I've put up with this for years, but enough is enough: invariably if I answer these calls it turns out to be:
1. head hunter/recruitment officer (dude, I am on maternity leave - don't call me, I'll call you! - well I would if your number wasn't private)
2. insurance salesman (how did you get my UNLISTED number?)
3. mobile phone salesman (how did YOU get my UNLISTED number?) offering me an upgrade when we both know that I am not eligible for another 16 months!
4. the office (if you're calling me now it can't be for anything good so I'd rather not know, thanks)
5. some other stranger I do not want to speak to.
So, if you're calling me from a blocked/private number - leave a message cos I'm not picking up. (The only exception to this rule is Verlon... cos I like you).
[Verse 1:]
Soh who could it be
Ah who dem ah pre
Nuh call mi fone if you nuh wah mi fi see
Infarma work fi ah fee
Feds dem nuh lef mi be
Dem tops mi fone spy out like the KGB Yo!
So if you no you number block nuh budda call mi
Cah mi nah goh answa even if ah mi mammy
Yo ah regula dem kip it up block dem call
But mi nuh pick it up
Some likkle gyal ah stark mi
[Chorus: x2]
Mi ask
Who's calling me from ah unknown number
Wi nuh answer nuh unknown number
Nah pick it up if it's a private call
Gangster nuh answa nuh private call
[Verse 2:]
Yo! if you call mi fone
Mi wah si 1 plus di area code
Plus di digit everyting fi show
Cause if you private di number and call mi
Mi wah if si who is it how mi ah goh no?
Number hav fi show pon di ID cah mi dun store
Some ah mi friend name BLING DOG, MOVADO AND DI SON OF MISS IVY
people who ah mek private call dem should avoid me
[Chorus: x2]
Who's calling me from ah unknown number
Wi nuh answer nuh unknown number
Nah pick it up if it's a private call
Gangster nuh answa nuh private call
[Verse 3:]
Soh who could it be
Ah who dem ah pre
Nuh call mi fone if you nuh wah mi fi see
Infarma work fi ah fee
Feds dem nuh lef mi be
Dem tops mi fone spy out like the KGB Yo!
So if you no you number block nuh budda call mi
Cah mi nah goh answa even if ah mi mammy
Yo ah regula dem kip it up block dem call
But mi nuh pick it up
Some likkle gyal ah stalk mi...
and on a serious (and not so serious note):
http://livinginbarbados.blogspot.com/2008/06/whos-calling-me-from-unknown-number.html
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Tallerists - 0, Me - 3
So, with the advent of pregnancy and the onset of my battle with hyperemesis gravidarum - my updates on the war against tallerism have dried up... until now.
Since my last series of posts, we've moved house and now live a 7 min walk away from a station that takes me directly to work within 20 mins (thus enabling me to return to the office). It was on said train that this incident occured.
After quietly watching the minutes tick by on my watch, we finally arrived at my stop. Surprisingly enough, it seemed as though half the train wanted to get off at this stop. I took a quick look at my exits (equidistant) and chose the one I thought had a shorter queue.
A couple minutes later - with commuters still pouring off the train (noone had managed to board yet), the driver sounded the alarm to indicate the train was about to depart. Amazing how a steady 'peep peep peep peep' can inspire such animal reactions in 'normal' people.
A wave of panic spread through the carriages, heralded by groans and moans, as people spilled out onto the platform... there was trampling and squishing and pushing... ahead of me there was a female tallerist, another woman and a couple of men struggling to make it through the closing doors. My impaired speed (re: awkward shape and added weight) was no match for the electronics in those doors... I was not gonna make it off...
I don't know what came over me, I swear, but that wave of panic gripped me. There was no way I could stay on this train a second longer - I needed to puke, I needed fresh air, I needed my freedom...
Without realising what I was doing, I made a jump for the door: in one olympic bound I leapt into the air, landing nimbly on Lady Tallerist's back while she elbowed her way through the door - carrying me safely with her.
Once on the platform, I deftly slid off her back and planted my feet firmly on the ground as the train pulled away.
Amidst the throngs of disgruntled commuters packed along the platform, realisation sunk in... I had just jumped on a total stranger's back in order to get off the train. I had ridden someone like a camel!
