her funeral, because I am *incredibly* petty, she had a cabbage on her coffin.
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As the sick cascading from the bag, like Satan's bagpipes, in 4 different jets of terror, I thought to myself, do I mention this?
Dad seemed tense, mum seemed keen not to have to deal with sick, I guess I should keep this quiet. I'll mention it when we arrive at our destination.
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This reminds me of the time my family hired a boat. The sea was choppy and my baby nephew vomited onto my brother-in-law, who then immediately projectile vomited onto the baby. Then my sister saw this and immediately vomited, then my niece goes 'Oh my god, the smell!' and vomits.
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I AM NOT Googling "sex glove".
And besides, I'm in the library and their computers won't let me.
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Remember hidden tracks on CDs? Pre-internet, before the hivemind told you everything. You'd be sitting there, listening to an album, it'd finish, you'd just leave it, and then a couple of minutes later a song starts playing and you positively shit yourself.
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Do families still do that front room/best room thing? Growing up, the front room in our house was where all the best furniture & ornaments we could afford lived.
While my family spent the majority of our time in the back room, surrounded by garbage like the utter filth we were.
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And no, I never did find out his name. I'd known him for 10 years or so at that point, so it would've been weird to ask him after all that time.
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Today is the 13 year anniversary of my mum's death. Don't worry, you don't have to say anything supportive. It is what it is. It's just so weird when someone dies. It's like they're now permanently fixed in a moment in time. While we all race away from them. Reluctantly onward.
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One of my local Crows decided to try and kill me with a heart attack again, by leaving this at the feeding station.
(please ignore the damp toilet paper that it's sitting on, as I feel it spoils the magic of the moment somewhat)
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This reminds me of when I was trapped halfway up a cliff by the incoming tide. There were some tourists watching me, so I naturally acted like I meant to be up there, stopping to admire the view, every time they looked at me, then, when they looked away, I willed them to fuck off
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My sister was burgled on Xmas Eve. She's not looking for sympathy. She's looking for the burglar so she can cut his tiny cock off.
#JoinIn
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Anyway. Top entertainment from the Post Office queue, as usual. I cannot, simply cannot believe the guy wouldn't just say IT WAS A FUCKING GLOVE!
Well, not a fucking glove, buy you know what I mean.
Jesus Christ.
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Reminded this morning of the time my sister and I were walking down the Birmingham Road late at night.
It was to be my 32nd birthday in about a week and my sister was pestering me, asking what I wanted as a present from her.
On my 31st birthday she'd stolen my microwave oven.
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..right outside this delightful, quaint, picturesque Cotswold pub. The outside packed with tables surrounded by happy folk enjoying their day.
They all turned to see what the screech of brakes was about, in time to see my mother PROJECTILE vomit, for AT LEAST a good 30 seconds.
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I kept that small brass number. The only thing left of a man that I thought was nice. I refused to let him be deleted.
Anyway, long story short, turns out he didn't die. He just moved to live with his sister in Eastbourne, and had asked the council to get rid of all his shit.
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Cafes, please, PLEASE, stop serving cake on a plate but with a napkin or serviette under the fucking cake. That's literally useless.
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And then I thought, maybe it's better not to leave marks? And nothing's truly permanent. Except maybe that Supernatural tv series?
We're all just visitors really. We pop out of nothing, have a look around a bit, buy some tacky shit, then eventually go back where we came from.
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I found out when he came back to visit another relative and I bumped into him in Marks & Spencer's.
I thought he was fucking dead. I had a massive funny turn in the bread section. I thought I was dead and he'd come to get me.
Anyway.
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The next few weeks are going to be like that weird gap between Christmas and the new year, when we're all hanging about the house in our pyjamas, getting on people's nerves, eating unusual food combinations, and nobody has a clue what day it is anymore or when we're back at work.
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They then had to walk about a mile back into town. I told them I'd been looking for them.
'You didn't call the coastguard did you?'
'Of course I didn't!' I said.
'Good.'
We got in the car and went home.
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By the time we arrived, I was left clutching nothing more than a damp bag of small wet vegetables. Sick was everywhere. I reckon there'd have somehow been less sick in the car if we'd just let mum throw up in the car.
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Saturday I was at the post office (exciting stuff). After I mailed my item, I turned to leave, and I passed this lady on her way in. I was checking a receipt, so I barely registered her.
Outside, I put my receipt in my wallet, my wallet in my pocket, and I turned to walk away...
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And as a footnote, just so's you know, the guy and his wife looked like they were in their mid-70's. So, well done to those 2 heroes.
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"Well I don't know why you're having a go at me. YOU never wanted kids in the first place! *I* wanted kids, so...if you think about it, really, they're more my kids than they are yours!"
My jaw hit the floor.
Which was the floor of a public toilet, so that was very disgusting.
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I tipped everything out of the Tesco carrier bag and passed it to my mother, just in time for her to throw up into the bag. What I wasn't expecting was for her to pass this now full bag back to me.
She couldn't have it near her, apparently. The smell of sick made her feel sick.
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People that lived before the internet - do you remember the boredom of having free time? The real, soul-crushing boredom of having to decide between watching one of the 7 films you owned, making a blanket, or lying on the bed and pretending you're happy and asleep.
