Whatever must you all be thinking of me? I mean it is 12 days since my last blog entry.
So to catch up, my ribs a re much better, thanks. I have a short story in editing stage and I have a new computer operating without Vista.
I think I might have a new poem coming on, but these things can be elusive.
I know I had worked out the opening lines just before I fell asleep last night, but I can't remember a thing about them today, but it was a great idea and I'm sure it revealed several fascinating details about the human condition.
Talking about the human condition I always feel it should be available at the supermarket on the shelf alongside the human shampoo.
Our local supermarket probably wouldn't stock it though, as it is run by homophobic moron managers.
A wonderful, efficient, cheerful and intelligent young man in his early twenties has been the life of the checkouts, ever since he came to work with his hair spiked in the shape of Roman Centurion helmut.
I of course mentioned to him how much I envied his black spiky hairdo and told him I would have something similar (but in red) if I still had all my hair. He laugh flirtatiously with me and always smiles when he sees me.
I guess we both pretty much guessed we had a common desire in men's hairstyles, if you get my meaning?
Anyway a couple of weeks ago he was checking me out, or was I checking him out? No he was checking out my groceries...Oh dear that sounds kinky doesn't it?
A couple of weeks ago he was scanning my goods...errr, registering my prices, ringing up my items?
I was at the checkout counter with my purchases when I noticed he had blonded the spikes of his hair, but left the sides of his hair jet black. It suited his dark features and I complimented him on the hair style.
"The boss doesn't like it," he told me, "I have to have it normal by Monday or they will fire me."
"That's outrageous," I said, "An invasion of your personal self expression."
"That's what the union said," he said to me, "so they are going to talk to management tomorrow."
"Well if you need someone to say they are happy with your work, I am willing to stand by you." I told him. He thanked me.
Of course I would have been willing to stand, sit, kneel or lay down by him, but I didn't say so. I didn't want to scare the poor boy. I thought he was probably already stressed out enough.
He thanked me again, as I gathered up the scanned goods and departed with spiky images stored for late night fantasies at my house.
A few days later I saw him again and he said that management wasn't pleased but the union had made it clear, his hair style was not to be subject of his performance...as a checkout operator. He thought they would try to get him to resign though.
A few more days passed and I had to go back to the supermarket for some more stuff, I swear I spend half my life there, when I realized I hadn't seen the spiky-haired one, lately.
So I asked the friendly but not so cute tubby checkout guy where he was. Now this youngish, but not terribly bright fellow looked to his left, then to his right, then leaning across the counter as he slowly confided to me, "They wanted to fire him, because of his hair, but the union wouldn't let them because his hair is an expression of his h-o-m-o-sex-u-ality."
"Quite right too," I said, working overtime to keep as straight a face as I could, "None of their business."
"Yes," he said, "It shouldn't make a difference as long as he does his work."
Today I learned the spiked hairdo has left for a job in another supermarket some miles away.
I will miss getting my goods checked out by him.
The supermarket management is badly in need of some humane conditioning.
I hope my spiky-haired checkout guy is happier with his new job.
I am sure his new employer will be satisfied with his work.