Very Long & Unfathomably Whingey Irrational Rant Of The Day

I just spent an hour in my local supermarket being photoblocked. 

I had 80 pictures on a USB key of our "Staff barbecue and sports day" from a couple of weekends ago. It took me about 3hrs at home on the computer to wean them down from the original 240 photos taken on the day, and then to crop, size and do some tasteful editing.  I'm going to be creating a photo montage on the main wall at work to try and give everyone a few smiles over the next month.  How difficult could it be to just pop into my local Tesco [a big sell everything Walmarty type of supermarket], stick the key in the machine and hit the "order all" button?

Well I arrived to find 6 people already waiting in the queue in front of me, but for all the difference it would have made it could have been 25.  The wall of animosity directed at the 2 photo order machines in use in front of them was palpable.  It was also audible.  My first clue to this was when one of the ladies, using some very unladylike [albeit very accurate] language announced that this was a complete joke - with sexual connotations. Bear in mind she said this out loud, about the two people standing about a foot and a half in front of her. The man on the left wasn't ordering prints of his holiday snaps, oh no. He was creating a photo book, probably a present. But more than that, he was creating a work of art. And it wasn't right, it... just... wasn't... right!  He was on page 21 ["he's been at this for 40 minutes" - with sexual connotations - announced one of the other ladies], and every page had 2, or 3, or 4 photos, in different orders, in different shapes, he could move them, flip them, rotate them, no, still not right, rotate them back.  Some he wanted to expand, some he wanted to crop. And every time he put one in, he'd look back at the 500 photos on his card to see if he'd picked the right one. He hadn't.  Every single - with sexual connotations - time he'd picked the wrong one and had to change it back. And then he'd put one back in again. But it... still... wasn't... right. 

At one point he put in a picture of a sheep on a mountainside, and I looked at one of my fellow volcanic grumblers, all of us about to go pyroclastic on his backside, as if to say "hasn't he already used that one earlier?".  Bear in mind, we're standing in the middle of a busy shopping aisle, being rammed by trolleys and prams and shopping bags.  There is nothing else to do but stare at this man's photos.  One of the ladies looked at her friend.  "He used that one earlier didn't he?"  The man heard her.  He checked back to page six.  He had!  He HAD used the picture of a sheep on a mountainside before.  How could he have missed it when he flicked from page 6 back to page 19, and compared it to page 8, then swapped for the photo on page 14, before rotating then unrotating the 4 photos on page 15?  What sort of a dumb idiot was he?  He then proceeded to delete 6 pages of photos, all the way back from page 22 to page 16! We stared.  We just stared, immobile with rage.  He shook his head, stiffened his shoulders to provide himself the courage that all artists need when creating a masterpiece, and put 4 photos onto his new page 17.  Rotated them, rotated them again, then changed them all.

The woman to his right on the other machine glanced nervously back, obviously knowing she'd be next in the firing line when someone finally blew.  She had a card from her camera in the machine, and had spent the past half hour choosing from every fourth or fifth family and friend beach photo. I knew this because it was clear she'd set the burst function on her camera - every 3 or 4 photos were identical.  All posed portraits, of the same 10 people, beach, sea, sky, shot repeatedly over milliseconds, all 500 of them.  She still couldn't choose between them though. She glanced back again, sorrowfully, apologetically, before adding with perfect comedic timing "and I've still got 2 more cards to go sorry".  She wasn't sure if she'd driven  the woman directly behind her mad enough, so she pulled the 2 cards out of her pocket and showed them to her, just to make sure.

I gave up. I had to shop for lunch then get back to work, you know, sick people and all that. 20 minutes later, an hour after I entered the store, I exited the checkouts, food in hand, and walked past the photo aisle.  No one had moved.  Not the photoblockers, not the queue.  Especially not the man on the left machine.  Stiff backed, sweat on his brow, immune to the fury of the intemperate critics behind him, he continued on in his quest for artistic perfection.  He glanced at the Page 23 he'd just created, he stopped and stared, and paused, and waited, because he knew that he had finally created something worthy of the image in his head...

And then he deleted it.

Nick

Remind Me Again When They Grow Up?

You would think at the age of 21 months (which is so close to 24 months that they really might as well be 2 years old) that the 'puppies' being quiet wouldn't mean they were being naughty.  You could be forgiven for that. However, having raised 5 whippet puppies (3 from birth - not counting their siblings), a Chelsea Bear and numerous family dogs, there is no way that *I* can be forgiven for thinking that (sigh).

I am upstairs watching TV and making Tuggitz!.  The dogs are free to come and go.  Drama and Teya are with me, Savannah and the pups are downstairs.  All is quiet and good except the occasional sound of plastic.  Good puppies playing with an empty plastic bottle (yeah right).

Kendra brings up the plastic crinkly toy and I ask her to show me.  She obligingly brings it up on the bed and drops it in my hand.  The outside packaging from a 5 pack of BRIGHT NEON GEL PENS!

My mind instantly envisions my living room carpet, rugs and furniture splashed with a psychedelic blend of neon pink, orange, yellow, green and blue.  Those of you who knew me in my early 20's are probably thinking 'yeah, that sounds like something she'd like', and you're right - it was (at least based on my wardrobe accessory choices at the time), but not in my current day living room.

In my panic I try and rush off the bed and downstairs (while telling KK she's a good girl for bringing me the 'toy') and am mobbed by 5 excited whippets wondering what game we're going to play (AARGH).  'Mummy's moving fast - it must be something AWESOME!'  Hmmph, mummy can't move fast with you're all jumping on her and bashing her in the head and knees.

I finally make it past the sea of bouncing whippets, down the stairs through the school of running whippets and discover....

Phew!!  Plastic shards, chewed up caps and ends, but NO INK!!  Gel ink is awesome - it stays put in the tubes, and doesn't leak out the back end or the writing end.  The puppies chewed the caps off (the caps had interesting bits on them) and then chewed the other ends, and then got bored before they reached the ink.

Dogs are locked outside while I clean up the shards (don't want any cut paw pads), say a sad goodbye to my pens and all is good.

And now that it's all over I'm a little disappointed.  While I'm glad my carpet and furniture were saved, I'm thinking that it might have been kind of cool to have a couple of neon coloured pups for a few days.

Wendy