What do you do in a Queue?

The guy ahead of me in the shopping queue obviously takes a lot of pride with his appearance. So why does he allow it to happen?

His hair is carefully full of gel. Personally I think gel in men’s hair is a little 1980s and is up there with pink polo shirts and white ‘slacks’ but hey it’s his hair, what there is left of it.

His shirt is a smart ‘men’s boutique’ one. It’s black with thin white stripes. There’s something a little too carefully done about it as if he’s an artist misplaced in our rural North Hampshire town. We don’t get artists here. Not true trainspotting, angst ridden artists, just the painting water colour chocolate box paintings artists. But it’s an ok shirt. At least he’s tried. He actually has a shirt on, so that’s points.

His trousers are a slim fit, even though they’re not tailored as such. I’m pretty sure he has a six pack under that shirt as evidence of his worship workout at the gym of pub. I can see the definition of the six pack, just. At least I can clearly make out the letters ‘Carling’.

In his ear he has two carefully placed earrings. Not gangster-bling, no screaming crystals pretending to be diamonds or confused pirate hoops. Nope, carefully hand-made rings with a small ball on them. Did he make them in between serving up his vegetarian dinner of smoked mushrooms and pumpkin penne lasagna and brewing his own cider? Quite possibly.

He has taken so much time with his appearance I am agog at what I spy just at bottom of his carefully cut hair. On his neck it threatens to blow. Like Krakatoa.

Quite simply, it is the largest zit I’ve ever seen on a person aged above 15 years of age!

He must know it’s there. He must. You can’t tell me that he can’t feel it? And of course it is almost as large as the state of Lichenstein.

Why hasn’t he picked it?



I would. I’d prefer to squeeze that blighter and leave the shell as evidence. You see then the evidence can be presumed to be anything.

The work of an unskilled plastic surgeon?

A bite from an exotic mosquito carrying a devasting (but ultimately curable) disease that you received on the outer island of Vanua Levu whilst visiting with the natives?

Would you pick it? Your own zit, not his. There’s no way I was going to lean forward and squeeze it for him. That would just be wrong. But I did mentally apply pressure. I stared at that bugger and thought hard of volcanoes, and C4 and opening a juice on a plane, dressed in work clothes.

The damn thing didn’t shift. It was green and crusty on the top, surrounded by a corona of rings of milky cream and pink. It was HUGE.

As I wondered why, why why he didn’t pick it, his large paw raised. Everything went slow motion. I could see the hand rising, I could see the trajectory of those sausage fingers and the casual but determined look on his face, the rest of the shoppers stopped and watched. The world stopped. The butterfly was about to be squashed and rainforests in Peru were about to topple…small children would stare at the sky and scream ‘what is that Mummy? What is it?’ ‘Look away child, don’t look at the evil’

His hand reached the vicinity of the bear’s neck. It was littered with sparse dark hairs like overgrown whiskers. Involuntarily I winced, I closed one eye and tried to look away, when……

‘Can I help you?’

I shuffled forward to the counter, turning around to see the guy as he left stage left. I couldn’t see whether it was still there.

‘Sorry is that it?’

Straining to see. But he was gone. And I will never know.

Did he pick it?

What do you think of, whilst stuck in a queue?

Image: Flickr Creative Common



'What do you do in a Queue?' has 29 comments

  1. August 26, 2010 @ 9:02 am Martin Koss

    Ooh… Eeeer – yuk. Greeny yellowy goo explosion. All over the checkout. Splat! Quick, grab the loo roll.

    Funny how we visually assess our fellow shoppers and make ‘assumptions’ about the woman with her 4 noisey brats or the beer bellied tattoo covered baldy with his cart full of Bud.

    What we forget though, is that THEY could be assessing us – the nerve of them – we look fine, don’t we?.

    What do they think? Did I shave? Will they think its ‘designer stubble’ or that I’m a grufty sod? Am I dressed right? God forbid I head to Asda wearing my 1980s white levis and a pink polo shirt, with the collar turned up – Vicki might see me.

    Another excellent ‘splattering’ of your random thoughts Vicki. I’m off to the bathroom mirror now – just to check…


  2. August 26, 2010 @ 9:15 am Anonymous

    Ahhh you should have put a warning on before showing that picture. Yellow heads make me gag. No way could I leave the house with a custard filled boil on my face.

    And as for squeezing someone else’s – retch. No, no, no.


  3. August 26, 2010 @ 9:23 am Susie @ Newdaynewlesson



  4. August 26, 2010 @ 9:43 am Kerry

    Erhhhhh that is repulsive, gross! Errrrhhhhh


  5. August 26, 2010 @ 11:29 am A Modern Military Mother

    I think you should move to Bristol or the west country. They are more earthly and spiritual there. Or Scotland, but the weather is dire. I grew up in Warminster (seven leyline crossing in it’s core – this is druid country) – it was full of Bohemian types, some with dreadlocks,some with shabby appearance – wessex folk living for art and dancing in the woods. Or even Brighton. Sorry, I know that we should be talking about the zit but these folk that you desire to mingle amongst they are here in Blighty but just not where you live. Make that Englishman commute and move to wiltshire.


  6. August 26, 2010 @ 12:11 pm Lori

    You are one of my favorite bloggers – Ever!!! 😀 Who else would have the bravery and colorful lingo to tell the story of a horrifying zit that just BEGS to be popped with lots of tissue in the privacy of one’s bathroom.

    OK, I’ll ask it:

    WHAT was he thinking?!!!!!! Bleeech!

    There, I feel better now. 😉 Thanks again for a colorful, fun read!


