I had a ball at the cinema yesterday - I came out almost dancing, such was the spring in my step. All woes and worries long lost. I've left a little review here for you to have a sneak peek. Please do. It's absolute MAGIC. Really, mum, mission accomplished.
So, save a ‘helluva lotta’ hate mail heading towards the guys sitting behind the O2 customer services desk and mental cursing/telepathic trashing in equal measure of the bulk of the Indian population, I've been… well, fairly mellow today if I'm honest. Why I hear you ask, why the sudden disdain for these two random and otherwise very lovely groups of people. Allow me.
1) I walked into the O2 shop some three months ago when my iPhone packed it in, asking for suggestions on a suitable replacement (the iPhone 4 was not on the table at this point). I made clear what I expected from my phone - a qwerty keypad for ease of speedy texting and rapid access to mails, with emphasis on my desire to try something non-touchscreen. Sandra, if I remember right, looked at me as though I’d asked her the safest way to dispose of a dead body. I kid not. So, while she recovered from her embarrassment, I nosed around myself for a while, and then, in her own time, she suggested I try the Nokia C3-00; a cheaper alternative to the Blackberry, ultra-sensitive typing pad and the colour...well I'm sure you'll love the colour, she said. (I happened to be wearing pink that day - think she might have picked that up from there?!) But the internet, I demanded, will the internet load up fast? Yes, she assured me, yes. You can access your mails at the speed of a lightning bolt. Ahh the promise in the voice, the hopes in my heart. All dashed three months on, when I have finally reached the end of my tether with this one. The mails, let alone loading up at lightning speed, more often than not don't open at all. Should I have researched the model more myself? Yes. But is it easier to blame it on Sandra with the perfectly manicured nails at the O2 store, Watford? Ohh I think so. Grrrrrr.
2) Yesterday was not me at my absolute best. I won't lie. By the time I got to the cinema, I was a grouch bag by very definition of the term - note; n. a habitually irritable or complaining person. So when it got to 8.40pm (the film was due to start at 8) and they actually had to PAUSE play in order to seat the people still streaming in, it took a lot of restraining on mum's part to stop me getting up and saying "For the LOVE of god. Are you serious?!". For starters, homies, you're 45 minutes late. If you don’t turn up on time you can’t expect your seat to still be there. For seconds, we all paid the same price for tickets. So stop fussing and park bum please. What ever happened to that old phrase "watch and let watch” ey?! For thirds (more commonly known as dessert, I think), buy a watch. Indian timing *tut*. You ALL know who you are. *ehem*
From me, for today, that’s all. So here’s sending lots love and laughs your way, unless you work at the O2 store that is*. Or you're Indian* (yes, I KNOW I'm Indian! So?)
*DISCLAIMER: I love people regardless of race, religion, color, creed, national origin, ancestry, gender, marital status, disability, religious or political affiliation, age, occupation, and, time-keeping skills. So chill. I forgive you.