Bus FAIL.
It was a nice sunny day a few summers ago. I was lounging in Hyde Park with a few friends, having had a few cans of cider and a kick-about. The time came, all too quickly when you're having fun, to part our ways and I sauntered out towards Hyde Park Corner intending to walk towards Green Park and onwards to Victoria. As I walked out onto the busy pavement I noticed a rather attractive young lady walk past dressed in very little, carrying bags of shopping and wearing flip-flops.

"Hmm," thinks I, "that footwear is a tad inappropriate for a busy London street."

As if by magic she stumbled and fell, dropping a bag of shopping and skinning her knee. Given that I'm a gentleman she was hot I immediately rushed over to her aid, picking up her shopping, getting Muller Light all over my hand ("don't worry about it love, no use crying over spilt yoghurt") and generally seeing to her well being while others ignored her. This worked well, we had a brief chat and I came away with her number. Always a fan of a dramatic exit I noticed an old Routemaster lumbering up the road from Knightsbridge. I bade her farewell and with impeccable timing, swung my arm out, catching the grabrail and leaping towards the rear platform.

And missing. I clipped my foot on the edge of the bus, stumbling alongside until the yoghurt on my right hand conspired against me and I slipped down and faceplanted in the middle of the bus lane. (It was at this point that my first thought should've been something other than "that reminds me, I haven't seen Raiders of the Lost Ark in a while") Thankfully, the bus stopped a matter of metres up the road and I was able to clamber aboard, blood streaming from my nose and no real front left on my jeans any longer. The best part about this tale came when I dropped my sorry self next to a elderly woman who said, with the best understatement I've ever heard, "you ought to be more careful there son, these buses can be dangerous."

Unsurprisingly, I didn't get a response from the text I sent yoghurt girl a few days later, either.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:37, 1 reply)

Dog on a bus
Im too young to remember this but I have a scar to prove it.

When I was a tiny babba mother was taking me home from town on a bus when some snotty whore's dog bit my hand, quite badly I might add (I have a scar on my hand, obviously). So naturally to get the dog away from her precious child my caring mother punched it in the face. Whereupon the ENTIRE bus turned against her and the bus driver threw her off.

Which to be honest, I think is quite a disgusting reaction on behalf of the general public. But there we go.
(i should have joined myspace, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:27, 2 replies)

The bus stop at Memory Lane
I waited at a lonely bus stop in the pouring rain. My only protector a streetlight, bearing it's silent vigilance over me, daring the enemies of the night to make their move. I couldn't remember why I was there; I just was. I needed to get out, to make a fresh start somewhere new. All I had with me was what I could carry in my backpack and pockets. I didn't have a plan, I didn't have a reason. I just wanted a fresh start. And still the night drug on.

As I waited in the pouring rain, I began to reflect on the events prior. The disappearance, the note, the empty house... all of it began to weigh on me. Soon it wasn't just rain that soaked me to the bone, but memories and self-pity as well. Why had I ever let her get that close? I knew better than to love someone... I knew better. I renewed my silent vow to never let another that close again. Me, myself, and I, as the old saying went, was all I had now. And still the night drug on.

As I saw the bus lights approaching through the pouring rain, I pulled my jacket tighter. Not that it made a difference – I was dripping wet. As I heard the squeal of brakes and the sound of the bus engine, I looked up and paid homage to my silent guardian. It almost seemed that it blinked once as if to acknowledge my gratitude, but that was most likely wishful thinking on my part, desperate to feel as if someone cared. And still the night drug on.

As the pouring rain spattered on the windshield, I looked closer at my driver. He looked to be a kind old man, and you could see the years of hard living in his face. He asked me how my night had been.
“Fine,” I lied.

“Good to hear,” he replied softly, almost inaudibly. “Where you headed at this late hour?”

“Anywhere away from here, preferably the furthest stop you make.”

“Alright then... What are you running from?” His eyes, no less kind, now pierced through me via the rear-view mirror. It was around this time that I noticed the bus was completely empty, except for myself and the old man.

“If I said my past, I suppose that would sound cliché, but it is my past nonetheless.” I cringed as I said this, knowing it would lead to uncomfortable questions that I wasn't ready to answer..

