#19: Bad service is good service

I said the other day that I was going to write about a weird McDonald’s experience. So I will.

You don’t need me to tell you about what you normally expect service-wise from Maccies, just that it’s never above the level of terrible.

Well, it’s not that terrible; I mean, you always get your food fairly quickly and have somewhere to sit – and that’s adequate. You might be aggrieved at less, but wouldn’t expect more.

Anyway, the McDonald’s in Cannock* I was in was undergoing some sort of managerial evaluation. There were men in suits with clipboards doing important people-y things. This wasn’t actually the first thing I noticed; rather the fact I was greeted at the door and directed to a seat.

This was really weird. People like good service but in McDonald’s it was a bit jarring. I expected to be left to my own devices but kept** being pestered to see if everything was OK***.

Not the fault of these particular Maccy D’s employees, of course – they’re just trying not to be sacked. I wonder, though, if they were actually told to act in this manner or just felt obligated to.

It was probably back to normal when the well-presented gentlemen left. And that is a good thing. McDonald’s, don’t ever change. Well, apart from not making your milkshakes from chickens any more. That was a good change.


**It was only once really

***”Is everything OK?” is the worst part of every restaurant ever. Everything? Do you want me to go in to everything? Pour it all out? How about “you’ve just interrupted my conversation” for a kick off?

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#18: Time flies when you’re mildly busy

Has it really been a week since my last post? Shit.

I was going to use the ‘busy’ excuse, which was indeed true for a while, but it seems the past week has gone by in an exceedingly fast manner.

Tuesday is my free day, aswell, and I should have been doing things. Instead I was playing Grand Theft Auto 4.

I remember when this game first came out and the gaming press loved it (meanwhile, the non-gaming press were spouting their usual fluff about it, but that’s beside my point) and I couldn’t understand why.

What I won’t do is detail why I changed my mind after I bought the game again because that isn’t interesting. But I have a totally different view of it now.

Together with Red Dead Redemption, I think Rockstar have made two of my favourite games of the generation. LA Noire should follow those up, with any luck.

There’s a few things I want to write about this week: Green Bay won the Super Bowl (and my sleeping pattern is repaired as a result), I had an unusual experience in McDonalds, Wolves beat Manchester United, and also something else happened which hasn’t happened yet but will, meaning I’ll have more posts.


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I do try my best not to write about football and while yesterday’s entry wasn’t really entirely football I do feel a bit bad about talking about it again tonight.

I also feel bad about talking about it because I’m struggling to find a reason to care about Wolves’ season any more. It doesn’t look like the players do and since we’re just shit I think I’m going to try and distance myself from the team to save embarrassment… further embarrassment.

The bad thing is, a loss kind of ruins your day/night – even more so when you lose in the way we did (last-minute back pass from Zubar to their striker for a tap-in, if you didn’t know).

Consequently, I don’t feel like talking about it any longer. Tomorrow: a post not about football.

Brief update: I just remembered how I said the Packers weren’t going to reach the Superbowl with three games to win on the road. They did, though, so it’s party time on Sunday – party time as in me and some food trying to stay awake until 4am.

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#16: Not A Rant About Why Rich Bastards In Football Are A Bad But Also Occasionally Good Thing

Right, I’m starting this thing again. I kind of went in to meltdown in January and just didn’t bother. But I realised that I missed having somewhere to get away from other stuff and write about whatever I like.

So now that it’s a new month I’m going to give it another go. Trying to catch up the missing posts in time for the start of next year is a waste of time so I shall probably end up finishing some point in the middle of January.

Damn. January sounds a long way away.

In light of the crazy activity in the transfer market on Monday I feel like I should write A Rant About Why Rich Bastards In Football Are A Bad But Also Occasionally Good Thing because everyone else seems to think everyone else cares what they think.

I’m not going to give you A Rant About Why Rich Bastards In Football Are A Bad But Also Occasionally Good Thing and that is why.

For now, just know that for a hundred grand a week Andy Carroll should probably be able to afford a hair cut now. If you see him, tell him as much.