I quickly looked around, Lady Tallerist was looking around in bewilderment rubbing her back. I'm guessing she was trying to figure out what had happened to her... was it the crowd pressing against her back or had someone ridden her out?
Without thinking I said : 'Thanks!' and rubbed my belly... she looked even more confused... I figured now was as good a time as any to disappear (before she figured out what I was thanking her for). I ducked between two tallerists and let the crowd take me out of the station.
Top side, I thought about what I'd done and how it must have looked. A petite pregnant woman jumping on a woman's back in order to get out a train in time.
I hang my head in shame (while laughing all the same).
Sometimes I shock myself.
yee-hah
Since my last series of posts, we've moved house and now live a 7 min walk away from a station that takes me directly to work within 20 mins (thus enabling me to return to the office). It was on said train that this incident occured.
After quietly watching the minutes tick by on my watch, we finally arrived at my stop. Surprisingly enough, it seemed as though half the train wanted to get off at this stop. I took a quick look at my exits (equidistant) and chose the one I thought had a shorter queue.
A couple minutes later - with commuters still pouring off the train (noone had managed to board yet), the driver sounded the alarm to indicate the train was about to depart. Amazing how a steady 'peep peep peep peep' can inspire such animal reactions in 'normal' people.
A wave of panic spread through the carriages, heralded by groans and moans, as people spilled out onto the platform... there was trampling and squishing and pushing... ahead of me there was a female tallerist, another woman and a couple of men struggling to make it through the closing doors. My impaired speed (re: awkward shape and added weight) was no match for the electronics in those doors... I was not gonna make it off...
I don't know what came over me, I swear, but that wave of panic gripped me. There was no way I could stay on this train a second longer - I needed to puke, I needed fresh air, I needed my freedom...
Without realising what I was doing, I made a jump for the door: in one olympic bound I leapt into the air, landing nimbly on Lady Tallerist's back while she elbowed her way through the door - carrying me safely with her.
Once on the platform, I deftly slid off her back and planted my feet firmly on the ground as the train pulled away.
Amidst the throngs of disgruntled commuters packed along the platform, realisation sunk in... I had just jumped on a total stranger's back in order to get off the train. I had ridden someone like a camel!
I quickly looked around, Lady Tallerist was looking around in bewilderment rubbing her back. I'm guessing she was trying to figure out what had happened to her... was it the crowd pressing against her back or had someone ridden her out?
Without thinking I said : 'Thanks!' and rubbed my belly... she looked even more confused... I figured now was as good a time as any to disappear (before she figured out what I was thanking her for). I ducked between two tallerists and let the crowd take me out of the station.
Top side, I thought about what I'd done and how it must have looked. A petite pregnant woman jumping on a woman's back in order to get out a train in time.
I hang my head in shame (while laughing all the same).
Sometimes I shock myself.
yee-hah
Tallerists - 0, Me - 2
Oh yes!
After a couple of months of successfully avoiding any run-ins with the dreaded tallerists - today we met again.
Picture the scene: a busy London rail station during rush hour... lots of people scurrying about trying their best to catch connecting trains in their desperate bids to get home.
Lots of small people, tall people, tallerists (Tall people with no concept of social etiquette or consideration of smaller people), and of course me: the champion of the cause for petite people everywhere!
Happily humming away to 'Kick Push' (anyone spot the problem yet?) by Lupe Fiasco, I was purposefully strolling along, safe in the knowledge that I had a good 7 minutes before my train would depart. All my carefully laid plans had paid off, life was good.
Out of the corner of my eye (here we go again), I spy a tallerist headed my way. Why did this one stand out from the others? His face was back-to-front.
Quite simply, he was looking the other way, behind him in fact... his body was directed towards me - which is where his feet were carrying him, but his nose and eyes were focused on something 165 degrees in the other direction.
My 'tallerist radar' can spot these muppets a mile off. Why? Cos I just know they're gonna walk into me. People tend to think that I am exaggerating when I rant about these scenarios - but just the other day I happened to be walking next to a normal sized colleague and she witnessed firsthand as a tallerist ploughed straight into me.
