Am I Wrong?

Submarine Sandwich, Sub, Subway


Am I wrong to be shocked?  Am I inappropriate in my discomfort?

I was treating myself to dinner at Subway, when a young man in his late teens or early twenties (replete with ball cap and hoodie) came in to share news with the “sandwich artist.”

It seems the man had just come from accompanying his girlfriend to the hospital to have a scan done of their baby.   Okay, this in itself is not the cause of my shock.  Unwed families have become normative in the 2020s in the UK (over 6 million couples according to  the Office for National Statistics).

No, it is the conversation that followed that was the source of my discomfort.  The couple did not want to know the biological sex of the baby.  On hearing this the Subway worker asked if they had picked a name yet.   The response was that if it is a girl they want to name her Billie.  “And if it’s a boy?” the sandwich maker asked.  The reply made without a hint of jest or intended humour was “Lucifer.”  This then led to the pair discussing the benefits of giving your child a “unique” name.

I return you to my opening questions.



The Guard

Image result for sewage treatment plant


Did you ever consider that a sewage treatment plant might need security guards?  I didn’t think so.  So you can see why I was surprised when my supervisor for the security firm told me I was scheduled to guard one.  The issue was that teenagers had been cutting through the perimeter fences and climbing on the frames, and even attempting to ride the sprayers as they made their rotation around the sumps.  I can tell you now it was not a summer job you wanted in August and the air was still.  We would occasionally set off a bug bomb in the security office to clear out the swarms of flies, and as for the smell – I will leave that one up to your imagination.


Tale Weaver – #251 – Jobs – 28th November

A Cold Isn’t Worth It


Woman, Blow, Blowing, Nose, Hand Chief, Grey, Blond

Image by Mojca JJ from Pixabay


I found The Haunted Wordsmith’s prompt fascinating today.   “I want to rip my nose off.”  Life for those with hay fever and allergies must be awful.  Runny nose, watery eyes, and constant sneezing must be a pain (literally and figuratively).  I have to admit to not being a sufferer of these maladies.  I have, however, suffered colds and flu.  The rawness of my nose after several days of scratchy tissues does make “ripping one’s nose off” seem an attractive alternative.

Or does it?

When I was 22, I needed to lose a couple of pounds before reporting for duty.  My solution was to pick up on my running regime.  Just before one of these outings, my mother said she had a bad feeling about it.  She suggested that I go for a cycling trip with my wife instead.  It seemed a reasonable enough alternative.

We set off on a journey down a nearby cycle route which ran through tree lined parkland.  It was pleasant enough.

We came to a section of the bike trail which had a fairly steep decline.  As we descended my speed began to increase.  At first this didn’t seem an issue.  But my acceleration continued.

As I approached what must have been nearly 30 mph, a fairly tight curve appeared before me.  I started to apply the hand breaks.  But the screeching of the rubber pads was doing little to arrest my momentum.

What should I do?

I squeezed even tighter.  Then, I swear to this day, I heard an audible ping as the break cable snapped.

At the speed I was travelling, I could not negotiate the bend.  I ended up shooting into the tree line.  I did my best to maneuver through the woods, and managed to avoid head on collisions with the bigger trunks.  But alas there was a two inch thick dogwood.  It was positioned in such a way that it couldn’t be avoided.

My front tyre passed by it by inches, but the handle bar struck it firmly.  The bike jerked upwards and launched me somehow under the rising handlebar.  As I flew past, the break lever caught inside my right nostril.

I found myself in a sitting position a few yards in front of the crash-site.   I was covered in blood, having left my breathing apparatus behind.

Several hours in hospital and some very skilled reconstructive surgery was able to produce a fairly straight nose.  There is a scar line all around, and the right nostril is still a bit mis-shapen, but “it works.”

So when you next feel the signs of a cold coming on, or the ragweed is starting to make its nasty presence known, think twice about thinking,  “I want to rip my nose off.”  It’s not recommended.

Take it from one who “has the T-shirt.”