Buses in Alaska
You haven't lived until you've waited thirty minutes outside for a bus at -50.

Now, I didn't see this with my own eyes, but it was told to me, and given what I endured during the two months I was without a car last winter, I can definitely believe it.

Back in the pipeline days, the population of the town I live in pretty much exploded. It went from 10,000 folks to more than 30,000 in the space of about two years. Naturally, things got a little crowded around time. One winter, there was a crowd waiting for a bus, as usual. It was winter and sixty below, so everyone's bundled up, pacing back and forth at the stop in order to keep warm. Every square inch is covered, and you can't see anyone's face because it's covered in caked ice caused by breath condensing on every available surface.

The bus pulls up, and the folks outside line up to climb aboard. Naturally, it's packed full, so loading is a slow process. It takes a few minutes for folks to move aboard and find room. The line of boarders moves forward, but one person doesn't budge. After a few calls, the driver goes out and puts his hand on the person's shoulder. The person promptly falls over, stone dead. Sometime while everyone was queued up, the little old lady in question had had a heart attack or something and frozen standing up.
(FleetlordVT, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 12:15, 1 reply)

Cattle Floats
I resolved to stop using the bus years ago. I live in Glasgow.

In the times that I've been forced through no other choice to use the bus, I've seen people clipping their toenails, shooting up, puking, pissing in cans / bottles, shitting in the aisle, fucking, stabbing each other, bottling each other, brawling, hot-boxing the entire upper deck and arguing with every single person on the bus.

If I'm ever in a position where I can't drive (through inebriation or otherwise) I get a taxi. I don't give a shit if it's astronomically expensive - nothing on this earth would ever get me on a bus again.

See also: bloodbus.com
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 11:31, 4 replies)

First time in San Francisco, 1986
A friend and myself were visiting this fine country for the first time. Unsure of the area and not wanting to get ripped off by the cab drivers, we decided to go by bus to visit a local aquarium as we'd seen the adverts over town - this place had live humpback whales.

So, we get on the bus (the exact change bit caught us by surprise I must say) and sit back for a nice relaxing ride. Sadly another passenger had decided that this was not going to be so and he was sat directly in front of us. His boom-box was emitting what could only be described as ear piercingly loud noise, apparently this was what passed for music in these parts. I asked him to turn it down. He patently ignored my request. So I asked again only for him to turn and look at me as though I'd asked to shag his mother. He gave me "the bird".

Now my friend is the strong quiet type. Not one for putting up with nonsense and knows a thing or two about hurting folk, he decides he's had enough of this and sets about stopping it. Leaning past me he simply pinches the mans neck and the guy drops like a sack of spuds. The music was switched off in a fluid motion as my friend sat back and began to relax. The rest of the bus erupted in applause.
(the_leander, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 10:28, 8 replies)

"First" Manchester
I don't really know where to start with this bunch of fucktards, so here's a few lowlights:

The "simplification" of fares a few years ago by completely withdrawing the concept of return tickets. You can still buy them, but they just cost double the single fare making them utterly pointless.

The gradual phasing out of double-decker buses over the last decade or so along my route (81, Oldham-Manchester), meaning rush-hour single-deck buses are usually packed. Other routes operated by First have had lots of new double-deckers, but the 81 only gets a token one every now and then (usually around 11am, so it stays mostly empty and they can 'prove' the extra seats aren't needed)

Recently part of the normal route was closed for water main replacement, so a diversion was put in place. First's official policy (this was actually confirmed in an exchange of emails and posters on the stops) was that they weren't going to bother stopping at any of the 9 stops on the diverted part of the route, because it would slow down their timetable. And GMPTE were apparently powerless to do anything about this.


Will also say a quick thanks to the traffic planners on the council for their sterling work in structuring local roads, meaning that buses have to make tight 90-degree turns at several points near me. Was on one a couple of months ago that managed to kill its drive shaft by clipping the kerb at such a point.

And also the obligatory bus weirdo, again from a few weeks ago, a creepy and smelly old guy eating an uncooked fish pie ready meal straight out of the box with his fingers. Classy.
(Potedeian, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 9:59, 1 reply)

Yes Yes
I was once raped by a bus.

Happy now?