"Didn't he see you?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
I rolled my eyes and muttered something like 'ya see what I been saying all this time?' Stupse.
Anyway, here was my radar beeping like crazy, and here's me - analysing the way the crowd is moving, seeking a path to safety, a way out of ANY kind - and finding none... so I assume the brace position.
No. I didn't curl up into a fetal ball like a millipede...
Instead, I pulled myself up straight and puffed my chest out, so that if I was a porcupine all my quills would have been standing on end.
I didn't speed up, nor did I slow down. By now Redman's 'Time for Some Aksion' was blasting through my ears - alongside my alert system screaming "brace! brace!" as the tallerist with the back -to-front face bears down on me.
Just before impact, I have time to wonder how Back-to-Front face man has managed to walk in a straight line without once looking at where he was going...
The collision wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected.
It only slightly knocked me off my previous trajectory, AND I landed on my feet, as if I'd merely jumped over a can of paint.
It didn't even knock my headphones out of my ears!
The tallerist didn't fare so well.
I put on my back-to-front face (a trick I'd learned from him) and looked over my shoulder to see whether he'd survived... all I could see was a crumpled mass with eyeballs on top that were looking at me in bewilderment.
Bewilderment that turned to misdirected fury as I threw my head back and cackled... all the way down the platform.
Why?
Amidst that crumpled mass of flesh and bone, I'd noticed something.
His head was finally facing forward.
The Elevator Speech
So there I am in the elevator with the global head of xxxx at my company, so what do I say?
Years of training, etiquette and priming have come down to this. This is my chance to shine - I must use my elevator speech...(that specially preapred 45 second spiel that explains who I am and what I do).
I've already said Hello, and he's asked me how I am doing... I need a bridge to help me launch my speech, so that I don't sound like a rehearsed robot. What to say?
I notice him looking at my sneakers... inwardly I groan, oh no, he must be wondering why I am not in 'business attire' (since trainers are on the not-allowed-to-wear-in-office list).
I know:
I open my mouth and I say:
"I have orthotics in my shoes"
it was meant to sound explanatory but it comes out all proud like.
He gives me a funny look: 'erm... '
he opens and closes his mouth, he thinks about it and obviously decides that I am retarded and so he kindly replies: 'so do I'
I look at his shoes
Ain't no way he has orthotics in them.
He sees me about to open my (stupid) mouth again and quickly cuts in:
"Are those 'New Balance?'" he asks pointing at my shoes
"Yes" I say (secretly impressed that he recognised the brand)
He smiles kindly, the way an adult does to a child who can't understand much but has to wear thick glasses, special shoes or braces...
"I have those too"...
Then he presses the button and hops out the lift.
.
.
.
.
My 45 seconds to make an impression and all I could say was: "Hey dude, I got special shoes!"
Years of training, etiquette and priming have come down to this. This is my chance to shine - I must use my elevator speech...(that specially preapred 45 second spiel that explains who I am and what I do).
I've already said Hello, and he's asked me how I am doing... I need a bridge to help me launch my speech, so that I don't sound like a rehearsed robot. What to say?
I notice him looking at my sneakers... inwardly I groan, oh no, he must be wondering why I am not in 'business attire' (since trainers are on the not-allowed-to-wear-in-off
I know:
I open my mouth and I say:
"I have orthotics in my shoes"
it was meant to sound explanatory but it comes out all proud like.
He gives me a funny look: 'erm... '
he opens and closes his mouth, he thinks about it and obviously decides that I am retarded and so he kindly replies: 'so do I'
I look at his shoes
Ain't no way he has orthotics in them.
He sees me about to open my (stupid) mouth again and quickly cuts in:
"Are those 'New Balance?'" he asks pointing at my shoes
"Yes" I say (secretly impressed that he recognised the brand)
He smiles kindly, the way an adult does to a child who can't understand much but has to wear thick glasses, special shoes or braces...
"I have those too"...
Then he presses the button and hops out the lift.
.
.
.
.
My 45 seconds to make an impression and all I could say was: "Hey dude, I got special shoes!"
Tallerists - 0, Me - 1
23 September 2007 at 21:40
Today I was A Bowling Ball
A couple weeks ago I had one of the greatest triumphs in my war against tallerists.
