Our next correspondent Michael from California has had enough of Dangerous Mindsing it, and needs you readers to go to the comments to decide for him the next leg of his career. He says:
I’ve been teaching English and history to twelve-year-olds for so long that my very first students are now entering middle age. This has gone on long enough; it is time for me to get into some other field of endeavor. Answer me this: what line of work would a teacher’s particular skill set allow me to enter?
Bodily functions. They’re a bother, aren’t they? It’s the bloody 21st century, SURELY we could have evolved out of having them by now! Or at least James Dyson could have invented something to sort them out better than the flawed systems currently available. Hurry up, Mr Dyson; Rachel needs you:
I’m writing from Lima, Peru where I work as a copywriter. I’ve been living in Lima for five weeks now and there is one thing that is really bothering me about this country, so please answer me this:
Why can’t you flush toilet paper down the toilet in Peru?
When I first started working here, I noticed that there was a little sign on the office toilet cubicle doors saying ‘Please don’t flush paper down the lavatory’. At first I thought this was just an office thing. However I came home yesterday to find that my cleaner had put up a sign in MY bathroom, opposite my toilet, saying ‘Please don’t flush toilet paper down the toilet’. It was accompanied with a picture of a sad/irritated-looking cartoon toilet. WHY?!?
If it doesn’t go down the toilet where is it supposed to go? If they have always had a problem with putting toilet paper down the toilet then why haven’t they come up with a better system yet? Like inventing the ‘three seashells‘ thing they talk about in Demolition Man.
Don’t get me wrong, I expected there to be some cultural differences when I moved to Lima from York; but this seems very odd. I am still putting my paper in the toilet and nothing bad seems to be happening. This means I am putting clean paper in the bin to trick my nosy cleaner.
I’m not a Peruvian plumber (surprise!), so my answer is pure speculation. I understand that the same is true in many areas of Greece, because the plumbing cannot cope with paper, and in their present plight I doubt that replacing all the country’s piping is top of their agenda.
So I guess that either Peru is the same, or that everybody has colonics there. Peristalsis is SO 19th-century, Rachel! Get with it.
This question is a companion to the previous post. It’s from Anonymous Girl:
I am thinking about dumbing myself down to get guys to like me; can you give me some advice? I can’t talk to anyone at home because they will just think I’m stupid.
Some questions for you, Anonymous Girl:
i) If they think you’re stupid, there’s no need to dumb down, eh?
ii) Is the guy you want to be with somebody who only likes dumb people?
iii) If so, why do you want to be with him?
iv) Is it really the case that men prefer dumb women, anyway? If I had dumbed down, my paramours would have been contending with someone annoying AND stupid! They wanted me for my brains, because I could help them with the difficult crossword.
Readers, if you can answer any of my or Anonymous Girl’s questions, please do so in the comments. Assuming you’re bright enough to find them.
What is the French for ‘cougar’? Max here needs to know, tout de suite:
I have recently started working in Paris as an intern and have taken a bit of a liking to the gorgeous French receptionist. She’s a bit of a bombshell, and I always make the time to go and chat to her as I try my best to look busy and vaguely aware of how to do what they pay me for.
I’ve asked her out for a drink before and she always hits me with a cheeky “maybe” and an even cheekier smile. Things have, however, hit something of a snag since she found out that I am only 20 and she is 31: last time we spoke she said I was “too young for her”. I replied that I wasn’t like most twenty-year-olds, to which she said I “Certainly wasn’t” but I still am unsure how best to proceed.
Obviously going out with an older (slightly) French woman is too good an opportunity to pass up and I think it ticks all men’s boxes, but she is also very sweet and charming.
So answer me this: what’s the best way of persuading her that I’m ‘all man’?
Apart from dropping tes pantalons and giving her a good look at your steak frites? Probably acting like a proper grown-up. Stop telling her how many Jagerbombs you puked down yourself last night; start dressing like a French version of Don Draper and ask her out on a very sophisticated date, eg at a support group for those suffering from unbearable existential angst after reading too much Camus.