Tchoh, kids these days, with their music television and tweetter flashy gatherings...
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 1:22, 5 replies)

Burns night, sorry its a bit long
Have only got one slightly out of the ordinary tale involving a public bus.
( a few involving living on a travellers bus doing festivals but thats a different story)
This was probably mid 80s.
A group of us went to a Burns Night Supper at some gawd forsaken American Werewolf in London style pub in a remote moorland village.
I cant remember why or how as none of us were of Scottish descent, but may have been something to do with all the booze you could drink was included in the cover price which back then was probably about £5 tops, and one of the guys was a cousin to the landlords daughters boyfriend or something.
So we all piled into a van with a designated driver and drove the 12 miles or so to this odd little pub.
I learned 3 things.
1/Haggis is vile
2/And the lure of free booze is too much of a temptation to resist as our driver got wasted.
3/And I'd rather die freezing on the moor than try to sleep in a freezing van with several guys and the after effects of much beer and haggis.
And being slightly *cough* drunken myself I opted to walk home.
WTF was I thinking?
And WTF did no-one try to stop me?
In the first hour or so a couple of cars passed me and did stop to offer me a lift but i was so stubborn pissed and angry I declined.
By the time I reached the first big road it had started to snow lightly and I was stone cold sober, in the arse end of nowhere and holding back the panic.
I stood at the crossroads and stuck my thumb out whenever the rare car passed by but none stopped.
Just as I was about to carry on walking i saw headlights approaching and thumbed again when i saw it was a bus with the 'not in service' sign up, so i dropped my thumb, and my head.
Then my jaw also dropped as the bus stopped just up ahead and the door opened.
I was standing there not sure if it had stopped for me when the driver got out and beckoned.
I can still remember his words
"Bloody hell lass what are you doing out here on yer own, get on"
And so I did and I could have cried or hugged him.
I told him what had happened and he turned the air blue, both at me and my pals LOL
He said he could take me to within a couple of miles of where i lived as the depot was in a different direction.
Sitting in that warm bus on the front seat while he told me about his family and how proud he was of his daughter who was at university made me feel safe.
When we hit the first town he asked if I minded if he ate some chips?
Was a bit puzzled as I couldnt smell any, but when i said no, he pulled up and said he would be right back and got off the bus turning everything off
So i'm sitting there on my own on a darkened bus wondering whats going on as he vanished down an alley.
Just at the point where I'm thinking maybe i should get off , he comes back and drops a hot paper bag into my hands.
Then drives onto the seafront and we sit and eat chips watching the snow falling.
As we set off again he tells me he has made a call to the depot , and if I was his daughter he wouldnt leave me miles from home on a night like this.
And he drives me right up to the end of my road way out of his way back.

As has been my experience of the kindness of strangers when im lost away from home and have been helped I never think to ask their names when i thank them

So to that unknown bus driver , bless you
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Sun 28 Jun 2009, 1:18, 8 replies)

Depressed bus driver
I used to catch a little local bus in Pontypridd that drove up to the University of Glamorgan (used to be the School of Mines!). The driver was a nice chatty fellow, until one day I got on, and weirdly, no-one else was on the bus. The driver seemed to be going rather fast and swerving round the corners of these narrow little valley streets. I tried to talk to him and realised he was crying, just before we took a hairpin turn onto a bridge with a rather large drop onto the track below. We *did* just make it, and fortunately my stop was the next one after that. He didn't succeed in killing himself, but I'm sure he was considering it!
(snorgle, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 23:39, Reply)

urrrrr..... I 'ate you Butler!

( Tesco Quality 60.825659, -0.788337, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 22:10, 4 replies)

New York to Denver non-stop
Let me tell you about the bus ride I'll never forget.

I'd been contemplating whether I should risk it, but the prospect of being a passenger on the inaugurel non-stop bus journey from New York to Denver was just too tempting. Plus, they didn't do a Denver to New York leg, so I didn't have much choice.

Most of my concerns centred on the bus itself. Now, this bus was a work of art. Designed as the future of travel, this thing was both a double-decker and a bendy bus at the same time. The sucker was huge, and did I mention that it was jet propelled? No? Well, it was.

It took me a long time to work out how the jets were somehow also nuclear-powered. Although I don't think I ever really understood this aspect of the marvelous vehicle, I'd managed to block it out of my mind by sitting right at the front, as far away from the reactor as I could get.

So you would think that these design features would be enough to worry any passenger. Not me. I was up for experiencing whatever cutting edge technology would bring my way. What I did not anticipate, however, was one of the replacement drivers (yes, the originals were out for the count not long after we set out) turning out to be a cannibal!
(dxg, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 20:51, 4 replies)

Buses
I'm a bus driver amongst other things. Though, I'm currently on enforced leave, after trying to fit a bus through a gap that was just that little bit too small...
Well, I thought it'll fit!
(Grey_Ghost has yet to decide on a sig on, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 20:45, Reply)

Pearoast from last year
You need a car to get around down here in Southern California. Last year, I couldn't drive for 3 months as my drivers license had expired and couldn't renew it until my employment authorization was renewed, which was running 90 days behind schedule.
Bugger. But I did the noble thing and didn't drive.
Work was only 1 20 minute bus ride away, so that was no big deal but one weekend there was a massive fishing tourney going on with my fishing club having a bbq etc.
Being a bit too British and too proud to ask if someone would take me, I decided I would get the bus.
It turned out to be an epic journey. A 30 minute car ride turned into the 4 hour (but somewhat amusing) bus ride from hell involving 3 busses.

