Fit Fine and Fancy Pieces
For the first time in six years I have been spending some time in an office environment doing a job for a client. In college I was so busy that any time spent in the office was fleeting between classes and we had little time for time-wasting bollocks.
So, it’s with much mirth and more than a little disdain that I observe things about spending an entire day in an office that I had, until now, forgotten about. I am certain I can stretch this one out into a series, so I’ll deal with the issues one by one instead of writing a novel of a post.
Oh, and before I start, this office is in the North East of Scotland and I will be using some of the local language. This will be underlined and I will helpfully add a glossary at the bottom of the post for those of you not conversant.
1. Office Women and Major Food Issues
When someone goes to the bakery or the chip shop and brings their booty back, it will cause a great stir. If that person is a woman, then doubly so. Fat or thin.
This is enough to make me not want to eat anything in front of anyone. An entire discussion of how naughty someone is for eating chips or a cake will ensue. This will be peppered with envy from other chip-less or cake-less ladies.
“What’s that you’ve got Deirdre”
“Chicken Nuggets and Chips”
Chorus of Ladies, “Ooooohh! Fine!”
“I ken, I’m going to hae a salad the night for my supper”
Someone else will then enter the room, “What’s that fine smell?”
Chorus, “Chicken Nuggets and Chips. Fine!”
Enterer, “Ooooh…..Fit fine!”
Five minutes pass, “Deirdre, I canna concentrate with that fine smell from they chips.”
Deirdre smugly giggles whilst stuffing her face, “I ken. They’re really fiiiiine.”
Someone else enters, “Fa’s got chips. They smell fine! I’m starving now and I’ve jist hid ma sandwiches”
Deirdre, “Me. And I’ve a vanilla slice for after”
Chorus, “No!!!!”
And then after slight thought, “Finnnnnnne….!”
This will last until chips and slice are devoured.
1 hour later Deirdre will make an announcement.
“I shouldn’t have had they chips and chicken nuggets”
Someone will helpfully add, “And that vanilla slice”
“I just won’t eat tonight. And I’ll hae a salad for ma dinner the morn”
2 hours later someone will announce they are going to the bakery.
“Does anyone want a funcy piece?” they’ll shout.
Chorus, “Bakery. Fiiiinnne!”
Everyone will want something including Deirdre who will order a scone.
“With no butter!” she’ll shout, presumably labouring under the misconception that a scone with no butter falls into the category of health food.
Glossary
Fine: How delicious! (It is no indication of quality.)
Fit fine!: Oh how absolutely delicious! (Nothing to do with fitness in any way.)
Supper: Dinner or tea. An evening meal. (Not a bit of toast and tea you have before bedtime.)
Fa: Who. (Not a musical note or a long, long way to ruuuuun.)
Ken: to know. (Not a bloke’s name)
The morn: Tomorrow. (Not this morning. Nothing to do with the morning, in fact.)
Funcy Piece (fancy piece): A yummy cake. (Not someone’s live-in-lover.)
I Do Not Predict a Riot
In this life there’s a lot of things that a person can get seriously upset about. A lot of things. But there’s nothing that gets me angrier than seeing someone drop litter. My level of fury knows no bounds and it’s only a matter of time before I get a good kicking from someone for challenging them.
I am now going to tell you a story that not only exemplifies this but marks me out as a complete idiot into the bargain.
Before I was Misssy M, I was Misssy T and I lived in my first flat with Meeester M in the sometimes challenging but always colourful area of Torry in Aberdeen.
Back in the day you had to get a boat to Torry from Aberdeen, but then they built two bridges to it. The folk of Torry have been trying to reassert their independence ever since. I liked living there but unfortunately the authorities put Aberdeen’s only prison there and then decided to house all the junkies in my street. Presumably they did this so that they could save on petrol when they needed to sling ‘em in the cooler for a spell.
My brother, who was to become Uncle E but back then was just E and his then girlfriend R lived on the other side of the river in Aberdeen proper. Meeester and I set off to visit them one evening.
As we turn off our street we spot a silver, spoilered- up ned machine outside HMP Craiginches, where the wild things are. As we near the car we witness a chip paper complete with polystyrene tray being flung out the driver’s window into the street.
Red Mist descends.
I break off from Meester and RUN to the car. Meeester claims everything that happened after point was in slow-mo, and accompanied by his 16rpm voice shouting “Noooooooooooo!”
I pick up the offending rubbish and throw it back in the window of the car without looking, listening and certainly without thinking. As I do so, the remainder of the ketchup covered chips and sausage go flying. Apparently, I exclaim something along the lines of “You filthy pig, put your rubbish in a bin!”.
I do not realise that the offending bloke has just lit a cigarette.
I do not realise that there are three other blokes inside the car.
I do not realise that they are parked outside the prison, presumably just after visiting their mate who’s in for GBH.
I do not realise that they won’t hit me, but they sure as hell will hit my boyfriend for having the bad sense to be my boyfriend.
I do not realise that there are ways and means to win hearts and minds over to making the life changing decision to start putting their rubbish in a bin.
I do not realise that calling people “filthy pigs”, covering them in cold chips and ketchup, and setting them on fire is not the way to do this.
