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This is a question Buses

We've got a local bus driver who likes to pull away slowly just to see how far old ladies with shopping trollies will chase him down the road. By popular demand - tell us your thrilling bus anecdotes.

Thanks to glued eel for the suggestion

(, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 13:14)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

192 - fun, games and laughs for all!
Manchester to Stockport - jolly good fun.

I snogged a lesbian who thought I was a girl :0)
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 13:02, 1 reply)
The 192 - Shameless on Wheels
The 192 runs from Manchester Piccadilly to Stockport and is often referred to as the "Danger Bus".

For 6 months this bus made me laugh, wince and also shit myself...

Early hours of Saturday morning, I'm drunk and the bus has managed to get through Longsight without being held up by low life copper chained gangsters. You enter Levenshulme and shit has gone down and the bus needs to take an alternative route, the only problem is the polish driver doesn't have a clue where to go, this route is a straight line from Manc - Stockport...

This was a drunken solo journey and I felt obliged to help the driver,without actually having a clue where to go... 6 cul-de-sacs later and the bus driver lost faith, almost in tears he decides enough is enough! He takes a handful of coins from bus till and does one leaving the engine running...

At this point the whole bus looks at me, they've lost faith in their co-pilot, I'm actually scared by some of the looks I'm getting. As an aside there's also a fat irish woman with her belly and tits hanging all over the place arguing with a tramp, she thinks she's kicking his bag, as it turns out it belongs to a guy who has returned from his travels, he's too scared to even argue with the Irish Tyson!

At this point, I shout out "Is there anybody here that can drive a bus?" In my head I felt like Samuel Jackson in Snakes on a Plane "Lets open some motherfuckin windows"... It felt like I was taking strong decisive action...

No-one volunteers, and infact everybody at this point starts to depart from the bus, news has filtered through to the Blazin Squad on the top of the bus that the driver has fucked off, they take all the fares and run off into the night.

At this point there's a few people lurking about outside, and I'm sat on the entrance step of the bus...feeling more sober by this point, I had a wave of Jack Bauer come over me, and I felt I could do whatever it takes to get me home asap.

I walk back on the bus and the radio are asking for our location, I jump on the radio (as the driver) and report that all passengers have departed due to incident in Levenshulme and that I'm on route back to Manchester. This was of course to throw them of my scent.

The next morning I woke up around 9.30am, I opened the blinds to discover the 192 parked up outside my flat. I absolutely cacked my pants!!! I left the flat immediately and returned to parents house for the rest of the weekend!

Looking back it was probably the best 192 journey I've ever had!
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 12:59, 6 replies)
Take your average exitable puppy. Feed it a few wraps of speed washed down with a couple of cans of red bull. And that’s basically what I’m like. All the fucking time. So, put me on a looooonnnnnggggg, dull as fuck journey and I’m bound, no, obliged to do something utterly fucking stupid.

A few years back I used to live up in a little place near Leeds named Heckmondwike. I’d get the bus every morning at god-awful-o’clock to my job in Leeds. One time it’d been snowing pretty damn heavily. Rather than face another day in a house with a woman who I can only discribe as Satan’s evil daughter, I trudged to the bus stop, waited, and eventually got on the Arriva to Leeds. I went up stairs and took up my usual hardman position at the back. And it was only when I sat down and scanned round, in my bleary early morning state, that I realised there was no other fucker on board. Everyone else had probably decided against going into work. The weather was truly fucking awful. But – alas I had my reasons, well, one reason – a short, fat, and fucking ugly reason that would’ve been waiting for me back at my gaff. *Shudders*

So I wrapped my coat round myself and tried to wipe the ice off the windows a bit so I could peer through. It was that fucking cold.

Then I got an idea. A stupid fucking idea. But an idea all the same which for me was something of a revelation...