Has anyone realised (and forgive me for the fragmented post, I’m getting back in to the swing of things here) – or indeed, have the Egyptian people themselves realised – how stupid they look following this?

It’s a bit funny, ’cause it looks a bit like all Mubarak needed was a little tap on the shoulder and a whispered “sling yer hook” into his listening hole for him to fuck off, yet what was apparently a moderately-sized portion of the population were going insane and shit* because “Tunisia did it first!”

Really? Is this what the world has come to?**

You’d never catch us doing that in Britain.

Or perhaps you would.***

*you know what I mean. You’ve seen the pictures.

**I hate this phrase. Someone needs to think of something new to a similar effect.

***Because people are fucking stupid and can’t comprehend simple things like “you only pay more if X criteria is met – and for most of you, it isn’t”.****

****Although you never heard me say that, because I don’t like the coalition much. And please forgive the asterisks.

Almost forgot – I’m going to number my posts from now on since it’s not a date I’m aiming for any more, rather the big 365. I couldn’t think of a witty reference picture thing today, by the way, so I’ve given you what I’ve been playing over the past few days. It’s bloody brilliant.

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Oops pt. 2

This weekend has been a bit of a disaster on the One A Day front.

I’ve now got to go back and write an entry for Saturday and Friday, so not a lot from me today.

Today was derby day in the Premier League (or Super Sunday if you’re Sky), and with all of the rubbish results, I got to wondering:

Are derbies that good any more?

I mean, only one of three possible results will satisfy one of either party.

A draw is a total anti-climax (okay, Sunderland’s last-minute equaliser today is an exception) that ultimately pleases nobody.

If it’s not a draw, one team has to lose. Then comes the flurry of bitterness, disappointment, resentment and whatever other emotions. It can pretty much ruin your day.

If you win – great. You get some bragging rights. But you’ve probably got to play them again next month.

It’s all a bit ‘so what’.

Were derbies ever useful for anything other than having some fun hurling abuse? Have they gotten worse? Perhaps I’ve just grown out of them.

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All weather is bad weather

The above statement is an entirely true one. For me at least.

No type weather does me any favours. Let’s run through the main conditions.

1. Sun. Alright, so there’s not a lot of it here. When there is, though, I burn like I’m in the sunbed scene in Final Destination. Bloody Celtic roots. I burn most specifically on my nose, so I look particularly stupid.

2. Rain. No real qualms about rain other than the usual. It’s bad whoever you are, unless you’re mental.

3. Cold. There’s always a dilemma that occurs when it’s cold. Wearing a scarf seems essential outdoors, but you risk roasting yourself when you get inside, going bright red and getting a bit sweaty in the process. The cold weather also makes my eyes play up. They’re overly sensitive for some reason, and when chilliness is combined with contact lenses I tend to look as though I’ve just been told some terrible news ALL THE TIME.

4. Wind. My head and jaw area seem to seize up in a cold wind. Headaches aplenty. A hat is essential attire.

You get the idea. All weather hates me.

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A photograph

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Oh, bugger

Tomorrow will be entry thirteen. In light of having nothing to write about today, I’m going to talk about said thirteenth entry.

Superstitions. Why do people do them?

I mean, it’s a cool idea. The sort of thing you’d believe as a kid. Like fairy tales, maybe.

It’s funny that a lot of people believe in superstitions until they reach their graves. I’m the type of person who’ll ridicule this sort of thing. For example, I know people who’ll follow certain routines – parking spaces, clothing, walking on certain paths – before football matches.

It’s funny because these routines change basically every week since, of course, the way one bloke chooses to go about his day has fuck all to do with whether Kevin Doyle has his scoring boots on (’cause he never does any more anyway. BURN).

Not to mention there’ll be thousands of others changing or following different ‘lucky’ customs each day. What fantastical ruler of football shall decide which of these are to be successful, and which aren’t?