Set the scene by picturing a flock of 6 tallees waiting for the elevator; picture the elevator arriving with about 8 occupants in it (including myself) all trying to get out.
So the longer legged co-works exit the car and head on about their business. The flock of 6 are impatient and begin their attempts to enter the car - long before all those wanting to exit have been able to do so.
Where am I? Stuck at the back of the elevator car cos I don't have as much pushing power as the big uns...
Unlike the flock of 6 - I know how to wait patiently... I've had it drummed into me through the feet of multitudes of tallerists who couldn't be asked to look down and see me.
The occupants are all out - save me... and of course, the flock of 6 haven't seen me... they all advance upon the car at once... and I realise that if I don't make a move now - I'll miss my stop and end up travelling back upstairs with the flock!
I took a deep breath and ran towards the sliding doors as fast as I could.
They never saw me coming!
I can only imagine the looks of shock and confusion that accompanied their cries of pain as I morphed into a bowling ball and collided with their knees and shins... PA POW!
Boy did I have fun!
I knocked them over left right and centre... and since I'd picked up speed despite the collisions, I managed to disappear around the corner before they could grab and throttle me!
My last glance as I looked over my shoulder - before disappearing - was the sight of the decimated flock of 6, tumbling into the elevator car, moaning and clutching at their shins and knees... bewilderment and rage etched across their faces.
The fight is on!
Today I was A Bowling Ball
A couple weeks ago I had one of the greatest triumphs in my war against tallerists.
Set the scene by picturing a flock of 6 tallees waiting for the elevator; picture the elevator arriving with about 8 occupants in it (including myself) all trying to get out.
So the longer legged co-works exit the car and head on about their business. The flock of 6 are impatient and begin their attempts to enter the car - long before all those wanting to exit have been able to do so.
Where am I? Stuck at the back of the elevator car cos I don't have as much pushing power as the big uns...
Unlike the flock of 6 - I know how to wait patiently... I've had it drummed into me through the feet of multitudes of tallerists who couldn't be asked to look down and see me.
The occupants are all out - save me... and of course, the flock of 6 haven't seen me... they all advance upon the car at once... and I realise that if I don't make a move now - I'll miss my stop and end up travelling back upstairs with the flock!
I took a deep breath and ran towards the sliding doors as fast as I could.
They never saw me coming!
I can only imagine the looks of shock and confusion that accompanied their cries of pain as I morphed into a bowling ball and collided with their knees and shins... PA POW!
Boy did I have fun!
I knocked them over left right and centre... and since I'd picked up speed despite the collisions, I managed to disappear around the corner before they could grab and throttle me!
My last glance as I looked over my shoulder - before disappearing - was the sight of the decimated flock of 6, tumbling into the elevator car, moaning and clutching at their shins and knees... bewilderment and rage etched across their faces.
The fight is on!
Another Reason to Despise Tall People!
Today I decided to wear my nice black top. Ladies - you know what I mean - cos we all have nice tops - the one you wear that makes everyone look your way... that's right. Well I broke out mine today ... and I took extra care when putting it on NOT to get any of my deodorant on it - cos you know that it really sucks when you get those white deodorant marks on your black stuff - such a pain to get off and if you don't notice before you leave the house, you end up looking like a fool all day!
So ... just as I am about to put on my jacket and go... I see hubby - fresh out the shower - but looking all tired and frustrated. So I go over to give him a kiss and a hug and tell him he'll be great and can sleep in on the weekend - I'll sort out the kids... (he's just come back from 10 days in NY followed by a day in Zurich - all for work and is jet lagged).
He breaks into a smile and reaches out his arms, enveloping me in a bear hug, I feel great until I hear him say "%@*!"...
I look up - he looks at me. He looks guilty.
I look at my shirt... I now have (HIS) deodorant marks on the tops of my shoulders.
He pats me on the head and scuttles away...
!!!!!!!!!!
Why I Hate Tall People!