Very slowly, I touched the tip of my tongue on the freezing cold glass. And I got stuck. I tried to move my head back slowly, but no fucking joy. I’d managed to freeze an essential part of my body to the inside window of the fucking bus. I did a little customary panic. Had a bit of a wimper, and then, bracing both hands on the cold, cold window pane, I wrenched myself free.

And left a little bit of my tongue stuck to the frosty glass. Fuck me. Won’t do that again...

Fastforward a few minutes. The bus is going no-fucking-where. Stuck near Leeds Ikea, crawling along like an oversized rectangular yeti in the driving blizzard. It’d stopped a few times and a few hardy souls boarded, but still no fucker dared to go upstairs and join me. (Possibly because there was no fucking heating on the top deck and it was like sitting in a fucking fridge, my breath billowing out infront of me).

Then I had another idea... A thought entered my head and just wouldn’t go away. I just had to fucking well know... what would happen if...

So, making sure the bus was a long way between the next stop, I stood up loosened the fly on my trousers, grabbed my cold-shrivelled and frightened cock, whapped it out, and slapped my bell end against the cold, cold, glass.

And, I have to say, it felt really fucking good. It stuck in place, my japs eye glued to the glass with the frost. It actually felt quite exhilirating. Pleasure and pain combined. Right, job done, I thought. So I went to move away. Shit! SHIT!!! SHHHIIIITTTT!!! If I’d have had a Hamlet cigar, I would’ve smoked it then in a moment of quiet contemplation. But I didn’t, so I braced my hands against the glass again and pulled back quickly, violently with my hips. And then I cried. I looked down at my poor little cock, saw the blood and passed out.

I came too a little later when a very kindly lady shook my shoulders: “You alright, luv?” she asked. “Bit cold up here, isn’t it?” Thankfully I was scrunched up in such a way that it wasn’t obvious my cock was hanging out, seeping blood from a nasty frost burn. I remained hunched up. I went to speak. The woman said: “Oh, you’re bleeding!” SHIT!!! And then she pointed at my mouth. PHEWW!!! I explained I must’ve hit my face against the glass when I *ahem* fainted...

The woman regarded the window of my seat. “Yes, you can see a bit of skin here,” and she pointed. “And look – there’s more down here too,” and her eyes went a bit blank, she moved away from me a little, as she stared directly at the unblinking, unmistakable cockprint (complete with japs eye) impression I’d managed to leave on the window...
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 12:11, 13 replies)
Carry On Vomiting.
One of my schoolmates was a waste of skin, a totally disgusting, arrogant shit (even by my standards). He discovered that if you sit at the back of the bus in the centre of the bench seat and brace yourself against the two seats on either side of the aisle, it is possible to projectile vomit almost the entire length of the bus, collateral damage included for shits and giggles. Cunt.
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 11:12, Reply)
Malcolm The Bus Driver
When I was at university several years ago our first year accommodation was separate from the main campus, as such the university laid on a shuttle bus service to ferry our lardy student arses back and forth. The hall of residence itself was a generally shitty place, the kind of place where boredom could drive a man to wonder what the sensation of putting a switched on vacuum cleaner in his mouth would be like; the food was served in two different ways - fried and deep fried.

But I digress, the bus drivers that ran this service were generally of a good nature, the rules technically stated that you had to show your pass in order to qualify for your corpulent form to be shuttled to campus however most of the drivers didn’t bother to enforce this rule.

There was however the exception, Malcolm the bus driver, everyone hated Malcolm; he was a special kind of twunt. He always insisted on making you show your pass, if you forgot to pass you were walking to campus, or at least waiting till one of the other buses with a more reasonable driver onboard. Some of the highlights from Malcolm’s bus journeys include:

1. The time he deliberately drove off early from the bus stop because he saw the rugby team approaching and he didn’t want them to make his precious bus muddy

2. He often used to stick a finger in his ear and shake it about like an epileptic at a disco, but on one memorable occasion he inserted the tail end of a plastic spoon into his ear and started digging about with it so deep one can only assume he was trying to dislodge his brain, the spoon was subsequently removed and put in his mouth. There was a unified gasp.

