The Problem With....

For whatever reason, my most popular post thus far has been The Problem With Penneys. Whether or not it's to do with the fact I use the word 'arse' in abundance, who knows. All I know is, people agree with it. 

This blog is not about any body parts, you'll be disappointed/pleased (delete as appropriate) to know. It's about things I have a problem with in everyday life, much like Penneys jeans that do not restrain my generously-sized backside.

The problem with....

Having an unusual surname.

I'm sure there are loads of you out there who also have this problem. I'm not sure where my surname comes from - I believe it may be of Scottish origin - but it's not the simplest surname. For privacy sake I'm not going to name it here but those of you who know me in person will probably understand. Every time I go to the bank or the hospital or anywhere that requires my surname to access a file, I'm met with a squinting face as if I've just said 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' backwards and in Hebrew. I wouldn't mind, but it's not the hardest surname to understand. After I've repeated myself and spelled it out - I now just tell people and immediately spell it out after - I'm usually met with something like "That's not an Irish surname". It's almost like to live in Ireland you absolutely have to have an Irish name. 

Ordering Subway for the first time.

We've all been there. Subway virgins. It's quite daunting, popping your custom-made sandwich cherry. The first challenge is knowing where to queue. Yes, there's queueing protocol in Subway. Whereas you'll usually be inclined to queue on the right hand side, in Subway you queue left to right. Many a time I've gone to Subway and had someone unintentionally skip me in the queue because they haven't yet learned the Subway queue code. Usually when this happens the workers give you the sympathetic 'so-it's-your-first-time' look and let you off, but eventually you learn the drill.

Next, the bread. So much bread. Flatbread, white bread, crusty bread, seedy bread, cheesy bread, wholemeal bread. Why are there so many different bread varieties? Which one are you gonna choose? Why don't you have more time to make a decision? Your hands start to sweat as you feel the eyes of the seasoned Subway customers burning at the back of your head. You quickly choose a bread type that you didn't even want (you don't eat white bread for goodness' sake, why did you order the Italian sub?) and regret it for the rest of the day. 

Then you have to choose what you actually want in it. There's a board above your head listing suggested subs called names such as 'Spicy Italian' or 'Subway Club'. There's a club? Is Subway this exclusive? Fear not, you can get whatever you want in your sub. Everything, if you really want to go all out. Just a word of advice, though - don't get Meatball Marinara if you're meeting your beau later. You'll thank me for this advice. 

Phew, you're almost finished. Now it's time for sauce. Again, is this many sauce varieties really necessary? It's like walking into the Heinz factory. How are you meant to know what sauce goes with your chosen sub flavour? The reason I never get sauce on my Subway is partly because of that reason and also because they really go overboard putting the sauce on, even when I ask for 'the tiniest bit'. You generous people, you. It always amuses me when I hear people pronouncing 'Chipotle' as 'chipolata' or asking for garlic mayo or red sauce. You're not in the Four Lights now, Toto.

I have to admit, I still recite a script before going in to order Subway.

Living in the arse-end of nowhere.

That's the countryside, really. Where I live isn't so bad, but when I used to live out in the proper countryside, I nearly needed to send my map co-ordinates and a camping kit to anyone wanting to visit or they just wouldn't be able to find it. 

Planning a day out takes as much preperation as organising the Olympic Games (probably) because unless you can drive, you're screwed. My city folk friends think I'm being meticulous when I ask them a week in advance when we're meeting, but it's actually just so I can see if I can get into town. 

A friend in London once told me to just 'get the bus in'. Oh sure, I'll get the once daily bus into town at 7 a.m. and return at 6 p.m. Those times are just ideal. Thankfully my mother puts up with me always asking for a lift into town, but I really should finish my driving lessons.

By far the worst part about living in a small area is the fact that if you burp, the whole village knows about it before you do and it may as well be on the front page of the paper. 'Local girl BURPS, every man and his dog outraged.'

I'm not melodramatic at all.