Talking with my hands . . .

I was in the middle of an interview, mid-hyperbolic attempt to convince my interviewers just how employable I am, that I noticed my hands waving about as I spoke.

At first, they were just the backing dancers to what I was saying; emphasising and illustrating my speech. I've long known that I'm a gesture-dramatic speaker. However, as I begun to notice them, the larger the hand gestures appeared to become, until I became convinced that my hands were actually attempting to steal the show; like they thought they something better to say than my voice (which at the time was probably correct).

Then I remembered about alien hand syndrome from an episode of House and wondered if my subconscious could divide itself in two during times of  the stress perhaps caused by an interview you fear might not be going well. What if my hand, on its own accord, started stealing sweets and sneaking them into my bags as I paid for my groceries? I might get away with it once, but then full of bravado, my hand might get cocky and start stealing bigger things and lead an unsuspecting me onto a path that ends in arrest and a criminal record. It'd be harder in an interview to convince companies of my employability then.

It was very distracting, more than the usual internal monologue through which I narrate my life. At one point I did attempt to sit on one of my hands, to lessen the hand flailing by half, but I stopped that after awhile for fear I looked like a complete mad woman. So, I continued my interview hoping that my hands would just portray my passion and excitement for life.

In light of this experience, I've been reading up on hand gestures, although it was hardly enlightening. "Hand gestures are used by those who struggle to express themselves due to a limited vocabulary." I don't think this applies to me...
"Hand gestures reveal what is unsaid." Worrying.
"Hand gestures make you seem more friendly and approachable." Especially when you have open arms and are beckoning strangers in for a hug.
"Hand gestures are a sign of intelligence." Finally, an approach I can get on board with!

Hopefully, my flailing appendages won't count against me. Perhaps I'm secretly Italian?

Public hugs

Over the last week, I've encountered two separate scenarios in which the issue of public hugging has crossed my path.

Scenario one
Last week, as I sat in drinking my first ever iced mocha (it was disappointing), I watched as a group of people held up 'free hugs' signs at a busy intersection. (Read about the lovely Free Hugs Campaign here.) I surprised at my initial reaction, which was fear. I knew I'd finish my coffee soon and have to leave the shop (also I had an interview to go to and it's frowned upon to be late to those things), but in leaving, I'd run the risk of them offering me a free hug and then I'd be in one of those awkward situations that is perpetuated by the fact that I'm also English.

I'd either have to accept the hug because it would be rude to turn down what is, on the face of it, a kind gesture of humanity from one human being from another, despite my massive aversion to strangers touching me or, perhaps more accurately, the idea of being so close to someone I don't know that I'm forced to make physical contact with them. Or I'd be so English that my fear of being impolite to a stranger's offer to invade my personal space that I'd forget my own personal feelings for the sake of a stranger's.

So, I did the only option left open to me in this scenario: I left the coffee shop when a group did and stuck closely to the wall, side-walking like a crab, to avoid being within the free hug locus.

Scenario two
I was walking down Kilburn High Road to the tube, listening to a podcast (There's no such thing as a fish, by the QI Elves – it's a brilliant, you should listen!) when a man stopped in front of me and said, "You're beautiful, can I have a hug?"

First of all, when on earth did that ever work as a chat up line? When did saying that become an OK thing to say to a random person on the street? In this instance, I was so taken aback by the front of this man, especially considering the apparent age gap between us and the fact that we were strangers, that I quickly mumbled "No" and walked away as quickly as I could manage.

So, hugging scenarios crossing my path twice in one week: is the universe telling me I need to be more open and affectionate? Well no, as my brother and sister will tell you, when I'm merry I am probably too loving and affectionate. It's more likely it's a huge coincidence, strung together in my own mind. Either way, I still won't ever accept a random hug from a stranger – I'm English and the price I'd have to pay in how uncomfortable it makes me is too high a price for me.

T Rex society probably never had this kind of problem . . .