3. Malcolm loved to perv over the young Asian girls, he always waited for them if he saw them approaching the bus stop, he never made sure that they had their passes and on several occasions drove them to their rented accommodation several miles outside of his route back and forth to campus, while the bus was full of other students I hasten to add.

Then one morning as we all dragged ourselves out of bed at some ungodly hour for lectures (probably 11am or *shock* even earlier) we were greeted with a notice asking for our condolences as Malcolm had 'tragically' passed away the previous evening. Instead rumours just started circulating about him dying of a massive heart attack during some kind of sex orgy with one of his beloved Asian students, he probably wanked himself to death over the CCTV footage of girls going over the speed bumps.
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 10:57, 3 replies)
Gas mark 6 for about half an hour, and your pea will be roasted to perfection.
The N29 has always been a nightmare, but a couple of years ago the buses were "upgraded" from capacious double-deckers filled with seats to the new spontaneously combusting bendy buses, with their "increased capacity" consisting of three seats in total and a lot of standing room with not enough things to hang on to. I dislike bendy buses at the best of times, but using them at 4am on one of the nightclub - student ghetto routes just crosses the line. Owing to the impossibility of wedging yourself into a corner seat and minding your own business on a bendy bus, within the first year I'd had my phone stolen twice and my wallet stolen once, I'd been frequently caught in the fallout of uncontrolled vomiting and several people had fallen onto/into/over me, with various results. And it's really hard to read your book.

Despite the above rant, I actually had a seat on the night this story takes place.

It was a Friday, I had staggered out of the Electric Ballroom in Camden at around half past three and, stopping only for water and Tic-Tacs, made my way to the bus stop. The fates were clearly smiling on me and I managed to collapse into a seat and dive into my book in an attempt to block out the horrors around me. All was going well, until the person sat next to me departed and was replaced by someone I could tell was going to be trouble. Clearly chav-curious at the very least, and of the particularly unleasant scrawny, weaselly breed, he entered the bus with two much bigger friends who took up flanking (and CCTV-blocking) positions before sitting down heavily next to me, forcing me up against the window. As he twitched against me like a nutter, I buried my face in my book and desperately hoped I'd be able to avoid a stabbing. Then I felt something... else.

Being a filthy nu-metallist (at least occasionally), I was wearing enormously baggy trousers liberally covered in random zips and buckles. My new neighbour, under cover of his jiggling, had opened a zip at random in hope of interesting things to steal, sneakily reached inside and wound up with a handful of my knee. In full view of his colleagues, both of whom were now failing to conceal smirks of amusement. I looked at him, he looked at me with dawning horror. I grinned and raised one eyebrow, one of his buddies started sniggering and the other cracked up. I looked down, and only then did he remove his hand.

He stormed off the bus at the next stop, his associates following and loudly questioning his sexuality. I had a Tic-Tac, zipped myself back up and went home to bed.
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 10:49, 6 replies)
"BUS"ting for a pee, Comrades 4eva, Ignorant Proles, Half-Remembered Lies

The drunk Spainard who sat at the top deck front window seat, did a piss which leaked onto the driver's head. Bus stops. Driver bounds up the stairs and had to be restrained by passengers, who also told the Spainard to get off the bus, or the driver would be let loose. Spainard got off the bus, and was so drunk, he threw a traffic cone at a different bus driving past, causing the bus to swerve all over the shop (the shop being Bishopsgate outside Liverpool St station).

Sitting at the back of a nightbus, coming back from a club with a bunch of friends. In between trying to think of another song to do in a Cockney/Bill Bailey style, I accidentally make eye contact with a jovial loner clutching a half empty vodka bottle. Jovial loner treats the passing glance as if it were a personal invitation to sit with us and be our new friend. After several polite refusals of a swig, I hint to my friend/housemate that "THIS IS OUR STOP" (actually a couple of stops before where we lived, but I didn't want friendly freak man to know that). "Oh this is my stop too. Do you want to come round to my house and smoke some grass?" Cue another 30mins of me and housemate walking around Stockwell in the cold trying to shake freaky loner man.

