Body Odour

What would you do if someone at your workplace had very noticeable body odour? Would you say something, not knowing how they'd react? Would you just complain to other workmates behind the stinker's back and do nothing? Would you drop hints? Would any of these things improve the situation or just hurt the person's feelings and ruin a working relationship? To be honest, I'm not sure what I'd do but I'd like to relate something that happened to me the other day ...
... I'm ordering a coffee from my local coffee shop when - just as I'm explaining that I want no froth on my flat white - which itself is a blog for another day - this bloke of about 50 stands right next to me. As the first wave of his odour tsunami hit my nostrils, I had to grip the counter in case I passed out. It was the worst B.O. I'd ever experienced. And I've been to India. He moved away from me to check out the pastry display and I regained my senses enough to say to the girl serving me, "Jesus, did you get a whiff of that?" She had. No sooner had the words tumbled from my gob than he was behind me, waiting to order. It was torture. Finally I got my coffee and sat outside in the fresh air to read the paper.


About an hour later I was in the supermarket next to the coffee shop when I saw Mr Stinky in the cereal and spreads aisle. I couldn't help myself ... my social conscience was pricked ... I went to the toileteries aisle and grabbed a can of home brand deodorant. I tailed Mr Stinky until his attention was taken by the myriad choices of canned tuna, and placed the deodorant in his trolley, carefully burying it under a DIY pizza and a 12-pack of Sorbent.


Did I do the right thing? I like to think so. I really hope he took it home and started using it. It's more likely that he gave it to the checkout person and said it wasn't his. But maybe I've given him a fresh new lease on life. Or at least dropped a hint ...

Cloak Rooms - A Hidden Evil

To me a cloak room represents everything that is bad about society today. A place where you are often forced to store items - which you may desperately need - at a cost.
Take for example the cloak room at Acer Arena. First off, it is not explained clearly that bags must be cloaked before attending an event, then when you arrive you must queue for upwards of fifteen minutes with many other disgruntled, sweaty customers. The claim ticket then states that venue staff have no liability for lost or damaged goods. How is this fair? We haven't asked if we can store our belongings; you've forced us to, so take some responsibility. Pregnant women are even told to queue and store their bags - where's the common sense? What if I was to state, "I take no responsibility for lost or stolen claim tickets"? You wouldn't buy it.
At least this venue doesn't charge to store belongings, and chances are you'll get back what you left in one piece. But over at the Enmore Theatre, they pull the same trick but charge you for it, three dollars no less. With this slightly less professional storage system you feel less confident entrusting your possessions with staff. And again, no responsibility will be taken for lost, stolen, mutilated, eaten, regurgitated, sat on, express posted, entombed, boiled, cured or possessed possessions.
My question is, what's going on back there that you can't guarantee the safe return of my property?

Talent Comes In Five Colours

For the first time last night I participated in the phenomenon that is Guitar Hero. I'd never had the slightest inclination to play it before but once I picked up that (pretend) Gibson guitar, I was unfortunately hooked.
I say 'unfortunately' because I always held the opinion that it was a pointless game because you're not actually learning an instrument. I still firmly believe this and when someone said to me, "I don't have a single musical bone in my body, but with this I feel really talented", I thought to myself, "Well you're not muscially talented, you just hit some buttons at the correct time, much like you would playing Tetris, Mortal Kombat, or Lemmings.
It's just that now I can't wait to play it again, and again, and again. Gotta nail Kings Of Leon's Sex on Fire.
All I really want to know is where's the guitar hero that teaches an actual semblance of real guitar? If you are rewarded by singing in Singstar, then why can't you be similarly rewarded in a game with a real guitar? Even the drums in Rock Band resemble drums.
There have been so many amazing advancements in video gaming yet with this we are restricted to five coloured buttons and a white strumming thing.

Or, maybe, just maybe Paul McCartney used a Gibson Les Paul like this:

Self Serves No Purpose

Not many of us remember it but there was a time when a grocery store was a place of utter service. Everything was done for you; it was almost regal. Bread and Milk? Just ask the attendant to fetch it from behind the counter. He might even use a ladder to get it or would have to measure out the amount you wanted.
Then just before the WWI, this evolved into the self service store and America and the world never looked back. We now even have the hypermarket - a combination of supermarket and department store - which may in time see off its creators.
Now this, I have no problem with. Yes it is sad that the corner store is largely a thing of the past but we now have choice and convenience as never before.
What I do have a problem with is serving myself. Anywhere. If I wanted to serve myself I'd shoplift.
Some supermarkets and department stores now insist on inserting self-serve checkout lanes about their premises. I feel like we've taken a humongous step backwards here. Actually no, more like a fall sideways where you grazed your knee but thought, "I was standing perfectly still, how did that happen?".
Is this only the beginning? Will we soon have fully automated, self-stocking stores where the site of a red-haired midget named Gerald employed reluctantly under equal opportunity by the 19-year old manager Mischa is a thing of the past? No more asking where toilet paper is only for the unshaven Steve to shrug and continue listening to Slipknot whilst stacking Weet-Bix? An end to having a the hirsute George wipe his forehead ungloved before handling your six slices of devon?
Well there's good news here. As long as there's credit cards, faulty technology and idiots, there'll be staff to happily serve you. There may only be one, and he may take twelve minutes, but there's staff nonetheless. And it's fair enough too - he was checking everyone's signatures and helping them insert their hard-earned into the ridiculously-difficult-to-use coin machine. Hey come on, don't rush him! He's currently escorting the local special lad Petey out after he shoved croutons down his pants for the third time this week.
Hmmm, not so self serve after all.
The saddest part of this is that tomorrow's youth will stare blankly at the screen when you show them this sketch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cz2-ukrd2VQ
What a world we live in.