weirder than my average

Saturday was the strangest, coolest day.

For a start, it involved the new Harry Potter book, which I bought about 20 minutes before the start of my shift and then, defiantly unleashing my inner Potter-geek like a sawn off shotgun in a bank robbery, proceeded to spend my lunch break, afternoon break, most of the time in the evening when I should've been paying attention to a play, reading it.

As much as I would love to turn this into a spoiler-tastic account of all the crazy things that happened in the book, I'm not going to. I could never do that to some poor, lagging behind Potter fan who might inadvertently stumble upon this post and then be forced to kill themselves for finding the ending out. Over-dramatic? No. This is Harry Potter. Take it seriously or get the hell out of my blog and don't let the door spank your uncultured ass on the way out.

I. Loved. This. Book. I personally thought that number 4 was stonking and number 5 was only mildly disappointing. This one made me so happy, I actually considered drawing a lightning bolt on my forehead just to feel part of the phenomena. It also made me cry, but then I'm a loser, so don't feel bad. Without being spoiler-ish, the two things that I've been waiting to happen finally happened in this book.

1) Harry stopped behaving like a stroppy teenager (see book 5 and his numerous tantrums) and started behaving like a MAN. A MAN with a PLAN, no less.

2) The student body finally, uh, you know, did that thing, what's it called? Oh yeah, PUBERTY and started behaving more like the randy buggers we knew they were underneath. Hurrah for the sexual emancipation of Hogwarts and all the joy and 'snogging' that it brought!

Am pleased. Want to snog Bill Weasley. Still maintain that Snape is a Good Guy, much in the same way that my brother maintains that Metallica are a Good Band - with blind faith, little evidence and little chance of ever being proved right.

*****

Saturday then proceeded to be one of the oddest days I've ever had at work, purely because of the weird-ass customers I had. There were too many odd little incidents for me to bring back up here, but there was this one girl who really stuck in my mind. She was about 14 or 15, with her parents, wearing a National Ballet t-shirt. Not in a poser kind of way either, you could tell by the way she walked and everything that she was a dancer. She was also the skinniest girl I have ever seen, completely flat-chested, legs like twigs. So skinny that she bought a pair of shorts that were size 11-12.

Well, big deal, most ballet dancers are skinny. The shocking thing about this girl was her arms. She had cuts all the way up her arms, from her wrists to the sleeves of her t-shirt, all bunched up together. It almost looked like she had stripes, like a zebra or something. Both arms. I couldn't stop staring, as much as I knewI shouldn't. I've never seen self-harm that extreme before. Her parents seemed totally fine, cheerful and jolly as anything.

I don't know if they were oblivious or just really good at dealing with the truth. I felt like shouting at them, "Hey guys, your daughter's slashed her arms to pieces and she looks like she hasn't eaten for about 6 months. NOTICE!"

Not that I know them, or have any right to pass judgement on them or their daughter. You get these little snapshots into people's lives sometimes. It almost makes the job interesting.

*****

Then, at the end of my shift, I got into Liz's car, glanced in the wing mirror and noticed that my work shirt (being at the smaller end of clothes that just about fit me) happens to hang in exactly the right way so as to give anyone standing on my left a clear view of what's underneath.

Customers queue on my left. Is this why no one helps me when I'm struggling to haul compost and crates of beer through the checkout?

Feel violated. Must quit. Also must start campaign to MAIM the git who decided that putting barcodes on the BOTTOM of a 24 crate of beer was a good idea. I hate him. Yes it was a him. Probably the same kind of him that likes to watch stressed, underpaid students in ill-fitting uniforms struggle to move heavy objects.

Is that sexist? Because if it is, I have a tiny, sad-sounding violin that could do with a new home where there is CONSIDERABLY LESS SUNLIGHT.

*****

Did the last night of The Hound of the Baskervilles at my drama group. Am a real live sound technician. Use technical words such as 'headphone thingy' and 'mini-mah-jiggy-disk'. Know how to do technical things such as pressing 'play', 'stop' and giving va va voom to the va va volume.

Left chocolate on sound desk.

Finished off a rousing chorus of 'Gay Bar' by accidentally saying something to the effect of "So, *insert non-libellous name here*'s boyfriend. Wouldn't mind taking him to a gay bar!" into the microphone that was attached to the headphone thingy that was being worn by the stage manager.

Will not be asked back.

*****

Went to the Ag with Liz, Rob and some American girls who pronounced Rob's name 'Rab' and found my jokes about the questionable moral fibre of Liz's mother very funny. Or had good fake laughs.

Saw my ex-boyfriend's new tattoo. It's not that I said he couldn't have it done, just that if he had got it done, I'd have killed him.

Got beer thrown on me. Almost had a cat fight with a girl in moon boots. Threw half eaten chocolates out of the window on the way home.

*****

Got home and read the rest of Harry Potter.

*****

Slept.

*****

Woke up thinking about the girl in the National Ballet t-shirt.

Not my average Saturday.