So, having managed to sail through a couple of weeks without any coffee stains or burns... I encountered an event this morning *sigh*
There was I, happily whizzing around the staff restaurant filling orders for my team: Birdie's "dry cappuccino", DOW's tea " milky no sugar"; Waterman's 'Masala Chai' ; croissants and toasted bagels... I was in fine form, seeing as how I hadn't dropped anything...
While heading towards the grills to collect the last bagel - a smile on my face and a spring in my step - in the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall person approaching from my right.
I adjusted my speed and direction to avoid a collision and continued forward...
Still I am puzzled as to why the tall one: 'Mr Tallee' continues to consume increasing amounts of my peripheral vision...
my footsteps falter... "can't he see me?"
Now directly in my path, I note that unlike myself, Mr Tallee has not adjusted his speed or gait and is in fact speaking to a fellow tallee to my left.. I am trapped on both sides!
My body stiffens: "Fight or Flight"?
I speed up.
But what is 3 petite footsteps to a giant?
He could do a 100m sprint in 3 strides. Honest!
I wait for the inevitable and brace myself for impact; wincing as kneecaps collide with ribs and I find myself tasting the leather of his belt.
At LAST Mr Tallee notices me, and looks down in surprise to see me crumpled around his ankles.
"Oh, Sorry" he says and helps me re-attach my femur.
I glare at him and hobble off.
And this is why I hate tall people almost as much as I hate coffee.
Why I Hate Coffee
The morning of October 4th began like any other.Out of bed by 6am, breakfast, shower, tv - at work by 7:30, nothing unusal.
Around 7:40 am I sauntered up to the corporate restaurant in search of sustaining nutrients, and decided on a small bowl of porridge and some fruit.
I joined the queue of half asleep corporate zombies, waiting to pay for their fancy sounding doses of morning stimulants. While standing there, I allowed myself some extra down time... I was away with the fairies as the British might say...when suddenly my reverie was interrupted by someone speaking to me apologetically:
"I'm so sorry" blubbered the blonde lady beside me.
I was totally confused... What was she sorry for? Was she talking to me? And why is my leg suddenly hurting me? What's this hot wet thing against my leg?
I look down and through the blinding pain, I notice my ebony black trousers have an unusual latte coloured streak down them that wasn't there when I bought them...
"I'm really really sorry" blondie is still babbling...
Then it hits me - I snap out of fairy land and realise that sleepy blonde lady has
emptied ALL of her skinny latte down my leg and over my shoes (thank God I wasn't wearing my suedes!)
I let out a long sigh. Blondie scurries away to find paper towels, restaurant staff wipe up the floor - not that there is much to clean since my trousers have absorbed most of it!
I sponge off as best I can and return to my desk with one dark brown trouser leg peppered with white fluff - minor scalds to my thigh and calf - and smelling like a million STARbucks.
And this is another reason why I hate coffee, its victims obviously can't function (in terms of hand-eye coordination) without it.
Bah humbug!
Around 7:40 am I sauntered up to the corporate restaurant in search of sustaining nutrients, and decided on a small bowl of porridge and some fruit.
I joined the queue of half asleep corporate zombies, waiting to pay for their fancy sounding doses of morning stimulants. While standing there, I allowed myself some extra down time... I was away with the fairies as the British might say...when suddenly my reverie was interrupted by someone speaking to me apologetically:
"I'm so sorry" blubbered the blonde lady beside me.
I was totally confused... What was she sorry for? Was she talking to me? And why is my leg suddenly hurting me? What's this hot wet thing against my leg?
I look down and through the blinding pain, I notice my ebony black trousers have an unusual latte coloured streak down them that wasn't there when I bought them...
"I'm really really sorry" blondie is still babbling...
Then it hits me - I snap out of fairy land and realise that sleepy blonde lady has
emptied ALL of her skinny latte down my leg and over my shoes (thank God I wasn't wearing my suedes!)
I let out a long sigh. Blondie scurries away to find paper towels, restaurant staff wipe up the floor - not that there is much to clean since my trousers have absorbed most of it!
I sponge off as best I can and return to my desk with one dark brown trouser leg peppered with white fluff - minor scalds to my thigh and calf - and smelling like a million STARbucks.
And this is another reason why I hate coffee, its victims obviously can't function (in terms of hand-eye coordination) without it.
Bah humbug!
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