Where on earth was I? Oh yes, the pub. The pub we went to is a particularly sleazy, nasty and generally not so nice place. Why we go there truly escapes me but we often do. There is one guy who is super sleazy commenting on your body and those of various females around. He truly smells awful. The smell radiates around him and you have to be sure to sit a fair distance away if you want to be able to eat food without gagging. I have never been to this pub and not seen him there. I hope that this is justification for why I found the next bit so hilarious and laughed uncontrollably in fountain like spurts. You know those situations where you are most definitely not allowed to laugh and you actually feel pain until it escapes and spews out in a big snotty, snorty, splutter of convulsions. This is what happened to me.
That sleazy guy has a wheelchair. Today he went to the toilet which most unfortunately I was sitting close to. The disabled toilet rather bizarrely has a door which is very difficult to open and a corridor and then another door. So every time he goes someone has to open the door for him. He was in there for a very long time. Maybe 20 minutes. And then I heard this tiny voice asking for help. When I look the door is open a fraction. He had got his chair stuck at an angle in the narrow corridor. I started and could not stop thinking about the fact that he had sat there for 20 minutes trying to manoeuvre himself. Every time I think about that now it makes me laugh. This sounds massively cruel but you have to remember that I have never walked past this guy without him discussing arse or tits. However, I was eating when he got stuck and the thoughts of him using the toilet combined with the stench of him really stopped my lunch. So I think I paid for my laughing. It took 4 people in total to get him out.he was very wedged in. I held the door open. If you think I am bending down to his wheels with those wandering hands about think again.
His wheelchair is pretty cool though. He has hung all sorts of useful utensils and whatnot from it. He has bags of canned food hanging from the handles and big stick things (feather dusters?!) on the back. I really think he could survive a week in the toilet with all that kit.
On a different note, put Vaseline on your feet where your shoes rub. I am not entirely sure how this works; maybe it has something to do with friction. I understand not the science but this is effective and stops the hurting. Nothing like a bit of lube to get things moving along nicely heh heh heh
Yes I am a hybrid between those women that write in to magazines with oh so helpful tips and super-sleaze pub man. I like to think it is a particularly alluring combination.
Inkysoso