  7. August 26, 2010 @ 12:44 pm Steve

    I never pick – solely because it can lead to permanent scarring. Besides there is something satisfying about waiting for a big zit to bloom, to mature and then to crust over enough that it is then safe to pick off without leaving a permanent blemish. All pleasures come to the patient man. 😉


  8. August 26, 2010 @ 2:18 pm Susanna Scott

    II’m sure it poppped on its own. Great post.


  9. August 26, 2010 @ 3:47 pm Notes From Lapland

    oh god, I’d have been itching to give it a squeeze myself. i’m not sure i could have stopped myself!


  10. August 26, 2010 @ 6:04 pm Anonymous

    ROFL. OMG, you sound just like my sister. She is so into zit-picking. It’s like a full time job for her. Or at least a hobby. We were just on vacay with her and she spent half the vacation liberating her fiance’s arms from zits and ingrown hairs. She may have been part monkey in her past life. If you were my sister you would have helped the dude out, regardless of the fact that you’d never seen him before in your life.


  11. August 27, 2010 @ 12:03 am Cate



  12. August 27, 2010 @ 10:43 am Marylin

    *shudders* I’d totally squish it! (my own, not someone elses… that makes me boke!)

    I feel a bit sick now… 😉


  13. August 27, 2010 @ 2:27 pm Anonymous

    Eugh, feel a bit quesy after that vivid description! What do I do in queue? I tend to drift off into a daydream, play with my hair, make up stories in my head about the other people in the line, seek out that annoying thick hair on my chin and play with it….sneaky nose pick maybe?


  14. August 27, 2010 @ 3:48 pm Martin Koss

    Oh yes Vicki. I think we could have some fun with a “gross blog post” championship… lol.

    Since you confessed to the “bubblegum pink corduroy knickerbocker trousers” I must confess to being so blown away by the Duran Duran and Miami Vice look I owned some white boots, white jeans and white jacket… OMG. And I dyed my hair (yes I had some). Oh flipping heck, some things are best forgotten. How embarrassing if my kids ever dug out photos of the 80s!

    New entry on my to-do list: Next bonfire night…


  15. August 27, 2010 @ 3:31 pm Anonymous

    Gosh Lori, you’re making me blush!! Thank you. Glad you enjoyed it. Funny eh what goes through your head in a queue.


  16. August 27, 2010 @ 3:33 pm Anonymous

    Awwww yuk! I have a funny suspicion you have a couple of gross blog posts in you too. I know we shouldn’t, but don’t we make assumptions about people all the time! I love people watching, it’s one of my favourite activities, but I just hope it doesn’t come across as too judgemental. Oh and btw, in the 80s I actually owned a pair of bubblegum pink corduroy knickerbocker trousers. Yup. Embarrassed now. LOL!


  17. August 27, 2010 @ 3:34 pm Anonymous

    Cool word… ‘boke’ I haven’t come across that one before. Yeah I’m a picker. I’d do away with the bugger and if anyone asked what was wrong with my face I’d say I cut myself shaving. x


  18. August 27, 2010 @ 3:34 pm Anonymous

    Oh everyone sneaky nose picks. But what do you do when you’re caught in the nasal flagrante? Hmmm? That’s when it gets interesting.


  19. August 27, 2010 @ 3:35 pm Anonymous

    Isn’t it. But how could he leave the house like that??


  20. August 27, 2010 @ 3:36 pm Anonymous

    Ingrown hairs are the worst. I’ve erm had a few problems with those in some, ahem, inaccessible areas. Not easy to get to either. Drives me nuts. Yeah between the nit picking (the kids) and the zit picking…maybe I’m a lesser evolved creature? Part cheeky-monkey perhaps?


  21. August 27, 2010 @ 3:37 pm Anonymous

    Awww that’s just gross man. Ick. (though quietly pleasing in your own bathroom!)


  22. August 27, 2010 @ 3:37 pm Anonymous

    Oh but when and where and did they get the women and children to safety before the event? Thanks. x


  23. August 27, 2010 @ 3:38 pm Anonymous

    Yeah, you’re probably right. Think the Englishman would like to rent out the castle, just need to finish the work around the place first. I am going slowly nuts here though…can you tell from the posts about zits?


  24. August 27, 2010 @ 3:39 pm Anonymous

    Exactly. It was. But then each to their warped little own…


  25. August 27, 2010 @ 3:39 pm Anonymous

    Isn’t it just!! LOL! Great to see you here Kerry. x


  26. August 27, 2010 @ 3:40 pm Anonymous

    i thought it was an excellent pix. I can just imagine the bugger getting all red and cross with me whilst I picked it. ;-p


  27. August 27, 2010 @ 3:49 pm Anonymous

    You know you are so right about ingrown hairs. I used to have a real serious problem with them on my legs. I used to use this thing called the Epilady. It was a machine that pulled the hair out of your legs with a little turning device. Sounds sinister and it was. Painful for sure. But the worst part was that when the hair on my legs would grow back it was all ingrown. I had hundreds of ingrown hairs and they would get infected. It was a terrible problem. I couldn’t wear dresses or shorts without wearing thick opaque tights to hide my legs. When I was dating my husband he paid for me to get laser hair removal and now I have almost no hair on my legs, which is such a relief. Not only because I am so lazy now about my personal appearance I almost never shave, but also because of the ingrown hair problems I used to have. It was expensive, but worth it. A hundred times over!


  28. August 30, 2010 @ 7:49 am hpretty

    because a) if you squeeze you will get more and b) with a spot that large it will likely scar.

    you see, i had problems with my skin right up until my late 20s so i know. it isn’t always as simple as squeeze and go. So cut him some slack, and just look away.

    ok so it’s like trying to ignore a freakin’ television in the corner of a darkened room, but try Mrs V, try!



  29. August 30, 2010 @ 6:12 pm Tara

    “…green and crusty..:” That actually made me gag. Twice. Once when I read it and once when I had to type it out again. *shudder*



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