“It seems you're unwilling to talk about it. I'll let you be. But remember this: there's no-one in the world worth your personal happiness. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

I paused for a minute. This was an odd bit of advice from a stranger, and yet he was dead on in his implied assessment. “Sounds like you've gone through much the same thing I have,” I ventured.

“That depends,” he said with a rueful smile playing on his lips, “have you been betrayed by those you love most? By the ones that pretended to care?”

“Actually, yes,” I began, “that's exactly it.”

“I know, son. I know.”

This threw me for a bit of a loop – What did he mean? How did he know? “How did you know, sir?” It was apparent by this point that this gentleman deserved my utmost respect, if for no other reason than he respected me.

“Well, son, that's an easy one. It's because I'm you. Or I was, at one point.”

“Wha-?” I interrupted, confused as I could possibly be.

“You see,” the man began, “this isn't just a bus. It's a door that opens only to those who have reached the bottom. Those who run just to keep themselves alive. Those who don't have any reason to stay alive. And even those who don't want a reason to stay alive. Fact is, everyone hits this point in their life. Everyone. For some, it takes more than others, but sure enough everyone does. And a curious thing – it's not always something we bring upon ourselves. I'd wager that you were one of those... Am I right?”

“Y-yeah,” I said shakily. I was beginning to get weirded out.

“So tell me, if you're comfortable with it; what's your story?”

“Well,” I began, “there was this girl-”

“That's how most of these stories begin.” the old man said flatly.

“Anyway,” I continued “I loved her. She was smart, attractive, funny, and above all else, she loved me when no one else would. My parents died when I was young, I never knew my sister, and I've honestly felt cold and detached all my life; almost as if I were an outside observer.”

“And this girl... she changed that, eh?” he said this with a smile, almost as if he had heard the story before.

“Exactly. For the first time, I was able to feel... human. I missed her as soon as she left the room. I began to see the world in color instead of shades of gray. Each day we grew closer. I depended on her, she was almost a part of me.”

“And that's when disaster struck.” he suggested.

“Precisely,” I said. “I was away on business for one week. One. It was my first trip with the company, and my last. I waited for her to pick me up at the airport, and she never came. I called, no answer. I eventually caught a cab and made my way home. As I stepped into the room we had shared for 3 years, I noticed the note hung on the mirror. She had left no way to contact her, and no explanation. Simply a short 'it's been fun, but it's time to move on,' and she was gone forever. I went into a tailspin. I quit my job, I couldn't bring myself to care about it. I sold my house, and I sold my belongings. I packed this backpack here with a change of clothes and my laptop and set out for a fresh start. And that's when we met.”

“Son,” he began, “you know that you can't outrun the memories, and you can't bury them. You have to heal. The only advice I can offer is to remember that no matter what happened, you're still you, and you're still alive. No one can take that away from you. Whatever makes you happy, find it and do it and the healing will come in time. Good luck, son.”

“Good luck? But this isn't my st-”
With a tremendous crash, the bus plummeted off the road and down and embankment. The last thing I remember was the old man apologizing, and then everything went black. And still the night drug on.

I woke to the hum of machinery and bright lights. The beeping of the monitor at my bedside let me know my heart was indeed still beating. I began to call for the nurse.

“What is it, honey?” she asked.

“What happened?”

“I'd better get the doctor,” she said, “he can explain it much better than I can.”

As I waited on the doctor to get to my room, I looked out the window and noticed the sun was shining brightly on the autumn leaves. Brilliant colors stood out in stark contrast to the deep blue sky. I smiled to myself. It was beautiful.

“So how do you feel, son?” the doctor asked. As he walked in, I recognized him immediately. It was the bus driver.

“B-but... you're the b-bus driver?” I was seriously confused at this point.

“Bus driver? Of course not!” he said with a wink. “Anyway, about your condition... you were in an accident 3 months ago, not too far from here. You only had superficial cuts and bruises, but you slipped into a coma shortly after arriving here. I'm not sure why, but we just couldn't wake you.”

“Oh... Wow, I had no idea.”

“Comatose patients usually don't,” he said with a grin, “but now that you're awake and healed, you can go anytime you wish.”

“Alright then,” I replied, “I think I'm ready now. Is my bag still here?”

“Oh yes,” he said, “we've taken good care of it. Let me get you a wheelchair and we'll see you off.”

