The Subway Principal
This year was my 10th consecutive Anzac day celebrated at my local bowling club at Kahibah and every year I watch as the young, naive people who don’t frequent the club swarm in and not know how to line up for a beer.
For those who don’t know, bowling clubs often employ the Subway Principal as the preferred line up method to get a beer.
The Subway Principal is quite simple and follows the line up rules that Subway*, the successful sandwich maker uses. That is, to line up along the bar rather than line up deep. Keep the people moving along conveyor belt style, keeping the line moving.
It’s origin’s stems from those drinkers who got sick of leaving the bar and having to carry their drinks through the crowd of people lined up behind them. Some snazzy thinkers realised that less beer was spilt by moving along rather than through.
The bar staff never falter from serving only those only operating within the proper line up method. If you’re lining up behind people and being neglected they will not explain to you the error of your ways as they’re probably too busy working efficiently with those who know how to line up.
Nothing frustrates me more than watching those who crowd around the back of the group wondering why they aren’t getting served. I will often go out of my way to educate those poor souls who so want a beer but a too dim to notice why those in front of them are getting served while they are getting no closer to the bar.
There is something rewarding about going to line up yourself and seeing a young fella you just taught getting served with a smile on his face, chuffed to have discovered the secrets of the elusive line.
There are obviously exceptions to the rule. If no one is at the bar you can obviously walk right up. If there is a bowler or an older member of the club, let them go in front of you. But for the most part, if you live by the Subway Principal you’ll be fine.
So, in the interest of helping the young learn this sophisticated and effective lining up process i’ve included a diagram below.
*This post is no way sponsored, supported or endorsed by Subway ™… even though they’re delicious…
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Middle Finger Pt III
Part One is here, part 2 here…
So there I was, home alone, stranded, unable to drive anywhere due to my finger but desperately needing medical help to change my bandages. I ran a few options over in my head. I could stay in my new pool of blood until someone came home in 8 hours? Was phoning triple 0 too much? Ultimately, I had no choice but to do it myself. My biggest fear was unraveling the massive ball of bandages to find my finger had come off all together, like a really macabre pass the parcel.
So I sat myself in the bathtub, no water and started the slow painful process of slowly removing the blood soaked dressing . The pain I felt while taking them off, the bandages pulling off the freshly burned skin, was unlike anything I’ve felt before… I blacked out briefly twice and threw up once, that was how much it hurt… I kept expecting to see a hint of bone protruding from the mess that used to be my hand.
I got to the end and had revealed a still attached, bone on the inside “finger” of blood and blackened flesh. It was a sight. And a relief. I cleaned it up as best I could & re-bandaged it. I took a handful of painkillers and went for a nap on the lounge. Out of fear of waking up to a bloody lounge I put my hand in a plastic shopping bag just before I passed out.
When I awoke a few hours later I thought i best try clean my blood drenched sheets. I put them on a wash, had a few more of my painkillers, grabbed my plastic bag and had another medically induced nap.
I’m lucky I don’t live in Ramsey street because the Neighbours would have been all a flutter had they seen me hanging my blood splattered sheets out like some sort of serial killers flag. Harold would had a heart attack.
This was going to be the final chapter in the Middle Finger Saga (if Twilight is a saga so is this) but I will finish it up next week with an Epilogue of life as a 9 and a half fingered person.
This is the last of my Smiths Crisps Do Us A Flavour competition This was a last minute entry I whipped up, I think I managed to get it done in an hour or so just before the competition was about to close.
It’s definitely the cutest of the entries (besides maybe the Spoon in this one). Click on the image below for a full sized, un-cropped version. Enjoy.
Middle Finger Pt II
For Part One of this trilogy CLICK HERE
Upon discovery of my gruesome injury I was driven promptly to the emergency room where on my arrival I had to explain my accident to the nurse.
Me: I sat on my hand getting into a van and my finger popped open
Nurse: *glares at me with utter disbelief* It really is better for all of us if you tell us the truth
Me: … I fucking sat on my fucking hand getting into a fucking van and my fucking finger fucking popped open”…
Clearly I was not coping too well with the whole situation. After repeating my story no less than 3 times I was finally admitted and began the wait for a Doctor to have a look.
It is hard to read a Doctors reaction at the best of times but this Doc was visibly taken back by what he was seeing… he was an emergency room doctor with over 10 years experience and he couldn’t understand what he was looking at… “Huh? That’s interesting” …very reassuring…
With the wound being (what used to be) the tip of my finger and bleeding so profusely, local anesthetic was not an option. The Doctor began by pulling the nail out entirely (from the top knuckle) with what looked to me to be an ordinary pair of toolbox pliers. If I didn’t already think that the idea of pulling nails as torturous I had now experienced it first hand, literally. It hurts. A lot.
Once the nail was gone he revealed a big black plastic bag. He tore it open to reveal a wooden spoon sized Q-tip that began smoking soon as it was exposed to the air, like some sadistic medieval interrogation tool . The Doctor pushed the drooping flesh back around the bone and used the giant smoking stick to cauterize the wound… the smell was atrocious (the thought of it still makes me gag).
My finger, still smoking, was wrapped up in bandages till it was the size of a cricket ball. I was given a handful of really good painkillers & sent on my way with instructions to keep it elevated and see a doctor in a few days to redress the wound.
I got home, took a few of my really, really good pills and crashed.
When i woke up I was in a blood bath… literally. And I don’t mean literally, like “I could literally eat a horse” I mean literally like my sheets were drenched and there was a good inch or so pooled on the bed. The bandages had bled through during the night and let me looking like an extra from Carrie.
Find out how I ended up in next weeks exciting conclusion. Same ginge time. Same ginge channel.
Third of my four Smiths Crisps Do us a Flavour entries is Chicken & Corn Soup.
Not sure what more I can say about this Flavour idea except that I think it would be yummy (definitely better than Caesar Salad or any of the other shitty finalists).
Also I really like the spoon. Enjoy.
Click for full size image
