I seem to have a distinct talent for almost colliding with MPs in the corridor. Seems I know precisely which blind corners to take at precisely what time, to ensure I have to do some awkward corridor dancing with ‘important people in a hurry’.
The list so far includes:
• Bill Heffernan
• Helen Coonan
• Barnaby Joyce (he was sweaty, *shudder*)
• Bronwyn Bishop
• Peter Garrett
All but the last have given me the squinty-eyed “what’s that lesbian doing in Parliament House” leer, on their way past. Or at least, that's what my paranoia likes to believe.
ANYWAY, laydeez, you know that unwritten rule of toilet etiquette, whereby if there are more than 3 or 4 cubicles (which are empty), it is rather bad form to walk straight in to one that has just been vacated by someone else?
Well, I reckon there is such a rule anyway. Some wierd extension of personal space.
The point is, this lady obviously doesn't think there is such a rule:
Check out my ghetto blaster, bitchez. Is tiny to makes my hairz look bigga, yeah!
One particularly exciting evening in da House of late, she high-tailed it at a rate of knots into a toilet cubicle I had just vacated, while it was still flushing.
As has already been suggested to me, she must like a warm seat or something.
Next random thing.
There is quite a high turn-over of security guards at the front desk of my office building (must be the 10-hours a day of sitting and staring at a door, who'da thunk?)
I’ve had my suspicions for some time that these guards have all been sourced from “Surly Lesbionic Security Guards R Us”, or some such similar company, given the steady supply of short-haired, pierced-faced lasses with a penchant for uniforms with shiny badges.
Thing is, I’ve obviously been identified as the token dyke in the building because each day I get greeted with a hearty “hey, howya doin?”, in complete contrast to the regular grunty-like greeting afforded ‘regular’ employees (if they are lucky).
At first I just put it down to the fact that one of the guards was into bikes, and obviously noticed me walking into the building in my bike gear. But it has gone a bit further than that of late.
On Mondays there’s quite often a “how was your weekend? Get up to any mischief? Eh?” *wink wink*. Also, all too often I’ll also receive an unsolicited run-down of the guard’s weekend, with very unsubtle references to local gay bars or events.
My favourite to date has been:
The thing to know here is that I know this guard doesn’t own a motorbike, making this comment very ink-specific.
“So I didn’t see you at the bike and tattoo show at the weekend. I won a prize!”
However, what really topped it off was one morning recently when a new guard was at the desk – I’d never spoken to her or seen her before but she nevertheless gave me a big hearty greeting and called me by my first name.
Seems that the security guard handover for my office building includes an exhaustive briefing on the names and faces of all known lesbians…
Last random thing
Or, “Iz in ur drawz, lickin ur panz”