“Actually Doc, that won't be necessary. I'll walk.”

“Suit yourself,” he smiled.

The doctor helped me stand to my feet and walk down the stairs to the front door. As the automatic doors slid aside and the sunlight hit my face, the doctor handed me my bag and a pair of sunglasses.

“Do you have someone coming to pick you up?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “but I think I'll catch the bus.”

The doctor merely shrugged and rolled his eyes. I thanked him once more and began the walk to the bus stop. As I sat on the bench and waited on the next bus, I smiled to myself. The night was over.


Apologies for length. Short story criticism encouraged and welcome.
(DarkSol, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:23, 4 replies)

By the way
The Honda accord thing? That has stopped being funny... Now.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:22, 3 replies)

Snullits
I was coming home from work on my usual bus, bopping to my ipod and reading a book, industrial size coffee in hand, with nary a care in the world. Then I noticed a small chavette staring at me from the other side of the bus with chavvus senior(ita) in tow.

Anyway, this kid was blessed with Simo Häyhä-like manual aiming skills. Somehow sensing that I wasn’t part of the same social genus as her, she was determinedly excavating her nostrils, finding little nuggets of goo, applying a fascinatingly complex circular motion with her index finger and thumb, and then flicking the projectile at me with startling accuracy, power and pace.

The first bogie hit me in the perfect mathematical, geometric centre of my nose. The second and third hit me in my eye and corner of my mouth respectively. I think I took the fourth in the arm.

I leaned over to the matriarch and requested in a low voice to get her little darling to stop pinging me with snullits.

“Fack off, paedo” she narked at me.

I pressed the button to get off, as there was no way I would survive taking any further collateral damage that might occur. As the door lurched open, I loosened my coffee cup lid, got up, and walked past the pair. As I passed them I chucked the contents of my coffee cup at them both whilst screaming “IT BURNS” as loudly as I could.

I ran away like the coward I am and kind of wishing that I hadn’t have let my coffee get ice cold. Ah well.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:18, 3 replies)

The bus used to send me into a frothing rage.
For some reason, the drivers on the route that goes down our street are unable to read properly and, as such, interpret the 25 MPH sign as being '45 MPH or above; whatever makes you go faster!'. They speed down the road with so much force that there have been accidents; no loss of human life, but there were several traffic sign casualties. We have kids, elderly people, a deaf couple and a blind couple on our street, not that the bastard drivers should be doing twice the legal limit in the first place. Complaints to the city have had no effect (surprise!).


Then the new couple moved in across the street. On one of their first days here, their dog ran out of the house and toward my yard, right in the path of the oncoming bus. NewGal rushed out in front of the bus, which managed to brake in time, grabbed her dog and gave the driver an earful for treating our road like his personal speedway. That night, NewGuy parked his car on the street, since NewGal had to leave early the following morning. Now, most people on the street either have a drive large enough to accommodate more than one car or only have one car to begin with, so almost no one parks on the street. It seems we should have done.

The next morning, instead of playing chicken like the drivers did with moving cars, the bus crept by at a snail's pace lest there be a collision between it the parked car -- something the city would, at last, be unable to ignore. All day long and into the night, the drivers obeyed the limit. The next day, another neighbour parked his car on the street. Then another further down the block did the same. Now, three weeks on, not a single one of the sign-downing, dog-hitting, speed-happy fuckers dares to go anywhere near as fast as they did before, because every day there's a different pattern of parked cars on the street for them to dodge and since we're all legally allowed to park there, there isn't a damn thing they can do!
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:17, Reply)

Another quickie
If you're going skiing in the South of France, don't go by coach.

If you must go by coach, don't start from Edinburgh.

If you must start from Edinburgh, don't drink constantly from there to Dover. It will numb the boredom, but you will need the toilet a lot.

The toilet will quickly fill up, and the drivers will close it at Calais, 500 miles from your destination.

If they do this, don't keep on drinking anyway. You will be forced to repeatedly use your empty bottles in a way they were never intended to be used.

If you do this, don't decide that you are a hardman, and actually quite thirsty.



On the plus side, piss is sterile.
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:15, Reply)

Edinburgh
Those that know sighthill know it's not very pleasant... but this just took the piss.