So, 2 fishing poles and a tackle bag, as well as my handbag in hand, I toddle off to the bus stop getting some strange looks off people on the way.
Bus #1 comes along and I duly bought my day pass ($2.50) and take my seat.
15 minutes later I'm let off the bus to wait a half hour for bus #2.
Get on bus #2 all the way up Harbor Blvd to Chapman. 3 fucking times I was asked the obvious question "going fishing are you?".
Bus #3 would be along in 45 minutes, so I pop into the bar that's handily sitting in the strip mall behind me and have a quick beer. Several offers of a ride to the lake from lecherous and drunken old men were politely declined.
Finally get on bus #3 which was going to take about 1 1/2 hours to get up to the main road to the lake.
The driver tells me my day pass is not valid for that bus. Ok, fine. I hand over another $1.50 for the fare.
The bus is packed. I have 2 fishing poles and a tackle bag in hand. Does anyone give me a hand or let me sit down? No. 3 stops later, someone on the back of the bus gets off so I make my way to their seat.......just as the bus driver is pulling away and slams his brakes on to avoid getting hit by a boy racer.

Thunk, goes I. On my hands and knees. Fishing poles flying everywhere. As I go to stand up, I realise I have a fishing hook now stuck in my leg. Much merriment and mirth from the rest of the passengers as I sit on the floor of the bus and get my pliers out. One guy looks at me as I'm yanking the hook out of my leg, turns a whiter shade of pale and almost hurls as I yank it out and hold it up victoriously.

6 people stand up and offer to give me their seats.

After some lovely chit chat with a Mexican fellow about fishing, I arrive at my final bus stop to catch bus number 4.
Meanwhile, my teammates have all heard about my epic journey and have been calling me to see how I'm doing.

I get off the bus stop, and there are 10 of my friends in our club t-shirts holding out cups of "water" (beer) for me. After a round of applause for making it that far, I was told to stop being a stubborn little bitch and was given a ride the rest of the way to the lake.
And the next day after an epic nights fishing, drinking and bbq'ing I was given a ride home and told not to do it again.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 19:04, 2 replies)

Oh god...The Greyhound buses in the US.
...These aren't public transport, they are insidious means of conveying the mentally inactive between cities. They are also the method your 'umble narrator chose to convey him on a transcontinental trip some fifteen years ago...

Firstly...ALL the bus stations are located in the less salubrious areas, the LA station at 01:00AM may just be one of the scariest places a scrawny white boy might find himself. Why do strange men keep trying to talk to me through the sides of their mouths? Why is this gummy homeless man telling me a heartrending tale? Could $1 really safe his life. Am I his "Bro"?

So, onto the buses. For hours and hours of long, straight roads. We dozed. The drivers dozed. We stopped for food. At Dunkin' Donuts. At 03:00AM. The seating made Easyjet look generous, and my skinny frame would inevitably attract a larger girthed lady, a Wide Bertha, if you will, as my benchmate. No madam, I do not wish to share your week-old Shrimp, though do have my crisps, they may cause your conspiracist prattle to cease for merciful seconds.

Arriving at Albuquerque in the small hours, this leg's Bertha spots a light in the sky. Shrieking at the top of her voice to the entire bus - "Look it's onna dem oofoos, Aliens!! eeeeeh". Horrors - she's pointing at me - "He saw it too!". "Er, it's actually the light on top of a building", I venture, but she's not having it. We disembark, and she tries to hug me, telling me we've shared something spiritual that wasn't crustacean-based.

As for Texas. We are pounding through the desert at night...Driver spots the telltale glow of a cigarette at the back of the bus. Unbeknown to us, he makes a call. A few minutes later, we pull over, and two police cars are waiting for us. It's pitch black, bar the cop car lights, their rotating flashers casting an intermittent red glow on cactus and rock. Nobody has a clue what is going on. Everyone is made to leave the bus with their belongings. Cletus and Bumfuck, the cops, then proceed to search everyone and their gear. Triumphantly finding a packet of cigarettes on a Scandinavian backpacker, he is cuffed and bundled into the car, presumably to be shot in the back of the head and buried alongside Gram Parson's ashes. Can't see that happening on the National Express.

At Flagstaff bus station, I get chatting to a native American who is waiting for his ride. Without warning, two cops rush in, knock him to the floor, cuff him and lead him away, my protests invite me to purchase a big can of shut the fuck up. The bus station attendant, smiles "He won't be bothering you no more!" - he'd made the call to the cops. I am literally speechless.

After much strangeness and charm, I get to New York. I take the bus to Buffalo, and my bag, with all my clothes, photos and mementos of a year on the road gets sent somewhere else. You wouldn't believe how long I spent in Buffalo waiting for it to not arrive.
(Mousy Tongue ...Generally bemused by life..., Sat 27 Jun 2009, 18:52, 5 replies)

Squirt on the Bus
During the mid-80s, I went to university in Upstate New York but lived on Long Island. The first time I visited my parents, I took a bus. My mum told me not to, but I figured, hey, it was cheap and I could read books the whole way. Silly me.

