Thread title says it all really...
I was locked in a Jessop's the other day and I had to explain to the shop manager (who seemed eager to try and sell me a camera) that I needed to get out. The experience was quite embarassing.
Have you ever been locked into a shop/public place?
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jrothwell97
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Nick Harvey wrote: If I was one of those people who regularly changed my signature™, I think I'd use that quote in it for a while.
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jrothwell97
- Posts: 176
- Joined: Mon 25 Jun, 2007 21.37
No. It isn't a euphemism for anything apart from 'he tried to flog me a camera even though I was locked in the bloody shop!!'marksi wrote:Is "trying to sell me a camera" some sort of euphemism?
Nick Harvey wrote: If I was one of those people who regularly changed my signature™, I think I'd use that quote in it for a while.
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Nick Harvey
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I've been locked in a number of public houses.
Normally well after closing time and with the landlord trying (and succeeding) to sell me alcoholic beverages.
Quite a pleasant experience, really.
Normally well after closing time and with the landlord trying (and succeeding) to sell me alcoholic beverages.
Quite a pleasant experience, really.
The fuse blew on the ghost train on Brighton pier when I was a kid. Seemed to be stuck in there for ages.
You often wonder what makes someone apply for a job like this. I saw the cables draped across the carpet in front of me, leading from a plug socket to a staffroom, from which the ever present faint smell of coffee and sound of papers being shuffled was now absent; replaced only with the light moaning of an underpowered vaccuum cleaner.
I hitched my bag onto my back and stepped over the orange power cord and headed back towards the exit. I had just finished another hour of vocal torture that was choir practice in preparation for the school Christmas play. Since when did Jack and the Beanstalk have any singing in it? Fi Fi Fo Fum was a ogrish chant, not a classical aria. I grumbled to myself as I attempted to go over in my head the unnerving alto harmonies I had been assigned.
Everyone else had already gone, I had foolishly volunteered to help clear away some of the staging. Every brownie point helps. Maybe in Year 8 I could be that bloke pulling open the curtains. That looked more fun than sitting in front of the stage, my face hidden from any photos my earnest family would take by the tone-deaf oaf next to me; his presence a mere cover for his desire not to attend double English on Friday mornings.
It was gone 5 and already the sun had set to give way to a frosty twilight. I caught glimpses of silvery windows as I approached the main exit and felt thankful my uncle had left me his pair of gloves in his will. A strange but useful bequeathment, especially as the air crashed into your cheeks like a thousand knives, and the ground was harder than concrete. Despite this, we were still expected to attempt to play rugby on it.
Gloves on, bag zipped, coat up to my nose, i pushed firmly on the door, expecting it to swing open with its usual wormwood-eaten vigour. Strangely though it was locked. Not unusual I thought, our caretaker is unusally prompt in locking the doors.
It was only 20 minutes later when I had vainly tried every other escape route from this symbol of 1950s educational oppressionism that my heart began racing somewhat. To make it worse the cleaner had disappeared and the people who I had just been helping in the main hall seemed to have already escaped this Alcatraz of academia.
I stood alone. The silence only punctuated by the buzzing of the lights. Despite the December atmosphere I was sweating profusely.
I was trapped.
I hitched my bag onto my back and stepped over the orange power cord and headed back towards the exit. I had just finished another hour of vocal torture that was choir practice in preparation for the school Christmas play. Since when did Jack and the Beanstalk have any singing in it? Fi Fi Fo Fum was a ogrish chant, not a classical aria. I grumbled to myself as I attempted to go over in my head the unnerving alto harmonies I had been assigned.
Everyone else had already gone, I had foolishly volunteered to help clear away some of the staging. Every brownie point helps. Maybe in Year 8 I could be that bloke pulling open the curtains. That looked more fun than sitting in front of the stage, my face hidden from any photos my earnest family would take by the tone-deaf oaf next to me; his presence a mere cover for his desire not to attend double English on Friday mornings.
It was gone 5 and already the sun had set to give way to a frosty twilight. I caught glimpses of silvery windows as I approached the main exit and felt thankful my uncle had left me his pair of gloves in his will. A strange but useful bequeathment, especially as the air crashed into your cheeks like a thousand knives, and the ground was harder than concrete. Despite this, we were still expected to attempt to play rugby on it.
Gloves on, bag zipped, coat up to my nose, i pushed firmly on the door, expecting it to swing open with its usual wormwood-eaten vigour. Strangely though it was locked. Not unusual I thought, our caretaker is unusally prompt in locking the doors.
It was only 20 minutes later when I had vainly tried every other escape route from this symbol of 1950s educational oppressionism that my heart began racing somewhat. To make it worse the cleaner had disappeared and the people who I had just been helping in the main hall seemed to have already escaped this Alcatraz of academia.
I stood alone. The silence only punctuated by the buzzing of the lights. Despite the December atmosphere I was sweating profusely.
I was trapped.
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Lorns
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I got stuck in a lift once and may have been locked in a pub once or twice.
Mental anxiety, Mental breakdowns, Menstrual cramps, Menopause... Did you ever notice how all our problems begin with Men?
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jrothwell97
- Posts: 176
- Joined: Mon 25 Jun, 2007 21.37
I take it you only remember these experiences from the bank statements immediately following them?Nick Harvey wrote:I've been locked in a number of public houses.
Normally well after closing time and with the landlord trying (and succeeding) to sell me alcoholic beverages.
Quite a pleasant experience, really.
Nick Harvey wrote: If I was one of those people who regularly changed my signature™, I think I'd use that quote in it for a while.