Catching another nightbus home from a club (in Clerkenwell). A drunk, but well spoken man gets onto the bus and states that he doesn't have any money, but he should be allowed to ride the bus for free (I think he talked about human rights or somesuch). The bus driver was having none of it, and said loudly so that all could hear: "Until you pay, or you get off, this bus ain't going nowhere." No-one was going to pay for him, and he just stood next to the drivers cabin doing his best to rationally convince the driver to let him have a free ride. After about 2-3 mins, I decided to join in the discussion. A few minutes later he got off the bus due to my devastating intellect, and rock solid argument based on utilitarianism. As the bus resumed its journey, I got exactly zero thanks for my efforts from the driver and passengers. Fucking ignorant proles.

And here's one nicked from my friend's blog, but since it stars me, it isn't plagiarism:
The bus ride home was the worse bit. Theremin decided to sit opposite two fine boho gurls and do "sexy" faces at them when they (quite understandably) fled and he then grabbed hold of me and started bellowing, "LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE .... YOU'VE SCARED THEM OFF! .... WITH YOUR PASTY GOLLUM FACE ...." He then paused and noticed a large middle aged woman get on the bus and take the seats that the boho girls were sitting on and spat out, "Oh! great now we're left with .... Rosanne Barr". The look on that poor woman's face is something i'll never forget.
But it gets worse....
Theremin then fell in to a dark & deep sleep - his body motionless & silent punctuated only by the occasional twitch soundtracked by the spoken sigh of the names of the girls he had died a thousand times inside for. The bus then terminated at London Bridge but Theremin wouldn't wake up. Everyone got off the bus and the driver turned the lights off. The bus driver then started yelling, "Oi! can you wake your boyfiend up! bus teminates here dont'cha know". So i punched Theremin as hard as my indie weakling Kermit arms could - and he slowly came round only to mutter, "Croydon? ....no, no, no I'm not staying in Croydon. why are we in Croydon?". The bus driver was not amused, "get your bloody mate off my bus!", he hollered. So i dragged a protesting Theremin off of the bus where he whinged, "the bus isn't supposed to take us to Croydon". I had to literally drag him to the London Bridge tube sign to make him believe that he was still in London.

I'm pretty sure some of that was made up. But I was so drunk, I have no memory of said events, so I can't say for sure...
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 10:35, Reply)
Everyone's probably experienced this
Where you climb onto the bus, ask for a ticket and pull out...a note! And the bus driver looks at you like you've just felt up his wife and says: "You've got to be fucking joking."

I mean, for crying out loud, do they not issue you with change at the bus depot? Hasn't it occurred to anyone that your passengers might have come straight from the cash machine, and not the dole queue? Is there any reason to swear at me for trying to pay with legal money?

(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 10:33, 7 replies)
I went on a coach trip once...
Many years ago, I was having a bit of a long-distance relationship. My girlfriend phoned me one night and told me she'd booked us a holiday. Yay!

My excitement was tempered somewhat when I found out that it was a coach trip around the Isle of Wight.
In November.
Anyway, it meant some time together, and at least if I wasn't driving I'd be able to have a few beers and not have to worry.

That was the plan, anyway: it didn't quite work out like that, mainly because we never stopped anywhere long enough to find a pub: and when we did, what with it being November, everything was closed, so no beer for Prof.

Despite that, we did actually have a nice week; as I've already mentioned it was nice to get away together.
Fuck me though, the other passengers were a pain in the arse: mine and my girlfriend's combined ages were less than any one other passenger, and my god could they moan! We were always the last to get on the bus, and would get all manner of dirty looks and mutters, even though we were still on time; we just hadn't got on the bus 20 minutes early like everyone else.