River Island and the Anti-nagging gag

I'm not sure if any of you have read about the River Island Anti-nagging product today. I read about it on the BBC:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-27295797

I tweeted about this earlier, but there's more to this than 240 characters.

As a female human at twenty-six years of age, I thought I'd comment. Not least because as a female I've obviously experienced sexism. (The fact that this is even an obvious statement, irks me.) At school during A Level English, we studied the The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy and I loved it (read it, it's brilliant). It was, of course, then suggested that because of my appreciation of Duffy's poetry, I too must be gay. And, of course, the countless times when I have said that I studied English Literature at university and then the man with whom I was in conversation, would snidely suggest and assume that I therefore studied and was well-versed in feminist literature. Would I be boring him with these 1960s notions; the women have the vote and jobs now, isn't that all done and dusted? There are so many other daily experiences that I won't go into now and I'll only point out quickly that it is entirely by accident that both my personal experiences above feature sexism that surrounds being an educated female.

As I said in my tweet, it's 2014. Why are we having to read about a story like this?  It's is unfathomable to me that this product got approved any meeting in River Island at any level. Products don't just magically appear on a modern huge retailer's shelves, like River Island, there are months of product development and selling in, where it will be seen by lots of employees at different levels and not one of them was sensitive and intelligent enough to point the inappropriate sexism of an anti-nagging gag for women? So their response that "as soon as this product was brought to our attention" – at what stage in the product development through River Island was it not at their attention?

Perhaps people did point it out, but were at too low a level to have an impact on the chosen products, but of course that means that someone higher up got to where they did thinking that this sort of hilarious novelty product was fine to sell in store; it's a terrible state of affairs either way.

Just to highlight my own standings in terms of equality, be it gender, race or anything thing at all, I'd be equally irked if it was an anti-nagging gag marketed at women to shut the man in your life up, but then again, if it were this wouldn't be on the news: there's something wrong there too. Offensive things should be offensive, no matter which gender you are. People should be equal and should be treated with courtesy and respect. This should at least be achievable in 2014, right?

This isn't just an issue with River Island. Sadly, I think it's just them this time; it'll be someone else in the news for something equally as offensive and stupid soon.

Toilet Graffiti

With it being bank holiday, the Nicholas and I (since I've still not come up with an alternative name for him, yet) went out for a lovely stroll around Regent's Park and then out to dinner. As I went to the washrooms at this certain proprietors, I noticed the graffiti in toilet cubicle.

For example:

'Justin 4 Vera 4eva'

It got me thinking, mainly about who on EARTH declares their love for someone on a toilet cubicle door and, perhaps more importantly, who is impressed with this declaration? If anyone declared their love for me on the inside of a toilet door, it'd place me somewhere at the completely opposite town to Impressed, further away than the hamlet of Unimpressed, even if it had a perfect metre and immaculate metaphors. 

I found this example on google, where someone has obviously gone back and amended their previous toilet love declaration, as if the main preoccupation of the broken heart is to keep the toilet door as an up-to-date chronicle of love.

Another question frequently asked about this phenomenon is: who goes to the toilet with marker pens? In fact, who leaves the house with marker pens 'accidentally'? I am a person who at any one time has at least five pens in any bag I'm carrying (perhaps this is an editorial trait), so I think I'd be someone who is most likely to carry a marker pen into the toilet, but the pens in my bags are never marker pens and I have never graffitied a toilet door. (I've always been a goody-two-shoes.) So, do people buy pens and go out with the forethought and intention to graffiti toilet doors? Are there toilet door graffiti addicts who are constantly slipping away from their friends' conversations in the pub to fulfil their need to write something poetic in the bathroom? 

I'm not even going to get started on the toilet door grammar. Perhaps another post for another day, as Mum always told me, correcting people's grammar is not a way to win friends or readers. (But has been beneficial for me career wise.)

Then again, graffiti is as old as time and if it is done well for comedy reasons, you can't help but appreciate it. My personal favourites: