It’s not gonna be a bad day

Monday sucks big fat donkey balls, dude!

Come on, don’t be so dramatic! It’s not gonna be a bad day.

That pinch of negativity at the beginning of the week is a common feeling for everybody.
But, easy, not every Monday is a bad day. 

Last Monday, I’m sure I didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed; in fact, I didn’t wake up at all. So not only was I late at work but neither was able to do any workout which fucked up my weekly schedule.

But, easy, it’s not gonna be a bad day. 

If only it hadn’t taken me a half goddamn hour to catch the first bus and another half to get on the first train. I did say I was already fucking late, right?
At the building where I work, you need to swipe your personal pass to access the gates. An easy action, if only I hadn’t tried to swipe my Oyster card instead (the card for transports, for whoever doesn’t know) when I suddenly realised I had forgotten my pass at home.

But, easy, it’s not gonna be a bad day.

As soon as I started my laptop, it froze for 15 mins and when it came back to life, the internet didn’t work. Not a big deal, so I had time to go for a cup of tea. And while I was pouring hot water from the machine, the mug slipped from my hands and I spilt a terrible amount of deadly hot water directly on my thin trousers. Needless to say, I started dancing Disco Inferno to overcome the pain. 

But, easy, it’s not gonna be a bad day.

At lunchtime, we were off to a nearby restaurant with the whole team for celebrations. I ordered a simple chicken salad to stay light and when the waiter came with the dish – oh I was really starving – he accidentally hit my chair’s legs and knocked over the whole salad on me. Getting another one took another half and the team had already finished.

But, easy, it’s not gonna be a bad day.

I was off at 6pm, tremendously tired, and headed to the station willing to get back home as soon as possible. The train came rapidly this time, if only it hadn’t taken 40 mins to make 3 stops due to a signal failure. No panic, I eventually reached my stop and waited for the connecting bus. It came in a min sharp but, for some strange reason, it decided not to stop, even though I was flailing like a maniac. Now, you know that thing that sometimes happens in movies and cartoons? I can assure you it hadn’t even rained – the bus wheel plunged at the speed of light in a black puddle and I took a wonderfully disgusting shower.

But, easy, it’s not gonna be a bad day. And I’m almost home.

To recover from this intense day, I decided I would treat myself to a giant pizza and some TV series. Oh, the relief when I finally sat on the couch.
So since a few days before, while on the way back home, I saw this big Domino pizza shop and, as many people have always praised it for making a really good pizza, I started wondering what it would taste like. Thus, instead of ordering delivery from the Neapolitan pizzeria I usually get pizza from, I thought I would give Domino a chance. I mean, shame on me for getting such a pizza (I’m Neapolitan for fuck’s sake), but I pride myself on being quite open-minded.
The delivery was quick. The rider said I owed him £4 more, which I was sure I had paid already online, but I was really starving to death so I just gave him the money. When I got back inside, I checked and guess what? I had already paid the full amount. Fuck!
Ok, never mind, let’s just chill out and dig into this pizza.
So I opened the box and…and…”what the fuck is that? Why is there fucking pineapple on my pizza???” A ‘simple’ mistake in the order.

But, easy, it’s not gonna be a bad… 

&$!#%5¡¶@
MONDAY SUCKS BIG FAT DONKEY BAAAAAAALLS!

Jim
The Britalian Post

A spaghetti incident

Pasta. 

A handy, quick, happy and satisfying solution to feeding hungry guests. The genius of a clever inventor, the melody of a hit song, a company for the lonely evenings when you’re drowning in intense movies and glasses of red wine. A superstar of supermarkets, a natural and delicious body integrator, the icing on the cake, the… icing on the cake?!

Ok, I’ve got this wrong, let’s start over again.

Ehm…yes…

Pasta.

The nights we’ve spent together have always been so sweet. Well, some have. Me, the movies, and you in huge servings. Parmesan on top and bread aside to clean the plate afterwards. That’s the Italian trick!

Since advertising is by now invading most of the TV broadcasting, I’m obliged to watch hundreds of boring never-ending commercials. One in particular has come to my attention: a pasta sauce named “Pormio”, a proper Italian sauce as the advertisement claims. A happy puppet family is portrayed having dinner altogether in a countryside setting or so, while speaking a horrible English squeezed in a strong and tacky Italian accent. An old-fashioned family in an old-fashioned kitchen – and one of the puppets (the farmer, the father…who knows?!) even had bushy moustaches and a single eyebrow!!! Terrible…

First of all, I would never buy that purple disgusting sauce in my whole life. Secondly, may the gods strike me with lightning if my family and I have ever been waving hands up in the air while speaking out loud or wearing white dirty tank tops. Is it really how people portray Italians?

YES!!!

…Ok, fine.

So that night, I started doing some zapping till I saw a program I do really like: Impossible kitchens USA.

Gordon Irvine was heading to an Italian restaurant in New Jersey with the intent of resolving the issues it was experiencing. Since he is a renowned chef, I couldn’t wait to learn some new recipes while he was coaching the cook on the culinary specialties of our country. And the confusion begins right here: chicken parmesan (I don’t even know what it is), linguine with chicken, pizza with pineapple, ossobuco with shrimp, risotto with mushrooms and chicken. Wow…Seriously?! I believe I don’t need to tell you that these dishes are all but Italian culinary specialties. The worst though was a very simple dish: spaghetti with meatballs. Ok it’s a specialty in southern Italy and we love it, but that one looked hideous! 

Now, I know a thing or two about pasta and when the camera went past the dish, I could see it was horrendously overcooked. Plus the sauce was brownish and sticky, and the meatballs were…I can’t even describe.

Fair enough. Other countries have been creative with our food and it’s alright, maybe something good also came out. Those creativities have eventually become the rule about Italian food abroad till they’ve given birth to stereotypes.

Perhaps, that’s why that Friday evening after work, at the pub right around the corner, an amusing Spanish girl I had just met appeared to be pleased to get to know an Italian guy. She would then politely introduce me to her colleagues highlighting my “fabulous origins” (in her words) – for once, that was utterly flattering. Under all possible circumstances that were making me enjoy the night, the whole setting disgracefully turned gloomy when one of those guys started laughing at me, saying repeatedly that he couldn’t find his wallet–yes, a “funny” reference to the fact that I’m Neapolitan, very funny indeed. And I eventually realised that all that politeness and the appreciation I received were just acts of a wider performance they had set up to mock me.

(Between us, they could have saved the effort).

No, I didn’t lose my temper nor I’d give him a punch on the face, which I should have done. I put on a last fake and pitiful smile before wearing my headphones and walking away.

You know, I could feel discriminated, if it’s to be called discrimination. I could say they were racist, though we didn’t belong to different races. I could say a lot of things but all would mean victimising myself and letting them win.

At the end of the day, as for pasta sauce advertisements, food mis-creativity, and recipes mystifications, I’ll take it very easy and simply call it a spaghetti incident.

Jim
The Britalian Post

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