Worst of all though, the woman who sat in front of us on the bus had a really annoying habit of getting a paper every morning, then reading it from front to back, then from back to front. This on its own would be fine, but she didn't bother folding the pages properly. By the time she finished she just had a big ball of rustling newsprint. Even now, just the thought of it has my jaw tightening and my heart rate increasing, it drove me mad every day!

/length (but it would have been even longer if she'd folded it properly)
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 10:16, Reply)
Pearoast 2
Not me, but my aunt

My aunt, uncle and two kids used to live in Nowheresville, Dorset (well, a town called Swanage, truth be told). The kids used to go to school a little way away, which would require a relatively lengthy bus ride each way.

To stop the kids turning into the spawn of satan (which they did on a daily basis), my aunt would point out hings to them along the ride to keep them occupied.

One fine spring morning, she spots some young rabbits frollicking in a field and shouts "Oooh look! Bunnies!".

It was only then that she remembered that it was Saturday and the kids were still at home. Everyone else on the bus just stared at her for the rest of the journey.
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 9:39, 2 replies)
Pearoast 1
Not me, but my uncle:

My uncle Rae lived and worked in a small, rural town on the south coast as a bus driver. This is the kind of town with an hourly bus service, not one the runs every couple of miutes.

Rae used to work the early shift, so had the "pleasure" of having his boss get on his bus every morning to get to work.

Guy was a complete twat and would keep a close eye on what time the bus arrived and left certain stops, berating my uncle if the timings weren't spot on. As a result, Rae has to be one of the few people in the country who has a conviction for speeding in a bus.

One morning, my uncle was summoned to his bosses office and was screamed at for a good half hour by his boss, who demanded to know why he had stopped 100 yards short of a stop to pick up one of the regulars - a little old dear who volunteered at the local hospital, who was clearly running late that day and hadn't quite made it to the stop.

This was against company policy and resulted in Rae getting his final warning (he had previously got into trouble for being caught speeding in a company bus).

Next day, who should Rae spot 100 yards from his stop and waiving his arm like crazy? His boss. Did my uncle stop to pick him up? Did he fuck. Did my uncle have a job by the end of that did? Did he fuck. Did he care? Did he fuck.

Length? 12m with a bend in the middle, evidently.
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 9:38, Reply)
Considering the weather..
Why the hell has every bus I've been on this past week had his heater set to fuckin' 11?!
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 7:29, 4 replies)
A story from China
I saw this in the paper in Shenzhen, China last week,

SHENZHEN: An angry bus driver ploughed his vehicle into pedestrians and vehicles on Saturday afternoon after a job-related dispute. Two people were killed and 16 people were injured, including six in a critical condition in the city of South China'sGuangdong Province.
The tragedy was triggered by a quarrel between the driver, surnamed Liu, and his team leader at about 2pm, according to local police.
Liu, an employee of Shenzhen Pengxiang Public Transportation Co, which serves the No 67 route, was not satisfied with his position in the company and blamed the team leader.
The driver stabbed the team leader with a knife and then left with the bus.

What a cunt!
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 5:44, 2 replies)
i get desperately,madly,irrationally pissed off by this
i live in a university town and it is (or would appear to be) common courtesy to say 'thank you' to the bus driver after he lets you off at your stop.
For reasons unknown to me this makes me very,very irrationally angry.
My problem is : "Why?"
Our drivers are rude,uncouth,a danger to the public in general and old ladies in particular,abusive*,ungracious** and generally unpleasant.
and to top it off it's an accepted social norm to say thank you for this teeth-clenchingly unsafe and impolite service?
If I had endured a taxi ride from a driver who randomly swerved at pedestrians,argued with me over where I actually wanted to go and berated me for being 'a bloody student' I certainly wouldn't smile and thank him,I'd tell him to fuck off.
why do we pay lip-service to the sometimes-appalling facility these dangerous morons provide?
Fuck them.

(Having said that,some of them are rather nice - usually the young ones).

