PUSSY IN BOOTS - THE SEQUEL...

In the previous post, I made passing reference to a pharmacy colleague of the lovely ELIZABETH, said workmate being the one who wagered (with the full involvement and approval of the others) that I wouldn't be able to find out two specific items of information about Liz.  Now, truth be told, this colleague was a bit snooty and up herself, and always presented herself as being a bit prim and proper and above mere ordinary mortals like myself, a lowly warehouse worker.  Here's a little tale of how, based on my daring detective work related earlier, she sh*t a brick, thinking I had access to all sorts of secrets best kept hidden.

One of my occasional duties in BOOTS warehouse was operating the 'baler', a huge machine for compressing wastepaper and cardboard boxes into large compact cubes.  There was a part-time worker assigned to this task, but when he wasn't in, it fell to me or another of the warehouse staff to do it.  Anyway, one day, I was busily feeding all sorts of paper waste from an oblong trolley into the machine, including 'wallets' of photographs which had remained uncollected by customers for months.  It was the company's policy, due to limited storage space, to dispose of all abandoned photos after a certain period.

In a moment of idle curiosity, I picked up one of the thin cardboard wallets at random, and took a casual look through it - and was surprised to see a few pics of the snooty pharmacy worker, completely rat-@rsed at a party.  Gone was her reserved and 'dignified' demeanour - she looked completely blotto and uninhibited, and totally different from the image of herself she presented at work.  (Which is fair enough I suppose - after all, it was a party.)  Anyway, I thought she'd like to have them, so took them around to the pharmacy and gave them to her, freely telling her I'd found them in a trolley of waste earmarked for disposal.  She took one look at them and quickly thrust them into the pocket of her white coat, looking a bit flushed and flustered.

I returned to the baler, but a little while later, she came into the warehouse and quizzed me on where I'd obtained the photos, trying to inject a tone of stern authority into her voice.  Obviously, because of my dazzling detective work in the case of Elizabeth, her imagination had been working overtime, causing her to wonder if I had specifically 'targetted' her, and whether my discovery of the photos had been as a result of me deliberately digging into her life.  Nope, pure random chance and sheer coincidence!  Anyway, I was a bit surprised, to say nothing of annoyed, at her obvious insinuation and told her it was exactly as I'd first said when I gave them to her - I'd found them in the waste trolley.

She appeared satisfied, albeit reluctantly, perhaps sensing that I was affronted by her unspoken-but-obvious suspicion, and pushed off back to the pharmacy.  Maybe I should've been more annoyed than I was (after all, I'd being doing her a favour), but I couldn't help but be enormously amused at her paranoia, and even pleased to a degree that I'd gotten under her skin (purely metaphorically you understand) and caused her a moment's perturbation.  Snooty people like her deserve to be toppled from their high horse in my view - and that's exactly what I did.

Any youthful tales of a similar nature, fellow Crivs?  Reveal all in the comments section - if you dare!

RIVETING REPOST: PUSSY IN BOOTS - OR: THE DAY I ASTOUNDED SEVERAL WOMEN AT THE SAME TIME...

Here's a goody.  Long, long ago (but in the same galaxy), when I was 16 or 17, I toiled in the warehouse of my local BOOTS The CHEMIST.  In the pharmacy department worked a young lady by the name of ELIZABETH (surname withheld to spare her blushes in case she ever reads this, unlikely as it is), on whom I had a bit of a crush.  A mild crush - not one that would ever have compelled me to ask her out, but enough of one that would make me want to impress her, should the opportunity present itself.

Guess what?  It did.  Sitting in the canteen one day, I was engaged in a bit of casual conversation with Elizabeth and some of her pharmacy colleagues.  I no longer recall what we were discussing, but at some stage the extent of my knowledge of the subject was called into question.  "You don't know everything!" one of them said, which was like a red rag to a bull to me.  "Perhaps, but anything I want to know, I can find out!" I stated.

They called my bluff! "Okay then, what's Elizabeth's mum's maiden name, and what hospital was Elizabeth born in?" one of them asked, rather smugly.  They had flung down the gauntlet and I had to accept or lose face.  "I'll find out!" I declared to loud jeers and derision.  (They actually bet me that I couldn't, though I no longer remember what the forfeit was.)  Now, on the face of things, I was in a bit of a bind.  Just how could I possibly uncover such obscure information unless I was psychic or had access to Elizabeth's and her mum's personal information files, kept in some secret government facility somewhere?  (I know, I know - watched too many JAMES BOND films.)

This was on the Tuesday or Wednesday, and they gave me until Friday to accomplish the task or admit defeat.  Anyone else would have given up (scratch that - no-one else would ever have gotten into that situation to begin with), but your bold host is made of sterner stuff.  I triumphed in my mission, wiped the smiles from their faces, utterly astounded them, and firmly established a reputation for being someone who didn't make idle boasts.  Intrigued?  Of course you are.

