My First Car
It was my 8th birthday. Yep, no typo, not 18, 8th. I ripped the wrapping paper off my biggest present to reveal the best gift ever, the Ghosbusters Ecto One! For those who don’t know, the Ecto One is the car that the Ghostbusters used to drive around town busting up ghosts in (pictured left). It was about the size of a shoe box, so all the Ghostbusters action figures could ride along in side. It was by far the coolest toy I had ever owned (and I once owned a My Pet Monster doll!).
I was so proud of my new car (toy) that I insisted on driving it (taking it) to school with me that day to show off. Show and Tell day or not, it would be shown! At the time, bringing your own toys to school was not encouraged. I guess they’d had some incidents of theft, breakage or choking or some such, but to hell with them! My ride would be seen!
My class mates were all a gasp at how cool my new wheels were (I was sure I’d be giving a girl a tour of the back seat later on). I was the coolest kid in the class. I couldn’t wait for recess to take it out and do doughnuts in the car park and impress my new found (albeit shallow) friends but as the recess bell sounded and I ran (drove) towards the door Mrs Smith (nothing ambiguous, she was just that simply named) insisted I not take it out into the yard in case I broke it, she didn’t want to be responsible. I reluctantly handed over the keys and went out to little lunch, all the time anxious to get back to my shiny new car.
When recess wrapped up I ran back into the room to claim back my pride & joy but was met with the thick smell of.. *sniff sniff* burning plastic?
Click image to enlarge
My eyes locked onto the old school wall mounted gas heater in the corner. Mrs Smith had put it down on the heater while we were all out of the room. During the 20 minutes alone on the heater the car had melted into a unrecognizable white lump (ironically not unlike like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man at the end of the first Ghosterbusters Movie). The two action figures inside, Peter and Egon, were melting out the car doors as if they had tried to flee. It was horrifying.
I’m not exactly sure what happened next, I think I must have blacked out from the shock and the fumes, but I awoke expecting it all to be some horrible dream and my car would be there waiting for me, I was the birthday boy after all, I was invincible. But alas, it was all too true. I had come to school with a beautiful white car and left with a lump of melted plastic.
Mrs Smith had tried to prevent me scratching my new ride and in the process had burned it out. She never did replace the car and I was left with my most empty & depressing birthday on record. I still well up every time I smell burning plastic.
The End
PS Yes, my infant school uniform was brown & yellow…
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In the video rental system, the people are divided into two separate yet equally important groups: the people who hire the movies and the customer service representatives who tolerate them. These are their stories.
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One of the most enjoyable parts of working at a video shop is watching how different people deal with hiring adult films. I say enjoyable, but enjoyable in the same way Curb Your Enthusiasm is. Cringe-worthy situations that you can’t look away from. There are a many breeds of porno renter, here are just a few:
Firstly, there is the undercover guy who hovers around the weeklies section, walking slowly up and down the isles, doing fly by’s past the porno section but never quite stopping. Once he sees that the store is empty of any other customers they hurry over, pick out a few and rush to get served before anyone catches them… Which of course made me go slower.
Then there is the I-didn’t-do-it guy, who will hire an adult film, then return it late, but deny ever having hired it when confronted with overdue fees. On more than one occasion I had to confront a I-didn’t-do-it guys wife with said over due’s. Awkward, but hugely entertaining.
The chameleon would grab a pile of any old weekly to surround and hide the one adult flick in the middle. They casually hand you the pile and try talk to distract you from noticing it as you scan. I would of course ensure the one adult film ended up on the top for all to see.
Giggly-virgins are a young couple that would come in (never the ones you’d want) and giggle as they spend ages checking out the covers before deciding to hire one, or more often than not, not hire one.
Some people would actually ask for what we had “Under the counter” like they’d been given this super password that allowed them access to stash of super porn under my counter… there was no such porn. We just called these people creeps.