Readers, you may infer that I have no experience in seducing gorgeous French receptionists, but if you have, please repair to the comments and offer Max votre conseil.
So many wangs in Answer Me This! Episode 205. Big ones. Little ones. Extended ones. Stone ones. Religious ones. Cold ones. Coal-fired ones…
We also consider:
Cillian Murphy in Batman
Jock Kinneir and Margaret Calvert
cemetery etiquette
snowman conformity
scarecrows
steam-power
phallus-power
naked shame
vibrators for health
Akzidenz-Grotesk
prudes vs. exhibitionists
traffic lights vs. policemen
and
pirated story tapes.
Plus: Olly doesn’t pull in Pret A Manger; Helen explains why Death By Vagina was a pretty unavoidable option for the sexually active Victorian lady; and Martin the Sound Man strips off at festivals, because he likes to evoke the bacchanalia of Burning Man all over the place. Or, rather, because he wants to go on the waterslides.
In this week’s Bit of Crap on the App (available for iDevices or Android), Olly explains how he could have prevented a decade of war, had the pull of literature not been too strong.
Next week, all going according to plan, we will be joined by a special guest: legendary comedian Jackie Mason! So send us QUESTIONS for him, marked ‘For Jackie’: email answermethispodcast@googlemail.com or leave a voicemail on the Question Line (dial 0208 123 5877 or Skype answermethis).
…but if that’s your aspiration, there’s something very wrong with your life.
However, if you’ve ever fancied starting a podcast but have no idea how to go about it, I’ve mined our 5+ years of podcasting glorypersistence and come up with a potted guide to podcasting for beginners. Click here to read it, then go forth and podcast.
Here’s a hairy situation from Patrick from Nottingham:
My barber runs a very enticing deal of buy 10, get one free. Living in the beautiful East Midlands, my haircuts cost me merely £8, which as male tradition dictates must be rounded up to £10.
After over two years of religiously attending the same barber, I have finally achieved the glorious achievement of my tenth haircut. This now presents me with a problem: when I go for my freebie, is the tip included as a freebie? It seems that free should mean free: but should I pay the regular and expected £2, or does that seem mean?
Hmm. That’s a tough one. I’m one of those arseholes who doesn’t habitually tip after a haircut – because i) the hairdresser’s hourly salary is at least ten times mine and ii) they never do what I want – so have no idea about the correct answer. Readers, step into the comments and help out this polite-sounding man, otherwise he might panic about going to the barber’s until his hair is so long, it’s a trip hazard.
I was at a house party last Friday, and got very merry. Feeling empowered to be nice, I sought the nearest unhappy person, who in this case, happened to be a lonely-looking man sat on the kitchen worktop. I asked him to dance, which he did, and continued to dance with him for the rest of the night. He seemed shy, although very nice and polite.
After a drive home and a kiss goodbye, I left him with my number and forgot all about him; then a week later, I received a text asking me out to dinner. I obliged, and was taken to a nice Thai restaurant in town. However…
When sober, HE IS THE RUDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
He called me a ‘chunky girl, you know, the top end of curvy’ (I’m a size 10), he called our mutual friend a dirty slut, spat food everywhere when he ate, went to the toilet, came back and discussed his ‘fucking…King Kong of a shit. Like one of the faces on mount rushmore. Smelt like a horse’s corpse’.
Then he went on to bitch about our ginger waiter, complain that there was no signal on his iPhone in here to anyone who would listen, laughed at a woman who fell over, was adamant that our two gay friends getting together recently was ‘sick shit’ and then at the end of the night, gave me a soft mint and tried to suck my face off.
He then said he wants to see me again, and invited me to dinner next weekend, ‘With maybe some playtime in the ballpit…’
So, answer me this:
HOW DO I GET RID OF THIS TWAT?! He won’t leave me alone 😦
By ignoring all of his comms? Shouldn’t be too difficult. Then he can bitch to his next victim all about his uptight lardy ex who wouldn’t put out.
(By the way, does anyone else get the impression that he’s so nervous when he’s sober, compounded by the usual nerve-wrack of being on a first date, that he tries to be funny, but is unfortunately terrible at it?)
