2004-10-14 - 11:50 a.m.

The other day I noticed a few flies in the kitchen, which was strange given it�s the start of the colder weather. �Hmmm, there are a few flies around,� I thought to myself. �Which is strange, given it�s the start of the colder weather.�

Two days later, our housemate was on her way out and mentioned that she�d seen �loads� of flies in the kitchen. Obviously, a wintery �loads� of flies is a different concept to a summery �loads� of flies � i.e. you imagine about 6 or 7 hardcore insects that have somehow survived the cold snap and are an amusing diversion for about three seconds whilst you open the window and shoo them out.

As me and Bruce went to investigate, what we found was, well, something we hadn�t expected. It was more than a wintery �loads� of flies. It was even more than a summery �loads� of flies. In fact, it was more like imagine the insect population of a tottering fetid mountain of rotting fruit, bodies and special fly breeding machinery congregating in a corner of the room �loads� of flies.

Suddenly we were in some really cheap horror film. You noticed one, then ten, then a hundred of the things, suddenly preparing to swarm in one of those big arrow shapes and you can�t find a pond to jump into which is when they are meant to swarm into a big question mark shape and instead they hunt you down and feast on your nubile flesh.

We, in our capacity as experts in the matter of insect population trends and incubation habits, suspected something had died beneath the floorboards, and now we were witnessing the miracle of nature. Like all miracles, though, it was one that must be immediately doused with the deadliest poison we could lay our hands on.

One canister of fly spray and the mindset of a trigger-happy squaddie later, we had a noxious kitchen and a macabre air show of frenzied insects. They didn�t like being sprayed too much, that�s for damn sure as hiccups. Their brave bodies were brushed up, and all trace removed as they went to the big maggot-infested rat corpse in the sky. I hope we haven�t disturbed the balance of the delicate biosphere of our bottom floor, but since the food chain only really consists of next door�s cat and my fish, I doubt it.

We have to move, obviously. Broken washing machines I can handle. Buzzing death squadrons of flesh eating bugs�not so much, really.

*** *** *** *** ***
Customer: What time are you open?

Employee: From 9 to 6

Customer: O�clock?

As well you know, I don�t ask for much.

However.

As a personal project, I am compiling a list of weird, irrational or inescapably moronic complaints or questions delivered to people working in retail or customer services or just any industry. They can be single lined e-mails from the terminally feeble-minded or entire conversations with salivating mental amoebas. If you have any, please e-mail them to [email protected].

Go on. I bet you have some good ones.

If you could, please cast the net wider to friends you think might have a good story, and forward the e-mail address to them. And to your friend�s friends. And their friend�s friends. And so on until the end of all time. All stories used will be acknowledged.

I thank you from the heart of my bottom.