*The aforementioned 'bloody students' episode.
** Our buses travel on a circular route at a fixed charge.one bright morning I tried to get a bus to uni and was told that the bus wasn't going there.I pointed out the aforementioned facts and recieved a rather rude reply to the effect that I would have to pay extra.I reaffirmed the company's position on the fixed rate.I was told to "fuck off,posh boy."

(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 1:29, 8 replies)
school busses
they were brilliant, weren't they?
Things that happened in our school included:

*Back seat ripped up, set on fire then thrown out the emergency window on the upstairs, whilst going 70 miles per hour down the bypass.

*Year 7 picked up by ankles and dropped down the stair well - Kid in coma, bully in jail. The kid was fine after like 2 days.

*Last day of the year. Every tie was taken and tied into a mega tie which would be dangled outside the upstairs emergency window. One year a kid tried to grab the tie, being a smart arse, ended up being dragged down the road with his bag torn to pieces (better that than his cock, I say.)

*Dolly Beads they came on stretchy string and could be fired quite quickly at each other. Vision lost in 1 eye.

*Tunnel of death** which resulted in one poor chap having the tip of his bellend clipped, upon later inspection his foreskin had been split off at the end.

*Stanley Stiletto - a 6ft 5 crossdressing scouse bus driver who used to sit at the back of the bus with the six formers asking about how our days were whilst flashing his fishnet stockings and short skirt. I've no problems with that, but at 4pm on a friday afternoon I want to go to the pub, not talk.

** Walk down the aisle of the bus while people kick the shit out of you. Phwoar. Boys were hard and girls were moist at the sight of it.
(, Tue 30 Jun 2009, 0:34, 2 replies)
I was waiting for the bus with my older sister near a dark forest
It was pissing down and I was sick of waiting for my dad's bus so my sister hoisted me up on her back and I started to doze. Not for long though as this huge guy came along and stood next to us. He had great big staring eyes and was pulling faces and gurning a lot...my sister later said that he was probably high or something. She loaned him an umbrella so that he'd stop staring at our one. Honestly he looked like he was going to mug us for it or something.

Anyhow, this guys lets out a fucking roar which really shook me out of my dozing and then 'his bus' comes along. I shit you not, this fucker was Orange and yellow stripes, weird futuristic headlamps and no glass in the windows, Oh and the grille mesh looked like the bus was smiling this horrific grin.

The guy hands me a parcel and gets onto the bus...I wanted to see what was inside, but my sister reasoned that it was probably drugs and not something for nice little girls to have.

The bus was gone in a flash and I only saw it again once more after that when it took my sister and I across the forest above the trees. But that's another story.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 23:44, 3 replies)
Indian Buses
Possibly the worst* part of my backpacking journey around India were the buses.

Imagine a metal box designed to hold thirty people, but crammed with about seventy people, arses in your face, too bloody hot, hurtling down a mountain side with no protective barriers to stop you plunging to a horrible doom and no brakes.

With diarrhoea.

Not my finest experience.

Imagine being in one of these aformentioned buses, driving through a desert, narrowly dodging people on motorbikes and then gazing to the side of the road and seeing upturned, burned out wrecks of other buses.

Not good.

Imagine after two weeks of agonising stomach cramps, travelling on one of these buses with a turd in a little polystyrene cup, trying to not look at the buddhist monks who are wrinkling their noses at a suspicious smell as you desperately seek a doctor.

Great days.

*apart from the con men, packs of wild dogs, random monkey attacks and a scooter accident.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 22:50, 2 replies)
Late one night...

A mate and I had been out in Leeds until the small hours and having run out of money we were faced with a walk back to Whitkirk...My mate did not fancy this and came up with the bright idea of breaking into the bus depot in town and 'borrowing' a bus.

I stood outside to act as look out as he went in....after about 20 minutes of the sound of engines starting, reversing, stopping, more starting, reversing and stopping I went in to see what was going on.

"Why all the moving about?" Asks I.

"The number 18 is right at the back." Comes his reply...