When I got on the bus, I was alright for the first twenty minutes until the first of three scheduled stops. That's when Wayne got on. Wayne had a 70s porn mustache and a blond afro. He was wearing white trousers and a red t-shirt that read SQUIRT.

Wayne started the conversation by telling me about his shirt. He was called Squirt because he had a weak bladder. He spent most of the next six hours telling me about how he peed in beer bottles, behind vending machines, out of windows, apparently anywhere except the appropriately designated areas. He also was proud of not spilling urine anywhere and kept inviting me to check out the crotch on his white trousers and confirm what he said.

This went on for the rest of the six-hour trip home, but at least he didn't demonstrate his talent.

The next time I went home, I listened to mom and took a plane.
(Evil Simon, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 18:22, Reply)

Tea. Sandwiches. Racism.
Lived in Leeds. Met a lady, and fell head over cleft in luurrve. And not just any old luurrve either. The kind that induces reflexive vomiting in random strangers, and has your flatmates seriously contemplating having you killed. There is simply no excuse.

Aforementioned object of my steadfastly neurotic and uncomfortably priapismic affections then moves to London, for reasons far too pretentious to recount here. Now a long distance relationship will teach you many things. It will tell you pretty early on if the two of you are meant to be together. It will teach you that if you don’t relax, learn to trust your girlfriend and stop worrying about where she is and who she’s with, you’ll go absolutely hatstand pretty fucking quickly. But most of all, it will teach you to hate the National Express with an intensity you never thought possible.

Yep. Every other bastarding weekend I would spend at least 8 hours trapped in a sweaty coach with the country’s leading specialists in fruitcakery. And while 90% of NE passengers are perfectly well-adjusted, budget-conscious people who just need to get from A to B (via C, D and E) without selling their houses/nieces/organs to cover the confusing, extortionate and terrifyingly arbitrary cost of a train ticket, it would appear that I’m some sort of mentalist magnet.

Every cocking time I clambered aboard, praying to a God I don’t believe in that the bus would be relatively empty and I’d get a double seat as far as Meadowhall or Milton Keynes, I’d be instantly rewarded for my wild delusions of grandeur by some 26 stone Care In The Community patient with a tuppaware full of egg mayonnaise sandwiches, and a deep desire to tell me all about his budgie. Oh joy.

This story, however, takes place on a rare occasion when the bus really was quiet. In fact, eerily quiet. For some reason there were only about 6 of us on board for the entire journey. Which would have been great, except this service also had a refreshment lady with a trolley full of inedible sandwiches and faintly worrying beverages. And naturally, with 6 people on board, she was bored shitless, and decided to engage everyone in conversation.

She was middle-aged, slightly maternal and fairly pleasant, so even though I just wanted to read my book, I felt compelled to smile and nod as she chatted inanely about her illustrious career.

“22 years I’ve been working on the coaches. I’ve seen some sights, let me tell you.”

Smile. Nod.

“I do love it though. You get to travel all over the place, and meet some lovely, interesting people.”

Smile. Nod.

“I couldn’t imagine doing anything else really. It’s a marvelous job.”

Smile. Nod.

“The only thing I don’t like is the blacks.”

Smi-

Excuse me?

“I don’t like having blacks on board. They’re just not nice people. Oops, you’re not supposed to say that nowadays are you?”

And to my eternal shame, I was literally too gobsmacked to do anything other than smile and nod. And so Combat 18’s trolley dolly decided she’d found an appreciative (and ethnically acceptable) audience, and proceeded to spend the rest of the journey telling me all about how the coaches were much nicer when all the passengers were white. This is because I don’t believe in you, isn’t it God?

It was the last time I ever prayed for an empty bus. Come back Budgie Man, all is forgiven.
(Monkey Tennis isn't Spartacus, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 17:33, 1 reply)

A bus driver actually helped me out
(not the 484 this time, some double decker)

I've always had a messy head of hair. One time, I had moved down from the top deck quite frankly I didn't feel like being kicked to shit and that's where it was going. As I was the only other person other than the driver, I sat behind the Plexiglas by the back door.

I was left alone for a while. The bus dinged so I knew they were getting off, I was expecting something. Instead they all got off, one by one, doing nothing until the last bastard grabbed my hair as he got off. I opened the window, gave the finger and suggested he try it again.

The dumb fucker put his arm through the window. You know, the horizontal opening? I grabbed his wrists, pulled his arm through to the elbow and called politely for the driver to continue.

"Fucking move it!"

The horror on his face as the bus slowly started pulling away, then as he saw the Ford Fiesta he was heading for. I let him have his arm back and he bounced lightly off the bonnet.

