African princes and unicures
Trip Start
May 27, 2010
1
53
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Trip End
Aug 31, 2011
Birmingham, England, United Kingdom
Monday, June 6, 2011
I started my new job on Tuesday but was anxious about it because I was still donning the plaster cast - evidence and reminder of the Friday night previous. I wasn't sure how productive I would be in the office, but managed to get through the week and learn what I could. Starting a new job always makes you feel like a baby again. You don't know things, you don't know the people, you don't know how things work.
You also don't know where all the good lunch spots are. When I did find a nice place to have my lunch on Friday I was happy. Happy I was not when the plastic bag I had wedged under my leg to use as a rubbish bin was picked up by the wind, and taken away into the middle of the courtyard. Being a nice sunny day, there were heaps of people around: people who had seen where the bag came from. And so I was obliged to get up and chase after the bag to avoid looking like a litterbug. There's nothing particularly complicated about picking up a rubbish bag that's being carried about by the wind. But when you have a skirt on, and only one functioning arm, the complication arises. I stood up in the most delicate way I could, picking up my handbag, my phone, the magazine I was reading, and the remainder of my lunch (including an open can of Diet Coke), and chased after the bag that had succeeded in embarrassing me even more than I would've been had I just let it fly away into litterland. Coke running down my arm, I tried to balance everything in my one hand, trying to angle my hand in such a way so as not to get my cast Coke-soaked, and swept up the bag with my other hand. I then made my way to the rubbish bin and dumped the bag and its contents into the receptacle, narrowly avoiding dropping my phone in as well, and then returned to the place that I was first sitting and sat down with a "huff". Note to self: on a windy day when only one arm is fully functional, don't sit on the ground with a plastic bag.
The best thing about the weekdays was getting home at the end, much earlier than when I was in London, and not having to deal with the smelly tube. Granted, I still have to use public transport. But it's not in a steaming hot underground system where people scurry about like ants, criss-crossing and cutting each other off, subsequently huffing and tutting at each other in annoyance.
The worst thing about the week were the things I couldn't do. For example:
I couldn't cut up my own dinner. Phil and I went to the Peacock for dinner and a couple of pints on Thursday night. I had ordered a lovely pie, but Phil had to cut it into bite size pieces for me. I had to put my arm up on the table so that the other patrons could understand why I was having my dinner cut up for me and not just think I was a spacker who couldn't use cutlery.
I couldn't open a packet of chips. I had to employ the use of my teeth to get the bag open.
I couldn't pull my tights up properly. Subsequently, I had to go to the loo about 100 times a day to pull them up. This would take at least 10 minutes. Not a completely bad thing, given that at work I was having to kill a bit of time.
I couldn't holepunch stuff. When I wasn't pulling up my tights, I was at my desk. And when I had work, it usually meant putting together new files, which in turn means holepunching stuff. I couldn't do this. Neither could the dude in the mailroom for that matter. When I pleaded for his help, he did such a shotty job that the big holepunch broke and they had to replace the drill bit.
I couldn't drive. A new UK driving licence and I can't even use it. Bummer.
So yeah, there were lots of things I wasn't able to do with the stupid cast on, but I managed to get by. With help! Come Tuesday next week the plaster should be taken off and my life can return to a relatively normal state.
On Friday Philo came and met me at Brindley Place and we had a couple of drinks in the sunny beer garden, and I realised how much of an ex-smoker I am when these two buxom (black) girls came and shared our table, sparking up as soon as they sat down. As far as I'm concerned, you don't go and sit at a table where people aren't smoking if you want to smoke. It's rude, and something I never did when I smoked. It's so disrespectful to the other people enjoying their smoke-free environment. It's true that ex-smokers are the worst for complaining about the smell, and that's probably a way of justifying to ourselves that we are OK without smoking. But there's nothing wrong with taking issue with rude and inconsiderate people.
Shortly after the smokers left, we too left, in search of a nicer venue to have another drink. We sat at a cafe by the canal, but on the way encountered a bitchin' looking man with all his bling who was certain to pick up that night. He told us he'd been out all day and was just about to go home, but we weren't so sure about that. I had a photo with him (see below).
When hunger set in we went to a Thai restaurant near The Mailbox, and devoured a lovely meal while speculating about the couple at the table nearby. She was dressed nicely in a little black number, he was dressed in what looked like traditional African garb, gold pants and jewellery. Phil reckoned he was an African prince. In between discreet glances at the prince, I'd made friends with the waiter, and asked him to bring us some fried ice cream. That shit is the business!
Over the weekend Philo worked some overtime, which meant I could sleep in guilt free and hog the doona. I had to get my nails done at 10.45, so I did have to cut my sleep in short. I walked up to the salon and had my nails done - I thought I'd booked in for an express (15 minute) £10 manicure. Given that only one hand could be done properly I didn't want to spend too much on it, but needed to feel better and get some moisture back into my neglected hands. 15 minutes soon turned to 30, I thought perhaps the therapist was new and taking her time. But when I went to pay, another 15 minutes later, I was charged £14. They told me they'd given me a discount because they only had to do the massage part on one hand. "Hmm," I thought, "how is that a discount from £10?" And then I realised that they'd given me the Thai massage manicure which is normally £20. I think next time I go there I'll bung a bandage on and see if they can do it again at a discount!
I went to the doctor that afternoon for a health check. When she put me on the scales I regretted looking down at the measure, because the number it showed up horrified me. She asked all sorts of lifestyle questions, including how many units of alcohol per week I consume. I must've miscalculated slightly when I said "ummm 6 or 7". 6 or 7 units a week equates to 3 or 4 pints. Ppppffft!
The rest of the weekend was pretty quiet, apart from the news that Simon and Kristy welcomed Isla Chloe into the world. Very exciting news for them indeed. And now I have a niece and a nephew!
