Post Room 101
Created | Updated Mar 21, 2005
'Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the
world.'
- '1984' by George Orwell
Post Room 101 is the place where all the bad things are stored here at the Post Office, and
now we are going to give you the chance to place your three 'worst things in the world' in there as
well. All you have to do is send me a list of your three least favourite things and the reasons why
they are. Your things will then be placed up for a public vote by your fellow Post Readers. If the
Post Readers agree with you, your things will then be placed in Post Room 101 and the door locked, if not, they will remain in the world and you will just have to put up with it!!
Send me your list of three things and the reason for each to me at [email protected] and please remember to include your h2g2 Researcher name and 'U' number so I know who you are. I will then shortly be in touch with you if I need more information or I have any queries.
If you prefer we can discuss the things you would like in Post Room 101 via a conversation on
h2g2, though of course these would not be private, but it may be something you would prefer doing. If this is the case please leave a message at The Post Room 101 Message Service on the Post Office homepage.
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Last week The_jon_m submitted Tailgaters, All Cyclists that aren't me and All Daily Mail Readers for you to vote on. The debating was extremely zealous and as a result Tailgaters were very insistently voted into Post Room 101. Both Cyclists and Daily Mail readers were kept out by researcher votes. The voting on this list of three things is now closed, thank you for your participation.
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POST ROOM 101 NEEDS YOUR HELP!
Our third submission for Post Room 101 comes from Master B, and here is his list of three things he would like you
to vote on to go into Post Room 101.
- Christian Rock
This barely needs any justification really, does it? Christian Rock bands invariably consist of the following line-up:
- A sweetly sanctimonious blonde lead singer with a tambourine, who would be fanciable if she wasn't so pure. She'll be wearing a long, shapeless dress and will sing with her eyes shut in a horribly high, warbling voice.
- A guitar player with closely-cropped ginger hair. People with ginger hair never get jobs in real bands and this is the best he can do. He only knows five chords, but this is more than adequate for Christian Rock music.
- A bass player with a black pudding-basin haircut. Bass and guitar will also sing backing vocals, which will consist of protracted 'Ooooo's.
- A keyboard player with glasses who really wants to be back at home with mummy.
- A drummer who really wanted to be in a metal band, but decided to 'find God' instead so he could stare at the singer's bottom.
All five will wear sickly grins throughout. Music quality will be zero and, like all white Christian music, will be about as like to convert people as promised ritualistic slaughter. Come to think of it, quite a lot less likely than ritualistic slaughter. - People who sing along.
These fall into a few categories:
- Firstly, there are people who sing along with Walkmans. On trains, during paper rounds, in church: there seems to be no limit to the places they can annoy people. The justification that is usually given is that they 'usually have quite a good singing voice'. This may be true; the truth is that Leslie Garrett singing along to her Walkman would sound like a cat with its tail trapped in the French windows.
- Secondly, there are people who sing along to a tune on radio, but (and this is the crucial bit) don't quite know all the words. Singing along more-or-less perfectly to tunes on radio or CD is a modest vice, but reasonably unforgivable, in my book. Unfortunately what generally happens is that people launch with gusto into a song, which then tails out into feeble 'la-la'ing, when they realise they have no clue what the second line of 'Blinded By The Light' is, or - worse still - completely wrong and utterly stupid lyrics that they assumed were correct. The latter is known to Hendrix fans as the 'Kiss This Guy' syndrome.
- Thirdly, and most unforgivably, there are people who go to big gigs and sing along with whichever of their idols is onstage. I have seen too many shows wrecked in this way. If I pay £30 plus to watch my favourite artist sing live, I want to hear THEM sing it, dammit, not a
couple of hundred people in the front rows who are showing off because they have memorised the lyric sheet. A prime example of this is the average U2 gig. Bono is without a doubt one of the world's best showmen, and to miss any nuance of his best live performances would be a travesty. But, during the average rendition of 'With Or Without You', you can't even bloody hear him because of the din of 20,000 people chanting along. Morons.
- Beaches
As examples of the fantastic power of the Earth's elements and the magnitude of geological time, you can't do better than study the average beach. But the reasons why holidaymakers choose to vacate the poolside, with its convenient non-salty water, bar, toilets and comfortable sun-loungers, to disport themselves on the beach absolutely defeat me. It's not as if there's any more sun there.
Let's take ourselves through the average (foreign) beach visit. You spend half-an-hour battling through overweight tourists to find 'a nice spot', only to find you're next to the noisy jetski rental man, or the touchy-feely nudist couple. You pay extortionate money to the rental man for a couple of hours use of his sunbeds and parasol. You smear yourself with lotion, then forget you're sticky and kneel down to adjust your sunbed; promptly you're covered in sand from the knees down. So you go for a paddle to remove it. At this point you realise that no matter how warm the air is, the sea is freezing. To get your own back on the rest of your party, you force them to come swimming
with you. Somebody's face will then start stinging from all the salt water. The very instant you remove yourself from the sea, sand will stick to every single bit of your wet body, and cannot be removed without rubbing your skin red raw - that's why it's called 'sandpaper', you know. After a while, you'll feel like a beer or ice lolly, but some passer-by will kick sand all over it. You'll spend the next three weeks trying to remove sand from every crevice of your being (there are
actually holes between your toes that store it up and then release it periodically) and your clothes.
And this doesn't even get me started on British beaches. Quite aside from the idiocy of sitting outside in a temperate climate, there is all the hassle of windbreaks, French cricket, no toilets (use the British sea at your peril!), rogue Frisbees and changing underneath towels to deal with. Don't get me wrong, places like Scarborough and Brighton are perfectly acceptable getaways - just don't venture any further forward than the promenade amusements.
Now it's up to you readers, if you agree with Master B that his things should go into Post Room
101 with the other 'worst thing's in the world' then vote in a conversation below. Similarly if you don't agree then tell us why also in a conversation below. The votes will be tallied and if the
yays get more votes than the nays then Master B's things will be placed in Post Room 101 and locked away forever.
Items/things put forward have automatically one vote for them and if the voting is tied I will have the casting vote.