PS: It was London so I still didn't say thank you to the driver.
(MrTeapot hasn't played with himself since, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 15:57, 2 replies)

The 484 again.
There was always going to be a long traffic queue on the hill at 4:30. There is basically one way of getting into town from that general direction and when school is out all across the borough absolutely everyone is trying to get over that hill.

Often drivers would sneak round and try entering the stream of cars through smaller residential roads. Obviously everyone else has thought of that resulting in more clogged arteries.

Once while I was on a packed out bus, with another packed out bus behind that one, coming over the hill. Our driver was the awesome Jamaican guy who would tell everyone as they got on "hold tight, mon" regardless of the state of movement the bus was currently in. Such as this point...

"Hold tight, now."

...as the bus crept forward.

We eventually reached the opening of a side road. Before it was considered naughty to drive on the phone, there was some twazzack in a little yellow car trying to worm his way out of a side road. He passed a couple of other cars, who were patiently waiting to be let out, driving two wheels onto the pavement, forcing his way to the front.

Not on. Our driver called him a boombaclat if I remember correctly. There was a space opening in front, the bus driver waved him forward, letting the yellow car commit to the movement, then he shouted back to us all.

"Hold tight, for real."

And slammed on the accelerator. The yellow car managed to stop inches away from us in the windows. The driver opened the doors and waved the patiently waiting cars forward to box the prick in.

The bus moved on slowly, the bus behind us was right up the exhaust pipe. With no room to move back, no room to move forward and no gaps appearing, the yellow twazzock had to sit there and yell.

We could see him from the bottom of the hill as we turned the corner.
(MrTeapot hasn't played with himself since, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 15:46, Reply)

I suppose I could use earplugs?
I love the 484. Used it for school, to go to girlfriend's houses, out of sheer laziness.

Now I'm older, whenever I return home for a weekend, I divert my route so I can get that particular bus back. Recently tfL has added the speaking directions to the local bus, as if anyone wants to know they've reached Lewisham.

When I was a teen, the 484 would provide the journey home from one of our favourite past-times, spacing out on shrooms and watching patterns in the seats and windows while returning from some horrible underage party-cum-spunkfest.

Those damn spoken directions have spoilt my attempts to relive my childhood.
(MrTeapot hasn't played with himself since, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 15:30, Reply)

Fucking hell
The same question two weeks on the trot? Surely everyone has run out of stories about bosses by now!
(Dangerous Disco Trev Isn't my real name, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 15:11, 1 reply)

Connie the large
A girl, Connie, who got kicked out of our school for violent outbursts and beating up fellow students would NOT be deterred from her reign of terror. Even the boys were terrified of her. The school had thrown her out but that didn't stop her terrorizing us at the bus stop!

Now, this girl is huge in every sense of the word. Around 6 foot but obese is an understatement...she was a planet. I thought she had broken my arm in a fight once. Anway, another girl, Liz got such a beating on the way home that Connie was banned from taking the buses in that area- EVERY bus driver knew her by the end of that week and refused to let her on!

Did this stop Connie? No sir!

We silently shuffled on to the bus home, even the rastafarian bus driver looked frightened and kept saying "Connie, no man no!" when she tried to get on.

Now, being a bunch of mouthy schoolkids determined not to look afraid of this beast, the "who the fuck does she think she is" and "we could have so fucking taken her" started to come out when we wrongly assumed we were safe on the top deck...the bravado got out of control and before I knew it, there was a row of middle fingers along the top deck window (me included in this) flipping her off! It was like a competition as to who had the biggest death wish.

The chants of "fatso" started and we were all quite happy to be proclaiming "I'M not afraid of her!" until Connie, in the most frightening way possibly RIPPED THE BUS DOORS OPEN. A bit like when Miss Trunchbull lifts up a car in the movie Matilda; and I swear to God I actually heard her roar:

The change was phenomenal, all of a sudden we stopped boasting that we "could easily take her" and started running to the back of the bus screaming "shiiiitt!!!" and "ruuunnn!!" unanimously. I'm ashamed to admit I started yelling "we're all gonna die!"

Thank God the bus driver sped off in terror or we probably would have died as running to the back of the bus wouldn't have protected us much!

When we realized Connie wasn't barging up the stairs to break our bones, we were all so embarrassed by what wusses we were that nobody said much. That was the quietest bus journey home from schoolkids ever. The pedestrians must have loved it.

