"Go Loud!" or The Origin of the Word Mouthbreather.

"Go Loud!"
Hi Chaps (I'm not being sexist; Everyone knows there are no girls on the internet) and welcome to my blog: Mouthbreather.

From this here blog you can come to expect entries about tunes, guitar crap, day-to-day detailings of my shitfest and discussions about the theoretical underpinnings of the aesthetics of Jeremy Bentham. Within these entries you can come to expect:

• Curse Words
• South Wales Slang
• Cimla Patriotism
• Guitar Jargon

'Cited? 'Course you are.

The Origin of the Word 'Mouthbreather."
The word "Mouthbreather" has been part of my vocabulary for many years and as a result, I convinced myself that I'd made it up. As it turns out after a quick shufty on http://www.urbandictionary.com/ (potentially the world's greatest website) informed me otherwise.

Mouthbreather :

1. literally, someone who lacks enough intelligence that they never learned to breathe through their nose.

2. a really dumb person.

"In his latest work, the director has forsaken the indie audience and made something for the mouthbreathers."

That post is from waaay back in 2003. Which quickly and quietly scuppered my theory.

Now it is common knowledge that I, in fact, am a graduate that works in a supermarket. Dispair. I have been employed by this very same shopiau since I was a mere undergrad and it drains my soul to be fair. However, as a result I have a wealth of stories about the hive mentality of discount shoppers. Kick ass.

Circa late 2007 - early 2008 I worked on the checkout department. The penultimate line of defence. The warm welcoming face of the conglomerate. Anyway, they had hoofed me onto this shithouse late night Friday shift: 18.00 - 22.15. As you can imagine the store was absolutely dead with the exception of pissheads and NPT Council yuppie-types buying £3 romcom DVD's, bottles of White Zinfandel and Durex Endurance condoms for the night ahead. But...

...they mostly come out at night. Mostly...

Working on a checkout you get regulars. I'm serious. "Regulars." They seem to have sniffed out that your shift patterns must match up with their 'shopping day' and they make a bee-line for you. I had a Friday night regular. Female, late middle age, not a looker, potentially divorced, definately single. A real Babysham and Weight Watchers ready-meal kinda 'gal. And she used to breath through her mouth. Just her mouth. A Mouthbreather. She'd hover over to my till, panting and gasping, for no other reason than she had not mastered the usage of her nose. Have you ever encountered a gin-u-wine Mouthbreather? It's exactly the same as when somebody has some toothpaste / food on their face: You subtley (desparately?) ape their movements whilst rubbing the area of YOUR face where the offensive crumbs are on THEIR face, in an attempt to make them notice.

With a mouthbreather you find yourself huffing and sighing and snorting in an attempt to educate them. But more often than not; they get you. Suddenly you are mouthbreathing along with them. And, just like putting on a comedy lisp - It's fucking hard to stop. Perhaps if a person spends too much time in the company of a veteran Mouthbreather they find they can never stop... Oh, God...

Hey, World! These nostrils give life! Use them!