The weirdest of all was this one guy who was a bit funny in the head. He’d come in late most nights right before we’d close and pick one adult movie and rent it. He’d then return it in the after hours return chute. He’d then come in the next night and do it all over again. If that wasn’t creepy enough, he came in one night, made his selection, then came to me at the counter. A scan of his card (step 2) revealed a Pop-up message which read:
DO NOT ALLOW THIS MAN TO HIRE ADULT FILMS. HE HAS REQUESTED THIS HIMSELF AND DOESN’T WANT US TO LET HIM HIRE THEM ANY MORE.
He had requested a block on his own card for all adult movies!? He didn’t want us to let him hire them any more? How do I tell the dude standing in front of me he himself has requested a ban on himself? I ignored the message and let him go off with with his nightly treat.
The real tragic thing about this whole thing is that we only had R18+ “porno’s”… there is nothing good in them at all, maybe some boob at best.
… or so I am told.
Nightmare on Ginge Street
When will I learn? I can not stand out in the sun. In fact, I shouldn’t go outside during the day, period.
Boxing day 2006
In Newcastle, the only place to be on Boxing Day is at the famous Newcastle Boxing Day Races. It’s a day in the middle of summer where girls wear as least as possible and the dudes wear suits and look at said girls. Also some horses race, I assume. I’ve not actually witnessed this but I imagine there is some sort of animal racing about.
I’m sure when the day started I’d have left with sun screen on (like every good ginge), but over the course of the day, out in the 40 degree heat in my suit I sweated it off and didn’t reapply. Needless to say, my pale freckled ginger face burned like a crumpet in the grill.
Before I even went to bed my face was red raw, sunburned to the point of looking like Freddy Krueger himself (one of the worlds most famous and feared ginge’s).
Normal folk who get some sun go from: Normal > a bit red > tanned & beautiful. I, along with my fair skinned brethren go another route. We go: White > red raw > peeling an entire layer of skin off > white again.
When I go for a skin cancer check-up my doctor, Dr Freckle (that’s not his name but it’s what I call him) just shakes his head as I come in, amazed I’ve made it through another summer without turning into a pile of ash. He says that it’s not a matter of if I’ll get skin cancer, it’s a matter of when I get skin cancer. I laugh and say “yeah” jokingly but he just repeats it again with a straight face. He is very reassuring.
So the next morning after my day in the sun, as I sat eating my cereal, something drops into my bowl. To my disgust, it was my own face. My burns were so bad that my face was weeping into my breakfast!
To make things worse, I had to work at the Video Shop for the day. Every single person that came through that day went through the exact same exchange:
Them: Get a bit of sun yesterday, huh?
Me: Yep.
Them: You know, with your skin type you really should wear sunscreen.
Me: Yep.
But the indignities weren’t over yet, it was also my mum’s 50th birthday a couple of nights later, so i had to endure a party full of relatives and friends asking the same rhetorical question: “Get a bit of sun yesterday, aye?”
It was from that day on I swore never to get that burnt again. Not because of the dangers of skin cancer. Not for the fear of wrinkles. Not even for the sake of all the embarrassment I’d gone through. I swore off getting sun burned just so I would never have to endure a week of you damned tanned day-walkers commenting on my inability to endure the sun over and over.
In the video rental system, the people are divided into two separate yet equally important groups: the people who hire the movies and the customer service representatives who tolerate them. These are their stories.
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As I’ve mentioned before, signing up a new customer was may be the worst part of working at the video shop. To keep the line moving smoothly everyone goes through the same simple steps:
Step 1. Enthusiastic welcome
Step 2. Membership card is presented
Step 3. The password is recited
Step 4. I scan the videos (possible banter occurs here, but is not a required step)
Step 5. Pay for said videos
Step 6. Pleasant farewell
Step 7. Repeat
You’re in your groove then, all of a sudden, you’d go to serve someone (Step 1) and ask for their card (Step 2) only to have them say “I’m not a member, I need to join up”. This was like yelling “Stop the Presses!”. A video shop relies on operating off the simple & quick process of the above steps. When someone holds up the line the shit goes crazy. As a result you tend resent people that want to become a member and can often be a bit short with them. After this particular signing up though I was never short again…
So, to join up you need 100 points of ID which was basically a drivers license with another piece of corroborating ID like a bank card etc.