I have never felt like such a pussy in my life, and anyone I know who was on that terrfying bus journey, well, we don't really talk about it!
(trippeh, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 14:59, 2 replies)

tony
when i was in school, the school bus drivers were all miserable bastards (i suppose i would be if i had to drive a bus full of brats 5 days a week)
however one man was the exception.
he was known as tony, for that was not his name (we just called him that)

he'd drive a long with everyone pressing the bell in time to a tune and chanting tony. without fail every day
on the way back from school 20 kids all in time chanting,begginning as soon as he closed the bus doors and
started to drive and ending when we reached the town centre. anyone else would have become pissed off with this but
tony loved it.

highlights of the bus ride home include:
+ being told to all stick the finger up as we drove past another school bus cause the driver was a miserable git.
+ kicking one of the school bullies off the bus in the middle of nowhere (we used to go past lots of fields to get to town)
+ the time the bell was broken so he had us all clapping and chanting instead.

that man was great.... can't remember his real name. he did actually tell us what it was once.
unfortunately he retired in my last year and we were given another driver who was sadly not as fun.
(stitched, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 14:15, 1 reply)

Back when I was at uni...
I shared a decrepit house with a few people, we had the usual student highs and lows, but it was fine, usually because I was able to diffuse most situations, as the coolest person living there at the time.

To cut a long story short, one summer we came upon a big red routemaster bus and thought about emulating our hero Cliff Richard's famous journey, as in the wonderful documentary "Summer Holiday" (I particularly looked forward to a meeting of minds and glands on my matching undersheet with Una Stubbs)

My housemate decided to drive, even though he lacked some ability, and I'm too cool to drive a bus and so we were soon under way singing and laughing in the sunshine.

Then disaster struck! Our bus was involved in a horrific accident, and it crashed over a cliff, destroying a huge billboard with our hero's face on, and ended up exploding in a quarry. No-one, not even our hamster survived.


Edit.. sorry about that..
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 13:12, 3 replies)

I'vebingoodtoyoukids!
This was the impotent, enraged response of our school bus driver after he'd previously bellowed at us for slamming the windows. Needless to say we slammed the windows more after this and mockingly added "I'vebingoodtoyoukids" at the the top of our voices.

BTW I'd just like to take this opportunity to say how much I'm enjoying all those posts that essentially narrate a scene from a TV show or film. Brilliant- really, keep up the good work. No honestly.
(this is a shit username, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 13:02, 1 reply)

vodka and buses = fail
Back in the day, it's one of my best friend's 21st - so of course we have to go out and get completely blathered. But it's a thursday night... I have to go to work in the morning... ah, it'd be rude not to show my face - plus I'll be sensible. I'll have a few in the pub and then leave them to it when they move on.

...which good intention lasted about as long it took to me to get to the pub and see that it's a special offer on vodka - a triple shot for the price of one. so of course, I'm putting it away like a mong with a box of chocolates.

eleven pm rolls around - of course I'll come to the club. yes, I've got to be up at six but an hour or so wont hurt. so of course, 2am hoves into view and I'm absolutely shitfaced. if Oliver Reed had been in the room, he would have looked disapprovingly at the state I was in. so I stagger off into the night... should I go for a kebab? no, got to be up in a few hours. I get in, set the alarm for six, and fall into a sleep not at all dismilar to a vodka induced coma.

I wake up. it's light out... oh dear - thats bad. it's ten am... I should have been on an industrial estate ten miles away two hours ago. the room is spinning... this is bad. I jump in the shower, and neck two mugs of lemon alka seltzer in a vain hope that they will do the gastro-intestinal version of the relief of Stalingrad.

I fumble my way to the bus stop, and away we go. the bus is grinding its way around all the houses to get to where I'm going. the lemon alka seltzer is not having the effect I need, to say the least. in fact, it feels more like... ooh, hang on... I dont feel very well... I *really* dont feel very well... in fact, I think I'm going to be BBBLLEEEAAAUUURRRGGGHHH...
I'm sat on the lower deck of this bus, surrounded by old ladies on their way to the market, spasming like john hurt in Alien while expelling a nights worth of vodka and the alka seltzer chasers. but because this is all I've had, all I'm bringing up is this luminous green drool... which is then running the length of the bus aisle and out the door next to the driver like a small dayglo waterfall... it's becoming a cross between a re-enactment of The Exorcist crossed with Speed...

the driver...oh dear. he stops the bus, comes back to where I'm sitting and asks me to move to another seat. I offer to get off, as I'm pretty horrified and if he'd have told me to get off his bus I'd have said fair do's. But no, the man is clearly a saint as he just sighs, tells me to move to another seat and tapes off where I've been sat, and sprinkles his little bag of sand around to soak up what I've spread around. He's clearly used to dealing with drunken tossers.

so, I move to the back seat, and surrounded by dirty looks and tuts from the old bids, we set off again. we've still got miles to go, and after a short period of relief following my earlier expulsion, I realise the evil forces of vodka are rallying for a counterassault. oh no...BBBLLLLLEEEEEAAAAUUURRRRGGGGHHHHHahhhhh...
As I'm now sat on the back seat, this is running like a river the length of the bus till it meets the previous stream... past all the old bids who are looking even more disapproving and are tutting up a storm... thankfully, I'm almost at my stop. I get off, go to work and endure possibly the worst hangover I've ever had. shakes, more heaves, the lot. but I man up and struggle through, and by sunday I'm feeling vaguely human again.

