Tuesday, 24 June 2008


In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst movie you can think of. Bonus points if you have to show off your Google skills because you can’t remember the name of it and all you can come up with is that it features Roz Russell and Sandra Dee. Turns out it was some tripe called Rosie! Exclamation point the producers’ idea, not mine.“Auntie Mame leavings.”
In seven syllables, no more, no less, describe your worst date. Bonus points if it was sordid. Subtract points if it sounds too much like an overweight fifteen year old Goth girl.“He pushed my head down. I puked.”
In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst job you ever had. Extra bonus points if it consists of Grim. Taxi dancer. Miss Janey, I’m talking to you. I had a miserable spell where I sat all alone in an empty office, handing out the keys to various hell holes for rent around New Orleans. One Lady came back and complained there was no window in the kitchen, I pretended to sympathize and said something like “Yes it would be nasty to have no light and air in there.” She replied “No, hone, you don unnerstan. Dere’s a hole for de winna but ain’t no winna in it.”“Slum lord in training.”Put it all together and you have a haiku of life’s low points.

So it's Meme time again, I have two this week, my first is in Haiku

Slow Drama Unfolds

Unfulfilled Expectations

Relentless Boredom

Worst Movie
I actually really struggled with this one, the next two were easy peasy, this one is not, I tend to blank out bad movies. I chose ones to see at the cinema very carefully. The one's on the tele I switch off. So there is nothing that stands out. I have recently taken to borrowing random DVDs from the Library and this has provided me with some examples of dodgy french film making. This is a deep and rich unmined seem. What they class as a film would barely make it on to BBC4 here.
Slow Drama Unfolds

Worst Date; Tricky one this, it would be easier to list successful dates. There is throughout my history of dating a pattern that emerges. You meet someone at work or in a club, you hit it off, you meet many times in that environment, you think this is 'the one' So like an idiot you suggest a day out maybe a trip to the seaside, or to see a film and then it becomes painfully obvious this is so not 'the one'
Everything dries up, you struggle to find common ground, the comfort zone has gone.
I once really really loved some one and we finally got the chance to go out for the day, when we got there he wanted to spend the day in the pub, I wanted to eat in the rustic seaside cafe and walk hand in hand along the beach. I knew then we had no chance.
It is a source of constant entertainment to Emin that I once 'dumped' him after he took me to a Pizza Hut. I hate cheap food, I would rather not bother. Only once did a man tick all my boxes, except one. Finally, weekends away were a joy, Cinemas was great, meals out fabulous. He even took me to Paris, what was not to love? Yes you guessed it he was truly crap in bed. so you could say for enduring a meal out in Pizza hut the reward is....actually I have managed to get up to Pizza Express, progress indeed.
Unfulfilled Expectations

Worst Job Ever
My very first memory of work was waiting on the road side in my village, a van would pick us up and we would go to a bleak muddy field. It was always raining. We would pile out collect a hessian sack and fill it with peas. This was in the days before the Walkman or MP3 players and you were too far from anyone to talk. It was horrible I probably was not more than 14.
At 15 my friends and I formed a syndicate and worked shifts at petrol pump attendants I quickly developed a strong loathing for Alpha Romeos, they were just complete hell to fill. The pump would click off every 2 seconds, the pipe to the tank must have wound under the entire chassis creating a constant stream of air pockets. Minis were the best you just poured it straight into the tank in the corner. The worst customer was Mr Benson owner of a chain of estate agents. He would bitch and moan if so much as a dribble of petrol touched the paint work. I also remember sitting in a small very old fashioned shop with a wooden box till you had to hand write the receipts on, but all of this would have been tolerable if the octogenarian owner did not sit Buddha like on a chair trying to force a conversation out of me. When it was busy it was fine, but the quiet days were agony.
Relentless boredom

How depressing was that?

Thanks for the tag

I think this is one for
The thoughtful dresser


materfamilias said...

Worth waiting for -- your worst job sounds rather like mine. I wonder if it would be the hard physical work, the poor conditions, or the lack of access to music that would most bother today's teens about that.

indigo16 said...

Music. Daisy even has her headphones in watching tele!

materfamilias said...

That's my bet as well. And it's not only teens -- people are always surprised that I am quite happy to run without an Ipod plugged into my ear. No one seems content to stay in their own head anymore (but now I'm venturing into crotchety territory, oh dear!)

indigo16 said...

I once read that a painter refused any sound whilst he painted because the painting would forever symbolise what he had heard, rather than felt. So we are in good comapany.