“I don’t drive” he says.
That’s strike 2. Non licensed people are the worst, both in this instance but generally in real life too. By this stage I am acting like a real prick as the line of disgruntled customers grows longer and longer.
“Well, what ID do you have?” I spit at him
“Gun license? Well, gun licenses.” he says as he drops multiple state gun licenses on the counter.
*long pause* “… Um … I suppose that’s okay” I reply.
The rest of the sign up process was done in a pleasant manner (re:me trying to nice all of a sudden) but he saw through my act and stared at me the whole time. I finally finished and he was on his way with a bag full of Ultimate Fighting Championship & Steven Segal DVD’s. Just as he was about to walk out the door he asked me if i wanted to see his shotgun in his boot and then laughed maniacally…
I wondered, if he had a car boot, why didn’t he have a drivers license?I never did asked him about that.
Middle Finger Epilogue
The six months after the horrific accident that nearly lost me my middle right finger were frustrating, boring and painful. With my whole right hand, my main hand, out of action even the most menial of tasks were an effort. Wrapped up in a ball of bandages for most of this time, the finger was still extremely raw and sensitive, even a slight bump would bring on a wave of intense pain that would bring me to the point of vomiting.
Here are some things suffered from the receiving the most painful (and painfully lame) accident of all time:
I had to drop out of uni for a semester because my hand was useless. I was in the final stages of my Visual Communication degree and was left unable to do any practical (or impractical for that matter) work what-so-ever. My only choice was to defer and hope i could pick it back up in 6 months (Fingers crossed… well, finger crossed).
My diet had become finger food (ironically). I had to have meals pre-cut for me so i could eat with just a fork. I wasn’t able to hold a knife let along provide the pressure needed to cut things. Anything i could cook without actually cooking and pick up with one hand became my only rations.
I had to learn to wipe my bum left handed. I know, it sounds silly, but have you ever attempted a wipe with your other hand? Give it a go, i’ll wait… See, the co-ordination isn’t quite there, is it? The first few times did not go so well but I eventually found my groove… so to speak.
I was off the road for a few months, unable to drive my manual car. I think even an automatic would’ve caused me grief. I was house bound (I don’t do public transport). I’d have probably hitch hiked but holding my hand out for that amount of time to thumb down a ride would’ve made me pass out from pain.
My dating life (which wasn’t much to begin with, let’s be honest) was now non-existent. My injury wasn’t quite so bad that I got any sympathy and wasn’t quite so good that I could carry on as if it didn’t happen. There is nothing cool about an injury that was a result of sitting on your own hand, no girls want’s to date a dude with a busted finger. Needless to say, my left hand “pulled up the slack” on those duties too.
As you can see, this seemingly simple injury had utterly destroyed my life.
12 months later…
So, after a long year finally a hint nail was attempting to grow, but it struggled. Nails being made up of hair meant that the new nail was growing out from the knuckle like piano wire. You know that pain from when your cuticle is cut a bit short? Imagine that 24-7… Brutal. Putting my hand in my pocket too quick would make me dizzy with pain.
It was about this time I could first start resuming day to day tasks such as writing, cutting, drinking & wiping that had eluded me for those previous months.
Today…
And here it is almost 8 years later… I still have nerve damage up the arm and neck from it, and if it is cold it aches (he says like a war veteran), but for the most part it has healed up nicely, definitely much better than the Doctor (who had considered chopping it off at the knuckle) had prepared me for. It still looks a little odd but it has left me with a hell of a story.
The finger today is a little different looking but I think it has given him character. If you ever meet me in real life, yes, I will let you see and touch the finger.
So, i guess the moral of the story is always be careful sitting down, lest you cause yourself debilitating, grievous bodily harm… or something to that effect.