A few months later, I've been out for the night again, and I'm stood in Abdul's kebab shop on oxford road - purveyor of fine foods to pissed up leery tosspots. I'm getting my usual, when I notice a couple of the lads in the back of the kitchen looking at me, nudging each other and giggling. One comes out to the counter and says 'alright mate... you work in altrincham dont you?'
to which I respond that I have done, just depends where the work is.
'Oh, right. because I saw you on the bus one morning heading out that way - you werent feeling very well were you?' I dont think I'd ever really appreciated what people mean when they say 'I wish the ground would have opened up and swallowed me' before that moment.

length? all the way down the aisle of the bus like I said... and luminous green.
(tjn whizzing on the electric fence of life, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 12:57, 2 replies)

The Beauty of National Express
Twas a dark Sunday evening making the journey from Milton Keynes to Huddersfield on the good old 564 National Express. A regular journey it appeared until we reached the Wakefield Bus Station. Having changed bus driver at the Barnsley Interchange nobody on the bus had any idea what they were about to let themselves in for.

We pulled in at Wakefield, and a few people want to get off the bus. However, they were not prepared to leave without their suitcases, trapped in the luggage under the bus. The driver spent 15 minutes pressing every combination of buttons in front of him in a vain attempt to open the luggage compartment doors. It was no use, he hadn't been taught how to open doors in bus driver training. So on the phone he gets, and again no luck, he eventually finds another bus driver at the station and persuades them to show him which button to press.

Eventually, after another wait as he learns how to close the door to the bus again, we finally set off.
'Where are we going?' said the bus driver. A smattering of responses echo through the bus, eventually settling on Dewsbury. So the bus driver starts driving through Wakefield, past a sign for Dewsbury and Huddersfield, and towards a motorway somewhere.

A middle-aged gentleman travels to the front of the bus and perches behind the bus driver,
'Do you know where you are going?'
'Uh...'
'Why are we heading in this direction? There were plenty of signs for Dewsbury back there.'
'Guess, I'll turn it around again.'

For the rest of the trip to Dewsbury this man directs the bus driver where to go, but unfortunately gets off the bus, leaving our driver clueless once again on how to get to Huddersfield. Fortunately someone else took the initiative and told him where to go.

I have not stepped on a National Express coach I've never known a train driver to get lost.
(Freeman999, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 12:40, 1 reply)

You'll have to bear with me on this one...
It would have been more than ten years ago now, and my memory's a bit hazy. Then again, I may have blotted most of it out. Anyway, I was getting on the bus to work one afternoon and, lo and behold, a woman at the wheel! Now I know what you're thinking, and I've got nothing against women drivers generally, but this one was really something special. Christ almighty, you'd think she'd never driven a bus before - it was like one of the Chuckle Brothers had taken too many amphets. Pavements were mounted, cars walls and lamp posts were narrowly missed. And as for the woman with the pram; all I can say is she had a very lucky escape. I swear that we didn't once go below 50mph on that stretch.

I was getting pretty damn concerned by this point, especially since she seemed more interested in chatting to some bloke she'd picked up earlier. If anything he was even worse, but he seemed to have some strange effect on her. The guy was a total chopper, the backseat driver from hell: He spent the entire trip alternating dubious advice with patronising encouragement, and occasionally hitting on her. From time to time he'd turn round and shout at the rest of us, like we gave a toss what he had to say. By this time I was just staring out of the window and praying for my stop to come.

Alas, it was not to be. Perhaps it was because of him, but her navigation was spectacularly awful as well. We went careering off down a road that had been closed, and spent a good half hour doing circuits round the airport. Everyone was seriously disgruntled, but the two Fuhrers at the front wouldn't let anyone off; and the nice lady who did try to assert herself got such rough treatment that nobody else dared after that.

Anyway, it took police intervention to persuade her to let us off in the end. Her mate wandered off - something about catching a tube train - and the bus whizzzed off down the airport runway and exploded.

Bindun, surely?
(Bernard Bernoulli, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 11:11, 4 replies)

A previous job
In the 70's I was an inspector (I guess I'd be classed as a middle manager nowadys) for the "Luxton & District Traction Company" (long cosigned to history's scrap heap). I like to think I was a firm but fair Inspector. Most of my drivers and clippys (as conductors were called) were fine; I say most, I had one pair who were the most workshy blokes you ever did meet! Always late, not doing their routes properly (I think the clippy had many lady friends he visited when he was supposed to be working!) they were a liability, but somehow I could never get rid of them.

Still, all in all it was a good job.

