Category: Annoyed

Avatar Mild Frustration (a short play)

A young man, not feeling too great, has a nice face, decides to try to attend to his illness by calling his doctors. It’s Monday morning.

Man: Hello, I’d like to make an appointment.
Receptionist: Right what we normally do is not make an appointment but ask the doctor to call you instead.
Man: Oh right.
Receptionist: I’ve got your details so let me see when the next telephone appointment is instead… there’s one free at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Wednesday. In two days time.
Receptionist: Do you need to see anyone as a matter of urgency?
Man: No, I guess it can wait another two days.
Receptionist: Great well the doctor will call you at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Great. Thanks.

Cut to Wednesday morning. The young man leaves his desk and goes to a quiet room to await the doctor’s call. The times is around 9:09am.

Man (thinks): Let’s give him a window of five minutes. I can’t leave my desk for too long, so five minutes is sufficient waiting time before dismissing this as the joke that it seems to be turning into.

The time ticks away. 9:10am. 9:11am. 9:12am. 9:13am. 9:14am.

Man (thinks): I’m sure he’s just about to call.

9:15am.

Man (thinks): Well that was a waste of time. I better haul ass back to work.

The young man returns to his desk. The work phones are busy so he carries on answering the various enquiries and assisting where necessary. at 9:21am, in the middle of a conversation with a client, his phone starts to vibrate.

Man (thinks): Ah great. Great timing. Wonderful. If only I could express my dissatisfaction with this level of service with the client I’m currently talking to. I wonder if their surgery is an inept as this.

Voicemail. When work gets quiet the young man listens to the message.

Doctor: Hi Mr McIver, I’m sorry I’m a little later than arranged, if you still need to speak to me give me a call at the surgery.

Man (thinks): What? He didn’t even leave a direct number? I have to call the general number? Of course I still need to speak to him; I would’ve cancelled the appointment if I was flippin’ better!

Work gets busy again. There is not a time to return the call. Around 10:25 his mobile starts to vibrate again, same number, clearly the doctor trying again but he can’t stop to answer it due to work commitments. Ten minutes later, with a small break to his name, he steals away into a room and calls the general number. No voicemail the second time around.

Receptionist: Hello.
Man: Hi, could I speak to Dr *******? I think I just missed a call from him.
Receptionist: Oh right. Let me see if he’s available… (brief pause) I’m sorry he doesn’t appear to be in his room. The only thing I can do is arrange another telephone appointment for him to try to call you again.
Man: You know what, I’m feeling so much better, so much much better I don’t know why I bothered calling…

Cue a series of head shakes and excessive tutting. The young man decides to visit the walk-in centre at the end of the week, because even though it will mean sitting in a room for two hours or more waiting to be seen this process makes more sense than the series of hoops he has to try to jump through just to speak to a doctor at his own surgery.

The End.

Avatar B R E A K F A S T

Or as I like to call it, B to the R to the E-A KFAST.

As it is considered to be the most important meal of the day I can understand why some people would think and possibly overthink the process. They may take time picking out what they were planning to eat or there is a particular routine which must be seen through from start to finish before moving on.

There are some though that take it a step too far. One of these people is my sister. This is the sort of marvel that has to be seen to be believed but I will do my best to convey the absurdity of it all. It is a ten step program so let’s begin:

1. Take two different packets of cereal, in this case bitesize Shredded Wheat and obnoxious granola.
2. Line the bottom of your bowl with a layer of bitesize Shredded Wheats, about 7 or 8.
3. Pick them up and individually snap them in two.
4. Worry that you’ve taken too much.
5. Convince yourself that you’ve got the right amount.
6. Pour in the obnoxious granola.
7. Be sure to take out the raisins (we wouldn’t want any taste in there, right?).
8. Smear, not pour, smear half a pot of plain Activia yoghurt over the cereal collection.
9. Fold in the yoghurt so that all or most of the cereal is smothered.
10. Eat and enjoy?

Note that the bitesize Shredded Wheat will be a lot more resistant to the yoghurt that the granola will be and take this into consideration. Please also be aware that should some raisins be left in the mix this is acceptable as they cannot kill.

I hope that this inspires people to be less fussy about their eating habits. I know that it won’t though and the world will carry on spinning with the same amount of spanners who make everyone’s lives that little bit more interesting yet annoying.

I think that it would also make a good poster so any budding artists who want to take a punt please be my guest.