"Don't be a tit..." I say. "There's a 57 just here, we can get off at Crossgates and walk."

I'm here all week folks....
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 22:47, 1 reply)
N29 Camden to Wood Green
Far too many night time hours spent on this bus... I hate it. It is grotty and it takes too long. One night, me and the boy sat there, probably around 2 or 3 am ish, when a girl suddenly starts hurling racist abuse at a guy, who was sat there minding his own business. So the other half stands up and says something along the lines of 'alright love, calm down yeah...'
To which she promptly punches him in the face.

I did almost piss with laughter as he frogmarched her to the door and chucked her off the bus... she landed on her arse. It was brilliant.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 21:24, 2 replies)
Just thought of another..
Can't believe I didn't remember this before actually..

A few years ago my cousin (a bit of a wild one) had a job as a bus driver. He wasn't too bad.. a tad fast and eager to please the kiddies but not bad...

until he drove a double decker bus into a low bridge.

he allegedly asked the last kids to get off the bus on a new school run the quickest way back to the depot and they told him a route with a low bridge unbeknownst to him. The only thing I question is how he managed not to spot it as it was at the bottom of a long straight road... I wasn't even allowed to talk about it school even though everyone knew and was asking me about it - due to the ongoing investigation!

Mind you this is the same cousin who on the first day of his prized chef scholarship at a top restaurant punched the chef for shouting at him...!
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 20:47, 1 reply)
getting stuck on the 381 in Bermondsey (lovely!) in traffic...

between stops i realise that nothing is moving and isn't going to any time soon. i stand up and ding the bell


ding the bell again

driver: "we're between stops"

me: "we're stationary on the kerb!"

driver: "we're between stops"

bellend. needless to say i pressed the "emergency" open button above the doors and overtook the driver, pausing briefly to give him the bird
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 18:44, 6 replies)
Bird vs Bus
It's 7.30am, a beautiful day in fife and i'm standing at the bus stop waiting for the bus to college.

Bus comes on time for a change. I flash my weekly ticket, insert my headphones and settle down for the 7 mile journey.

I'm was sitting quite close to the driver so I got a spectacular view of what happened next. An explosion of blood and feathers hits the windscreen. The driver shouts "fucking hell!" and swerves a little. He manages to pull over and goes outside to inspect the damage.

As he returns to the bus he's looking fairly green round the gills. What had happened is that he'd hit a pigeon which had become lodged in the radiator grill, however, as he tried to tell us all this delightful peice of news he can't quite get it out and instead vomits all over my shoes.

Now regretting my decision to wear open-toed sandals I also vomit on my shoes,(i can't stand to see someone else being sick), which sets the driver off once more. Apologies to anyone who was on board that bus and had to watch the driver and myself tandem vomiting for a good 5 minutes.

Thankfully the driver does have a bottle of water I can rinse my feet with and a plastic bag for my shoes. While he lays sand over the sick, I step off the bus to rinse my feet and am treated to a view of the ex mr birdy who had screwed up my morning. I manage not to be sick again and board the bus once more. Enough dead bird is rinsed from the windshield for us to continue to the depot where a replacement bus is on standby.

As I'm still reeking of vom and in dire need of a shower, the bus driver is nice enough to let me use the phone at the depot to ring the college. I explain what happened to my course head but he decides I'm making it up despite my offer to come in late but stay late to get caught up on what i've missed that morning.

I finally arrive at the college, getting looks ranging from curiosity to disgust. I wander into class barefoot and reeking of vomit, straight up to bastard lecturer and he asks where my shoes are. I open my poly bag with flourish and he starts to look rather green himself but thankfully decides to send me home with the work I was meant to be doing that day.

The bus journey home was uneventful, although everyone sat as far away from me as possible.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 18:05, 1 reply)
Loughborough's evil district: Shelthorpe
My old hometown of Loughborough has a shitty half-cousin, Shelthorpe. It's a hive of crime, violence, England flags on cars and other people's cars.