None. But – just like with fairy tales – you want to believe. You want to believe that something, somewhere is taking in to account which way you decided to walk around the lamp-post with all the stickers on it or which gap in the hedge you clambered through with thorns stuck in your arse.

But, as I mock these sorts of practices in my mind, I’ll do them myself anyway. It’s a bit of fun crossed with a bit of ‘what if?’.

I know people who are very pedantic about the number thirteen. The radio in the car can’t be on thirteen volume.

‘Stupid’, thinks I. If I were on my own, though, I wouldn’t leave it on thirteen either.

And so, as tomorrow will be post thirteen, it may well be unlucky. I don’t think so. But it might.

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A Great TV Mistake

Hey, look at that! I’ve managed to write an entry on the day it was meant for!

As I climbed in to bed last night at the obscene yet depressingly familiar hour of 3am, I thought I’d have a look at what TV the early morning had to offer.

On BBC3 was ‘Great Movie Mistakes’. You’ve probably seen it billed at times when there’s fuck all else on, because it seems to be the go-to time filler programme for the BBC.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s a clip show presented by Robert Webb highlighting what are mostly continuity errors on film sets.

It is shit. It is built around the basic premise of Webb chortling at the simple mistakes of the mere mortals who produce movies; taking all of the credit for reading a script that some poor bloke named Donald or Albert or something has spent hours trawling through his movie collections to create.

“I’m GREAT at spotting mistakes, aren’t I?” remarks Webb after EVERY chuffing clip.

No you’re not, you twat. You didn’t do anything.

One does have to question the fundamental reasons behind the programme’s existence. It points out things nobody – apart from the smug bloke who wrote this programme – notices.

Holy shit, Avatar has a continuity error! Stop the presses!

“Look at this gaffe,” quips Webb, showing how a car wing mirror is in place in one scene, but not the next.

It is NOT a gaffe if it needed a show like this to fucking point it out, you moron.

And, aside from this, it’s not even interesting. In the five minutes I was watching it, my thoughts were all along the lines of the following (and I’m loosely paraphrasing here):

“I don’t give a fuck,” “heh,” “I don’t give a fuck, again,” and “do people care about this sort of thing?”, whilst looking at Webb’s face with an expression on mine similar to that of David Mitchell in the picture at the top of this entry.

Most worryingly, this was in fact the second edition of the programme. And you know what that means? People actually watched the first one.

Never mind ‘Great Movie Mistakes’. This show is a Great TV Mistake.

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Double digits

Here I am at day ten. This is actually the first post I’ve written where I’ve had the title down before anything else. It’s probably the worst one, though. My unmatchable (totally matchable) wit is not needed today.

The big one zero, then. But not so big when compared to the three hundred and fifty-five entries still to go.

Man, that’s daunting. Especially since this whole thing makes the days go by a bit slower than they used to.

Speaking of days; today was one which involved little-to-no blog-worthy observations. So I’m going to ramble – if that’s alright with you, fictional listeners (readers)*.

If anyone was interested, the URL of this blog comes from a Swedish folk artist named The Tallest Man On Earth. The picture is taken from his latest album’s artwork.

And the title – ‘For What Reason’ – is a Death Cab For Cutie song from one of their early records.

Yeah, my music taste sucks. Whatever. Haters gonna hate, and all that. But you asked for an entry today. So it’s tough.

Entirely unrelated thought: cheap crisps are amazing. Space Raiders, Quarterbacks and anything else in the fifteen pence range.

That is value, Cadbury. Seventeen pence for a Freddo? Kindly fuck off. Also, stop shrinking your chocolate bars. Dairy Milks used to be twice the size they are now.

This is all a bit fragmented, isn’t it? Oh well. Maybe my life will become sufficiently interesting for me to write more stuff like the posts found in week one’s entries. Unfortunately, that week exhausted my entire 2010’s worth of ideas.

I’ll think of something.

*I wanted a picture of Dave Clifton to accompany this sublime Partridge reference, but the internet cannot even provide me with that. You’re getting Alan instead.

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