Stories, thoughts, observations, rants and dribble. Just another of my attempts to keep the interested people informed ...

Friday, August 26, 2005

A Veritable Toolshed

So my last day was successful and the cake was good. Afterwards I was easily convinced by my dad that I didn't in fact need to go to the gym for the first time this week either. Instead, I had dinner, read a few more episodes of Lost and got ready to go to the shore for my friend's band's gig. This wouldn't normally be high on my agenda for things to do on a Friday night (although the band was good, even though the sound guy was seemingly aurally impaired) but I hadn't seen Hywel or Bel (who is over from Spain) since last year in Edinburgh.

Throughout the course of the night, I managed to encounter several specimens of the human male sub-species "The Tool".

  1. The Unintentional Tool. The Masonic Tavern, Devonport. Bouncer who declined Bel entry to the pub where the band was playing, as her European official passcard (ID) was not "a foreign passport or NZ official photo ID". Not his fault, I understand that the law makes these things difficult. However, he was actually convinced that her mum was coming, and that she would vouch for Bel (still believed even when Hywel said her mum was in Madrid, and was only slightly confused when he said that it would take her 24 hours to get here). Meanwhile, Bel has snuck in while he isn't looking. Unintentional Tool thinks she is waiting in the car (for her mum). Problems with this: Bel's mum is in Spain (why don't you get it, Tool?). Since when has the presence of your mum been sufficient ID in the eyes of the law (especially when you're over 18)? Who's to say who's your mum anyway?
  2. The Bollywood Tool. Sky City Casino Lobby, City. Granted, he looks less like someone told him to "act like the biggest Period Drama Tool you can be" in this picture than on the huge cardboard cut-outs that I saw promoting the movie. I am in no way belittling the uprising of the Indian people, I just think he looks ridiculous in the poster.
  3. The Pool Tools (Overeager Tool and Grunting Tool). V Bar, City. Bel and I played half a game of pool (before everyone else left and we hurried after them) with these two. Overeager Tool (sporting terrible camel-coloured shoes, which I shall now formally announce is my most hated of shoe colours) introduces himself straightaway with a handshake and a repetition of my name. He is one of those guys who seemingly never speaks to girls in real life. I run them through Spanish rules so we can confuse and intimidate them. Grunting Tool grunts. It seems every sentence from Overeager Tool (and there are as many as he can fit in between shots) begins with "So, Wendy ... " (... what do you do? ... I'm usually not this bad. ... I'm a Giant Tool). I see he's been studying "How to Win Friends and Influence People". He is also wearing terribly too-short jeans, but I digress. As we excuse ourselves, he shakes our hands, and wishes me a good night, Wendy, as he squeezes my shoulder with his free hand (don't touch me, Tool!). Grunting Tool grunts.
  4. The Comedy Value Tool. Queen Street and Wyndham Street, City. This guy wasn't so much a tool as he was a little sad. He was leaning against the wall listening to a busker playing the guitar (the busker is a guitar-playing genius by the way. He looks about 80% Brandon Lee (alive) and about 20% Young Patrick Swayze. I think without the Swayze he'd likely be really hot, as well as a musical prodigy). CVT is nodding along, spouting occasional "Yeah!"s and switching between looking adoringly at Richard the Busker, and looking at the audience as if he deserves adoration by proxy. Attention seeking saddo. Richard the Busker is phenomenal. CVT is almost as entertaining to watch, although I had to limit this to sideways glances in case we made eye contact.
  5. The Intellectual/Sarcastic/Cynical/Shouldn't be in Customer Service Tool. Corner Bar, City. Now I do admit that I was actually quite impressed by some of this bartender's super sarcasm skills (take note Michelle), and also his flaring/cocktail making skills (he may or may not have had any numchuck skills). He pulled off quite an astounding sarcastic comment that took even me a second to register. He did go too far at one point though and was basically just being rude to people who are supposed to be his customers (I'm cheeky and sarcastic at work, but the guest (generally) knows I'm (mostly) joking, and we usually have a rapport before any of this). The conversation went something like this: Hywel (referring to a framed photo on the wall): Isn't that Che Guevara? Bar Tool: No. H: Oh, well who is it then? BT: It's Ernesto "Che" Guevara. H: Well, didn't he call himself Che Guevara? [Read: "You're a tool."] BT: Do you use your last name when you talk to yourself? [Launches into a soliloquy about how he's so sick of (the common, I assume) people getting his (Che's) name wrong etc] [Read: "Yes, I am in fact a Grade A Tool."] If it weren't for trying to keep peace so Hywel's mood wasn't completely ruined, I would have told BT that I'm sure his hero didn't introduce himself to people as Ernesto "Che" Guevara (including finger quotation marks ad nauseum). It is difficult to shake hands at the same time as drawing inverted commas in the air.
  6. Comedy Value Tool, again. As before. After we left the Corner Bar behind, we walked past Richard the Busking Guitar God again. Hilariously, and awesomely, CVT is still leaning (and nodding, and "Yeah!"-ing) against the same piece of wall, which is within arm's reach of his idol. Why is CVT alone on Queen Street at 3am on a Saturday? Pretty self evident I guess, but he punctuates this with a "Satriani! Surfing with the Alien!" (duuuuuuude). Not that I am dissing Satriani in any way either!
  7. Compensating Tool. Albert Street and Wellesley Street, City. Bar is closed and we are heading home. Whilst crossing during our designated crossing signal, the single car waiting for the intersection revs it's motor (or one of the two large Polynesian guys revs the motor) extremely loudly, and menacingly. Knowing we have the right of way, we all continue to walk normally. Motor revs again. More walking normally. More revving and the car jumps forward marginally, but they wait until they get a green light (the point of the aggressive revving is what now?) and roar off into the distance. We laugh, because petrol is extremely expensive and they probably just wasted all their lunch money.

Anyway, that was my night, summarised in Tool Sightings. One thing I appreciate about these encounters is that it always serves to remind me of other Tools in my life, and why I really should consider being a Tool-Free Zone.

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