Okay, here's how I did it.  The lovely Elizabeth, who was shortly due to leave to go to another job, had once mentioned which area of the town she lived when we were having an idle chat one day, so I obtained her 'phone number from Directory Enquiries and rang her mother.  Pretending to be one of the managers, I told her that the staff were planning to throw a surprise party for Elizabeth's leaving 'do', and that we were going to stage a "THIS IS YOUR LIFE" segment so I needed a few trivial background details to cover her life from birth to the present day.  Did she buy it?  Of course she did - and even gift-wrapped it for herself too.

I asked a few innocuous questions, such as what her daughter's favourite colour was, where she'd been born, her best friend at school, etc., and "Oh, what's your maiden name?"  Armed with the required knowledge, I waited 'til I had to take a package around to the pharmacy.  As I was leaving, I casually turned, seemingly like an afterthought, and said "By the way, Liz, your mum's maiden name is Blackstock and you were born at Rottenrow Maternity!"  My!  You should have seen their jaws hit the floor - and in unison, too.

I 'phoned Elizabeth's mother back shortly after and explained my ruse - not out of guilt, but because I'd always intended to anyway.  She was highly amused at the daring of my subterfuge, and said "She should be glad someone would go to all that bother!"   (What can I say?  I had a tremendous 'telephone voice'.)  Elizabeth took it in good humour too, and I believe she was actually quite flattered.

I still never asked her out before she left though, foolish youth that I was!

Coming next post - The Sequel!

RUMINATING REPOST: LET'S HAVE SOME LIGHT AROUND HERE...

Here's a funny thing.  ("About time!", you cry.)  No, I mean 'funny-peculiar', not 'funny-ha ha' - although it is about time, so to speak.  You know how, when you associate a particular item with a specific place and period in your past, the association sometimes seems 'all-inclusive', whether it actually was or not?

"Good grief!  What's he wittering on about now?" you may be asking yourselves - so I'll tell you.

On my living-room ceiling are two circular fluorescent lights, which were first acquired in a previous house back in the 1960s.  I know we didn't always have them as I remember my father bringing them home one night and having to return one for a replacement the next day (or was it the next week?) because it was broken*.

We'd moved into the house in 1965, but it could've been anytime between 1966 and '67 at the earliest (maybe even '68?) before the lights assumed their place on the ceiling.  I can't remember the exact year we got them, but I now associate them so strongly with the house that, whenever I think back, it seems as if we had them the entire period we resided there, even though I know it isn't so.

Over 30 years ago, I visited my old home for the first time since leaving 16 years before, and was surprised to see patches over our old paper on the ceiling where the lights had once been.  (The patches were still there a few years later and perhaps might yet be there now, for all I know.)  Anyway, seeing that the lights had left their mark for so many years afterwards only reinforced their connection to the house in my mind.

It's the same with toys and comics.  Over the years, I've been lucky enough to re-acquire many items I once had as a child and have now owned them for far longer than I ever had the originals.  Some I originally maybe had for only a few weeks or months, others a year or three - and, as is the way of such things, some were consigned to history long before others made their appearance - yet somehow I seem to remember possessing each and every one of them concurrently and for the same duration.

One example I spoke about in a previous post is the first issue of the revamped SMASH! from March, 1969.  I only had it for around four days before selling it on to a classmate (it was my intention to buy another copy the next day, but I couldn't find one).  However, every page had embedded itself in my memory with such clarity that, when I tracked down a replacement copy over 15 and a half years later, it was instantly familiar - as if I'd last seen it only a few weeks before.

Here's the kicker though - whenever I leaf through its pages, I'm instantly transported back to the living-room of the house I lived in at the time.  What's more, it seems to conjure up every aspect of that house and all the years I lived there, even though I only had the comic for a mere four days.  Uncanny!

So, I don't know about you, but I find it exceedingly strange that some items inform our recollections of a place to such a degree that they seem to represent the entire 'picture' as opposed to only a part of it (if that makes any sense).

If you've any thoughts on the subject, feel free to express them in the comments section.  (And if you can tell me what I've just been talking about, I'd very much appreciate it.)

******

*It's just occurred to me that I've subconsciously always regarded both lights as being the ones my father brought back on that particular night and which have adorned our ceiling(s) ever since.  However, as related above, one was returned because it was broken, so its replacement was essentially a 'ringer'.  It reminds me of when it was eventually revealed that the first BLUE PETER pup died a few days after its debut appearance, and was hastily substituted with a doppelganger (later christened PETRA).  For many years, viewers believed that the dog they'd watched grow up on TV was the same one they'd first been introduced to, but such was not the case.  I feel sorry for the poor puppy that died, but I suddenly find myself feeling a little sad for the broken light that had to be returned.  Yes, you're right - I'm bonkers.