There was one bus that went through there, the 12, for which they suspended night time services. Why?

Local rapscallions were taking pot shots with air rifles at it. Drivers refused to go back there.

Funnily enough, that same year, the annual Christmas Open-Top Parade had its final run.

Somebody shot Santa.

Lovely place, Shelthorpe...
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 17:40, 2 replies)
longwinded post is longwinded
I used to work at Bakers Delight when I was fifteen, and occasionally brought scones to school. Now, my friends hung out in a computer room, we weren't allowed to eat in the computer rooms, so I was joking about the clandestine manner in which I was distributing them - like people were gonna be coming up to me in dark alleyways and going "pssst... got any... *shifty eyes* ...scones?" And the police would tape the conversation and go "hmmm... 'scones' must be a codeword for... CRACK!!"

At this point my friend Nicky burst out laughing and sprayed crumbs everywhere. "I'll never be able to look at a scone seriously again! ...not that I did in the first place. But, you know."

All this is a prelude to me on the bus home, telling my bus friends about that conversation, and Jenny, a girl in the grade below us,
asked "Wait, what's crack again?"

I said "Cocaine, don't you listen in PD?" (which some of you may know as Health class or similar)

The following hilarious middle-class-teenage-girl conversation ensued:

"No, who the hell listens in PD? So what's pot then?"
"Marijuana. Cannabis. It's a plant."
"Right, so crack is nicotine?"
"No, that's not, I mean, right. So pot is tobacco-"
"Argh, wait no, what?"
"Tobacco is nicotine. Nicotine is tobacco. Pot is marijuana/cannabis, which is a plant. Crack is cocaine, which is... I don't actualy know what it's made of."

And at this point... the bus driver chimed in. "It's a white powder made of ground up leaves of the coca plant," he said. "It's used to [bit I wasn't listening to cos I wasn't entirely sure he was talking to us. How often does your bus driver spontaneously lecture you about the medicinal properties of recreational drugs?] Lots of ancient cultures and things used it."

Us: Uh... thanks?
Me: Wait, coca plant? Like chocolate?
Jenny: I don't think so.
Bus Driver: No, but it's in the same family.
Us: Okay. That's... nice?

Thanks, druggie bus driver.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 16:36, Reply)
Has anyone heard about the new ultra-fast rocket-assisted service Kellogs have put on between London and Manchester?
Only takes a couple of hours bombing down the motorway. Strap yourself in and feel the gees. And the great thing is its not expensive, its priced so cheaply that its effectively available to all.

Its called the Hi Speed Universal Cereal Bus.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 16:31, 7 replies)
"I'm sorry, there is no way we can tell which one of our staff was driving the bus at that time"
Dirty, lying bastards
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 16:20, 3 replies)
In Barbados
the buses go round and round the Island, blaring soca and reggae music incredibly loudly. When I went there they played "Mr Boombastic" and everyone completely straight-faced sang along and bobbed their heads in time. "She say I'm Mr Roooo...."

Whenever we went past a bus stop the bus would slow down just so the conductor could hang out the door and shout sexually suggestive comments to the groups of school girls hanging out. They would shout back that the conductor should get fucked - it was like a kind of endless West Indian version of Withnail and I. "Scrubbers!!!"

But the drivers were the most laid back people you would ever encounter. One driver kept driving his bus through one of the worst hurricanes the island had ever seen. They interviewed him afterwards and he said "I noticed there was a bit of a breeze".
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 16:09, 2 replies)
I saw a bus last week
Not unusual in itself, but for some reason this bus appeared to be changing, growing, in size. Ever the curious chap I stopped to try and work out what was going on... then it hit me.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 15:40, 5 replies)
Buses, trams and minicabs...
...are just three of a few reasons that I love my bike.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 15:25, Reply)
They haven't got the nickname
Poverty Wagon without a there being a proper reason y'know.
(, Mon 29 Jun 2009, 14:47, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.

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