I read an article today that made me feel physically sick. I won’t give a full rundown but it involved a strip search of a 15 Year Old girl who was told to remove her sanitary pad.
The search ended and they found nothing. Ontop of that she was pulled out of an exam to have the search carried out. Imagine that, pulled out, legally violated and degraded by two officers you were taught to trust, send off, back to an exam to recount the trauma you just endured, in silence. The cherry a’top the cake for me was the item they were looking for. Weed. They stripped her down to look for cannabis, halfway through a school day. How much weed could this girl really have on her person that couldn’t be found emptying her pockets and an over the clothes pat-down? A gram? 2? Let alone behind a sanitary pad.
I don’t know what kind of teacher gave the green light for that. Teenage trauma speed run. Fuck up your kids with this one simple trick.
Dana doesn’t abide by the rules of password sharing, you want the password? You’ve gotta earn it. The password is the same as my phone number means taking away the +, the area code, decide if we’ll be replacing the lost digit with a 0 to meet the character requirements of global network communication, the brackets surrounding the area code, and the various spaces separating the digits. Then and only then, do you have the password.
I was quoted £24 for the 7 minute taxi ride from station to hotel. Even got a second opinion when another cabbie saw me refuse the first. “Nah mate, that’s just how it is. Crossing state lines you see?” “State?” “Yeah, Wilmslow”. I walked off, pinged an Uber and £6 later I was there. I feel for cab drivers faced with outfacing the likes of Uber but lets be real, £24 quid for 7 minutes? It’d be cheaper to hire a hooker with her own wheels. If i’m gonna be fucked, i’d at least like to get my monies worth.
A sticker in the room says Dial ‘0’ for reception, another recommends ‘D’. In my attempt to clarify I was left hanging as the room has no phone, only a dustless space I assume one once occupied. Maybe my last hotel management planned ahead and had them remove my handset after last weeks debacle with the re-routing number. I plan to ask for a wakeup call tomorrow, only to see if they send an intern jogging up to the fifth floor when realising they nicked my phone.
I’ve ordered food to the hotel. I’m never too sure about the food in room rules after being told I couldn’t bring outside food into a hotel in Birmingham, to then argue about their lack of restaurant and their vending machine being stocked with only toothbrushes, condoms and skittles. There’s no sticker saying otherwise so I think i’m in the clear. Living life by the sticker :)
Staying in a hotel near the airport means the police that attend calls are often armed, so no silly business or some trigger happy 9/11 anniversary greiver may shoot me dead.
Sat down, watched a man sit outside the window, unfold a napkin over his leg, and eat the leftovers from four plates. The second he was sat and had shovelled all the onto one plate, he relaxed. Lay back and ate as if the food was just laid down, fresh from the kitchen.
He’d finished and left before my food had even arrived for free
Got to admire that sort of war time attitude.
As a write this a duplicate coffee has arrived, I no longer have to order one for Joe.
Our meeting seems pretty time limited so I just ordered a bunch of bread and olives. Anyone who knows Joe will be aware of his unparalleled ability to mash food down the black hole that is his mouth.