Girls are sooooooooo confusing, as poor Harry in Luton has lately discovered:
Valentine’s Day seems to have become a day where people who are already in relationships give each other stuff and walk around holding hands and being generally lovey-dovey, but this year I decided to use Valentine’s Day for its original purpose.
Commemorating a martyr who was beheaded for his Christian beliefs? Very retro, Harry.
I decided to give a Valentine’s card to the girl who I’d fancied for a while, and duly bought it and posted it to her house. Having delivered my card, I bought myself a lovely doughnut – with hundreds and thousands, of course – and sat in the park, fairly certain that I was going to get some form of date from this whole arrangement.
Later on that day I received a message from the girl saying how grateful she was for the card, but that we might just be “really good friends”. She also put a load of kisses at the end of the message, and then sent me another message saying, “See you at school, unless you want to meet up?” with a bunch more kisses.
It’s at this point that I become confused…
Answer me this: Does this girl actually want to meet up with me? And if she does, then would it be a date?
Ooof. She’s either undecided, playing hard to get, or deliberately toying with you with no intention to follow through with Romance. Readers, which do you think it is? In the comments, please guide this poor boy.
Elisa sees my John Thaw enrapturement in last week’s episode, and raises:
I think I might win the age gap contest regarding celebrity crushes. I’ve been in love with Michael Caine for years. I first discovered my love for him in 2007 after the movie The Prestige – I was 19, and he was 74.
Eurghhh! Michael Caine at any age….shudder.
Readers, the gauntlet has thrown down. Are you able to beat Elisa’s age gap crush? Moreover, SHOULD you be able to?
Happy 200th birthday, Charles Dickens! We hope you had a super party at the Retirement Home for Victorian Novelists. William Thackeray ordered in the cupcakes, Anthony Trollope bought a keg, and Henry James cooked up a batch of his Special Brownies. We’ll just leave Answer Me This! Episode 204 on the gift table:
Plus: Olly narrowly escapes Death by Chicken Kiev; Helen had peculiar taste in men for a 13-year-old; and Martin the Sound Man compares feminine sexual moisture to Cadbury’s Creme Eggs. Women don’t have YOLKS, Martin!
In this week’s Bit of Crap on the App (available for iDevices or Android), Olly explains that as a teenager, he didn’t get a fake ID: he invented a whole fake identity. Will the real Olly Mann please stand up? OK, sit down, you look exactly like the fake one.
As every week, we want your QUESTIONS: deliver them as voicemails to the Question Line (dial 0208 123 5877 or Skype answermethis) or as emails to answermethispodcast@googlemail.com.
See you next Thursday,
Helen & Olly
PS: for all of you who, like our final questioneer of the day, have ever mis-sent a text or email:
You might think towels are boring, but a little theatre can make them fun! As this email from Toby demonstrates:
Further to your discussion in AMT202 about the use of heated handtowels in Indian restaurants, I have a tepid towel-related question that I am sure will blow your minds…
Eating in an Indian restaurant recently, a bowl of what I thought were mints was placed on our table at the end of the meal. Just as I was about to gleefully pop one into my mouth (an action which would have, unbeknownst to me, surely led to a slow, suffocating death), a waiter appeared and poured hot water into the bowl. The small, white, spheres which were NOT mints suddenly expanded and revealed themselves to be rolled-up handtowels.
Answer Me This: what the Heston Blumenthal was going on?! Was this magic?
ENCROYABLE! Is that restaurant staffed by waiters, or SORCERERS? It’s the greatest towel-based show on Earth!
That restaurant is very smart for choosing this towel showmanship, though: firstly, because it’s an impressive thing to do right before you hand somebody the bill; secondly, they can fit the entire evening’s towels in a shoebox; thirdly, it gives the diner the reassurance that their towel is virgin, freshly hatched in front of their eyes, never to have frotted the crevices of another curry fan.
The downside is, as you hint, the trail of death. Being suffocated by a towel you mistook for a Mint Imperial is not a noble exit from this plane.
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