Avatar Review: Monty Python Live

Last week I went to see Monty Python Live, on one of their ten final ever dates. It was an exciting night for many reasons but I left feeling very let down.

photo

The first problem was not the fault of Monty Python themselves but was to do with the venue. On arriving at the O2, instead of finding the incredible, expansive white domed tent I had been led to expect by the O2’s promotional material, I found instead a very underwhelming brick-built theatre tucked away on a back street in Soho. It was an extremely long walk from North Greenwich tube station and not at all well placed for river boat services.

On entering the venue the staff were very rude and insisted that my ticket was not valid. It was only by kicking up a considerable stink and threatening to call the police that I was finally admitted to the auditorium. Inside the seat numbers made no sense when compared to the seat number on my ticket so I had to choose my own seat.

The show itself was baffling, principally because it was very difficult to tell who was who. All five of the Monty Python performers were so heavily made-up and disguised in costumes that they were literally unrecognisable. This, and the absence of any material I had seen before or recognised, meant that the whole show was rather strange. The sketches appeared to flow together extremely closely in a single flow of consciousness to the point that it almost resembled a normal theatrical performance, and there was a consistent theme of a murder mystery running through it.

There were very few laughs, and when I attempted to whip the crowd up a bit by shouting “albatross!” or “nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” I was shushed by other audience members. At one point a steward threatened to eject me if I didn’t stop chanting “spam” through what appeared to be a particularly dull scene involving a police officer interviewing somebody.

After the show I inspected the merchandise, but without much hope, and found it all as abstract and obtuse as the show had been. All of it had the slogan “Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap” which I don’t remember being one of their better lines and which didn’t seem to have been shouted at any point during the show.

All in all, I would vote to give it a miss as I found it extremely disappointing.

I vote it three stars out of five.

Avatar Missing a Bean

I was all set. All on track to get my full bean on the Bean Counter for May. Three in the bag, one post still to make on the 31st to bring me up to the requisite number. Had my topic lined up and everything.

All on track, that is, until I got a text to say that there was a free screening of Labyrinth, the David Bowie goblin king spectacular, in a park near me and did I want to go? Well of course I wanted to go, and go I did, forgetting all about my post and my perilously low post count for May.

I’m not telling you I didn’t enjoy Labyrinth. I did. I enjoyed every moment of it. I cheered along with the crowd whenever Bowie’s leggings were on screen (seriously, he might as well be naked from the waist down) and waved my arms in the air through the voodoo song. I shouted “double yellow lorry” at an appropriate moment. It was great. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it at all.

I’m just saying that waking up this morning and realising that another pea would be permanently added to my record on the Beans has soured it for me, just a little bit. That’s all.

Avatar Words I Hate, part 3

It’s becoming traditional (come on, we’ve been up and running for three months, so anything that’s been running this long definitely counts as a tradition) for me to wheel out another canister of literary vitriol around the start of the month. And seeing as April is looming up ahead of us I’d better get cracking with… another Word I Hate.

This one is short, because the case can be made very quickly and nobody can argue against it.

Fayre

This word doesn’t even need to exist. We have all the words with this sound and this meaning already: we have fair, meaning an outdoor event or celebration, and we have fare, meaning food and drink and perhaps generous hospitality. Fayre is sometimes used in place of both these perfectly good word by idiots who think it lends their temporary Christmas market or their roast beef serving pub some kind of charming air of tradition and jollity. But it doesn’t do that, any more than calling your newsagent Ye Olde Shoppe gives it medieval heritage. It just makes you an idiot who has called your venture a stupid name for misguided reasons. So stop it. You cretin.

Avatar Words I Hate, Part 2

It’s March, and time Marches on. Let’s steal a March on it by looking at another Word I Hate.

Knickers

Many undergarments have ordinary-sounding names. Even something intentionally sexy, like a teddy (which is, of course, short for “teddington”) can have an unsexy name. But knickers? Nothing about it suggests something I want to get involved with. Nothing about it says “here is a thing that might attractively adorn a love interest”. It is even worse than “panties”, which frankly sound like a children’s name for pants and which should not be allowed in any romantic context ever.

Knickers starts with a deadly “kn” letter combination, a piece of linguistic showjumping that automatically takes the pleasure out of a word and gives it an ungainly appearance. And after that the rest of the word is all clacking c’s and k’s and a harsh sibilant ending. No smooth sounds here, no silky suggestions of a soft undergarment concealing the downstairs pleasure gardens of a lover or casual acquaintance. No. Just hard noises and an offputting spelling.

Knickers to it, I say.