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I loath and despise Iain Duncan Smith and his face as much as the next person, but I spent about 10 minutes on this fake album sleeve, so I have to roll it out at every opportunity.
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If you like my post office adventure, you might like my cliff adventure.
This reminds me of when I was trapped halfway up a cliff by the incoming tide. There were some tourists watching me, so I naturally acted like I meant to be up there, stopping to admire the view, every time they looked at me, then, when they looked away, I willed them to fuck off
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Each time my sister visited, she'd ask why I didn't have the poster on the wall yet.
Still, to this day, the best birthday present I ever received from her. Because (in its own way) it showed love, a desire for reconciliation, and my sister's ability to evade security cameras.
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Of course, I started laughing and my knees started to buckle. Which then meant the cabbage started rolling, which made me laugh even more. Which is not a good look when you're carrying your mother's coffin through the doors of a church.
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Why's it always something nasty going around?
Why can't we ever catch something beneficial?
'I got that "thing" that's going around, and I've got to say - I feel amazing. My knees no longer hurt, I don't make those noises when I get out of the chair, and I can speak Spanish.'
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One day, some wonderous day, a government might figure out that a healthy, educated, less fucking stressed, population can be an innovative, successful, thriving one.
You can't have growth, growth, growth, if your population is increasingly sick, sick, sick, and poor, poor, poor.
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Just ate a whole cucumber that needed to be eaten because it was just on the cusp of being on the turn.
A whole cucumber.
God, that's a joyless task.
It's relentless.
It …..just...doesn't stop.
It's the other people in the office that I feel sorry for. Nobody should see that.
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"Well, it's the same thing, isn't it?"
"No. No. Not really."
But it was good enough.
"Do we open it and scatter it on the top, or leave it in the packet?"
Eventually we decided that the packet would look ever so slightly less mental than a loose chopped salad on a coffin.
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Remember when old printers would cope with running low on ink. They'd just work and work, creating ever-fainter images and text, until finally it was white on white.
Modern printers are like, "I CANNOT WORK LIKE THIS!" and then they email someone, trying to order their own ink.
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So I'm squatting by his grave, crying my eyes out, when I look up and started admiring the fruit trees I planted behind the shed. 7 of them. When my mum died. And I thought to myself;
'They are going to be massive problems for someone to deal with one day'
And I started laughing.
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This other time, we were a good 4 hours into a trip to Weymouth when my mother shouted, "I'M GONNA BE SICK!"
And my dad replied, "WE'RE ON THE MOTORWAY!!"
Mum refused to stick her head out the window, so dad shouted, "BAG! BAG! BAG!" - and I reached for the packed sandwiches.
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Jim, clearly out of breath, leaned on our kitchen counter and said;
*gasp*
*gasp*
*gasp*
*gasp*
.....
*gasp*
"Well.."
*gasp*
"...I think we all learned something today."
"That you should give up smoking, Jim?"
*gasp*
"No. That I need to make a lid for that box."
End.
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I've been at the hand dryer for too long now, waaaay too long. A queue is forming behind me, my hands are like a couple of baked hams, and I look, frankly, fucking mental.
I'm not leaving.
I have a very boring life and I live for this shit.
I've dried my hands so many times...
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I'm going to try to combat ALL of this fear and anxiety by tweeting 1 nice thing each day. If you miss it, then I'm sorry but I cannot help you.
Today's nice thing:
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That got some looks.
When my sister died (I know, this is depressing, but it's that kind of a day), because I'm better prepared and know the difference between kale or cabbage, she got a cabbage on her coffin. She insisted on it.
But no cabbage-rolling this time.
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..I heard a voice from one of the stalls say (and for privacy reasons, I won't use the actual name, I'll say Sandra instead of Kellie):
"Sandra? Sandra. Shut up. Listen. Before you start, I just want you to hear my side of the story."
Immediately, I was like...what story, hmmm?
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So you can imagine how she felt about a big bag of sick. Anyway, she passed it back to me and I took it.
At some point, carrier bag designs were changed, to stop kids from putting bags over their heads and suffocating. So they put these small holes into the bag.
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People of Britain, I think it's safe to assume that at some point over the next 12 hours, we're all going to get the chance to own a trampoline.
#StormCiara
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I was washing my hands, but now EXTREMELY thoroughly. This is now CLASSIC mid-pandemic style hand washing. I was fully prepared to be there for as long as it took, muttering happy birthday to myself quietly while also trying to eavesdrop.
"Sandra, it's not what you think."
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I was one of those pallbearers.
The week before the funeral, family had been paying their respects and placing things in her coffin. Unbeknownst to me, a LOT of things. When we lifted the coffin for the first time, everything shifted inside, and it sounded like a cutlery drawer.
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Both my parents are dead (DON'T WORRY, IT GETS MORE CHEERFUL) but I'm so glad because I know, at some point in my adult life, I would've telephoned them sobbing, fucking WEEPING my adult heart out, & they'd go 'What is it Jenks? What's wrong?' & I'd go 'THE FUCKING CURTAIN RAIL!'
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Eventually, I thought, fuck it, I refuse to be haunted by her, and I walked, cabbage in hand across the church, to the coffin, and then proudly placed it on the lid.
I almost took some sort of ceremonial bow to the coffin.
Again, I heard the word, "Cabbage?" being uttered.
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