Blakey.
(kitescreech still here, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 9:15, Reply)

Fun, fun, fun...
I knew a bus driver once. Alcoholic cross dressing regular at my old local he was and an entertaining one at that.
He had LOADS of stories of deliberate bastardry against passengers like:
Deliberately stopping in front of puddles so they'd have to step in water.
Angling the bus in sharply at stops when it had rained so the water would sheet off the roof and soak everyone as he braked.
Bypassing stops or entire stretches of his route to make up time after stopping for a sandwich or quick beer.
Refusing to accept $10 notes all day (or $5s or $20s, whatever he fancied).
Refusing to speak English to anyone all day.
Accelerating or braking to send people falling all over the place.
Best one he told however was when the bus was loaded with people he'd look in the mirror and mutter to himself "You're all worthless cunts aren't you?" then tap the brakes and watch them nod in agreement.
( difficultchild, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 8:17, 5 replies)

The Most Uncomfortable Rus Ride Ever
Was on my way home from Uni a few months ago. Got on the bus with my flatmate, and started chatting. At the next stop, a fat man with a NUFC Hat on started... entertaining us. The following were all said within the 7-minute bus ride.

===

FAT MAN (to an Indian Guy)
Ha! You're like Rab C. Nesbitt, only coloured in!

INDIAN GUY
Uh... I have to go

FAT MAN
Oi mate, go take your face for a shit!

===

(Muslim guy gets on the bus and proceeds to go upstairs)

FAT MAN
Ha! Chemical Ali's just gone upstairs!

===

FAT MAN (to an Elderly Asian woman holding a bag)
Oi! You got a bomb in there? Haha!

==

FAT MAN
Alright Granddad

OLD MAN WITH FLATCAP
Uh.. hello.

FAT MAN
Your hat's rubbish. You look like a turnip!

OLD MAN
...

FAT MAN
I'd ask you to give me your hat, but I don't want a cauliflower!

OLD MAN
...

FAT MAN
Ha! What are you? A cabbage?!

OLD MAN
...

===

FAT MAN (to me)
I like your hair mate! Did you stick your finger in a plug socket?

ME (humouring him)
Ha, yeah. Have to do it every morning.

FAT MAN
I bet you do! I bet you put your finger in the plug socket!

ME
Uh huh.

FAT MAN
I bet you put your finger in the plug socket!

===

FAT MAN (spotting another Muslim on the bus)
There's another one!

FAT MAN'S FRIEND
Look... I don't wanna go round upsetting my neighbours

FAT MAN
Pfft! You don't have neighbours!

===

FAT MAN (to me)
I like your glasses! You look like Gok Wan... but white!

ME
I.. I thought Gok Wan was white

FAT MAN
Oooooooooh! What are you? A FEMINIST?

ME
Gok Wan isn't female either.

FAT MAN
(mocking my accent) Pip! Pip! Tally ho! Tell Daddy to get the farms ready!

ME
Hey look, it's my stop...

===

Oh, racist Fat Man. I do hope I get to see you again someday.
(__, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 8:17, 3 replies)

Bus Cuntery
Pearoast: If you've been here for more than a year, you will have read this tale of bus-anthropy last on the 'public transport' QOTW.

We're on the way home from a long, hot day at work and the bus driver is twatting along his route like a rally driver. My mate gets a bit 'Daily Mail' in such situations, taking it upon himself to restore order. At the next red light, he marches up to the front and says (in a suitably condescending tone) "Oi, 'mate', what... are... you ... doing? It's not a fucking sports car"

"I'm the driver, I know what I'm doing" blustered the pompous, corpulent ruddy-faced cunt in that unique 'Transport for London knows best' delivery.

"No 'mate', if you knew what you were doing, you wouldn't be doing what you're doing." was his instant (and now legendary) response.

The open-mouthed bus puppeteer pondered this pearl of wisdom for a second, then his head dropped as the anvil of truth smashed into his simple brain. His veil of superiority had been ripped away by a succinct one-liner, destroying whatever career credibility he assumed he had. The lights turned green. Dejected and deflated, he pulled away slowly and we enjoyed the rest of the journey in limousine-smooth comfort.
( chart cat has an itch, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 7:07, 2 replies)

Long story short
Me and the lads had just done an amazing caper through europe. It was pure class. At one stage we had half the police force after us but we managed to elude them. We were on a serious high. It was a real tight nit club of guys really looking after themselves.
Anyways we find ourselves making an escape from the madness on this old bus, going through swizerland on this crazy mountain road, one like you see on the movies, it was real scarey and the bus driver was not laying off the gas. The wheels were screeching and then the inevitable happend and the driver send the bus into a skid leaving the back end of the bus teetering over the edge of a cliff.
All our stuff was in the back and I wanted it.
So I said, hand on a minute lads, I've got a great idea.
(TheEarl used his power to freeze time at, Sat 27 Jun 2009, 6:59, 1 reply)