I was on the bus from uni into town when two guys got on and sat in front of me. They were discussing with me how one of them had embedded an axe (specifically a fire axe) in the head of someone who had annoyed him previously. The guy who had been hit (who apparently recovered) had tried to out-tough the guy doing the hitting.

The man then swivelled to face me, leant over, and declared:

"Ye cannae bluff a psycho, laddie. Remeber that".
( MatJ LOOK, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:11, Reply)

Doug
The only bus driver even worth remembering from my youth is Doug. Doug was not a pretty fellow, he had massive coke bottle glasses, a 'bit too neat' side parting and a set of teeth that could, at best be described as 'interesting'. In addition to this, where most drivers would wear a token item of bus company clothing on top of their normal clothes, Doug went the whole hog - bus jumper, jacket, tie, probably underwear if they made any, all topped off with a name badge proudly bearing the legend 'Doug'. This man was commitment to a job personified.

So far he's your standard jobsworth socially challenged irritant, everywhere's got one, it's no big deal. Doug, however, was the cheeriest man on the planet. Every single person who got on the bus was greeted with a hearty, singsong "helloooo, how are you?" "Goooood morning, welcome aboard!" it was impossible not to get swept up in Doug's enthusiasm.

As we were on the college bus, and there were hundreds of us at any one time, we caught onto this pretty quickly, and soon started greeting him in a similar fashion as we boarded. Ev ery morning, the bus to college would be full of happy people all welcoming each other to the bus, chatting, and being generally cheerful for no reason other than Doug.

Doug, wherever you are, you are a true legend of the bus world, and many could benefit from being more like you. I salute you.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:11, Reply)

Not funny, but slightly interesting...
I was waiting for a bus... It was about 10-15 yards away when it passed a side-road. A BMW came out of the road, the bus hit it - and the front bumper of the car was torn off. Shards of plastic were flung all over the road and pavement. The bus seemed unaffected and carried on going - when it stopped I checked the side of it and there was barely a scratch! The driver reported it and just continued with his route as normal.

The car screeched off at high speed, and we found out afterwards that it was being chased by police - apparently the car was being driven by a bunch of crooks who were then caught, arrested and convicted for a string of local robberies.

Interesting day.
(Supermonkey, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 21:09, Reply)

Well, I've witnessed plenty of bus related incidents, but this one stood out the most...
Here goes

One Saturday evening a few years back in Sheffield City Centre, me and a bunch of friends were on our way home, so we headed to our bus stop.

We sat at the bus shelter (on the high street, outside Natwest for any sheffield b3tians), laughing and generally pissing about- afterall we was about 16 or so at the time.

Then Suddenly a middle aged lady, in about her 50's also at the shelter got up and shouted 'BEHAVE YOURSELVES!!' at us, as if she going to begin preaching at us.

One of my mates turns round and responds with 'calm down, can't I have a laugh with my mates?!'

....long pause....

'Im a pregnant woman you know!'
'what, are you pregnant?'
'....yes'

naturally we find this very amusing, and we all in hysterics, and she pulls out her umbrella and starts threatening us with it, which was even more funny.

meanwhile, a bus pulls up a few stops up the road, so the 'pregnant' 50 odd year old lady sprints up the High street towards the stop screaming 'ITTSSS MEEEE BUUUSSSSSSS!!!'
She nose dives at the door grabbing the handrail, swings round thrusting herself into the middle of the footpath landing on her back - It was an epic stunt, it should ave been in slow motion.

A bunch of people assisted her onto the bus and she was on her way whilst we were in stitches.

to top this tail off though, we was all enjoying a good chuckle until one of our lads, not the sharpest tool in the shed, blurts out:

'she weren't wearing any pants y'know....'
'ERRRGGHHHHHHHH!!! you actually looked....'


Length? about a 100 metre dash and a long jump
(Lord Chode, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 20:47, Reply)

Not bus related but near enough and a blatant pearoast.
Blatant Pearoast

Not traumatic for me as such but I nearly gave myself a hernia laughing.

Sheffield gets a lot of bad press regarding its public transport system. To be fair as if you don't live on the tramline you're stuck with First (the worst) Buses.

Being fortunate enough to live slap bang in the middle of the City Centre I am able to catch trams to just about anywhere that I may need to be.

Right so having begun the trip out towards the cinema just outside the City Centre I am happily sat upon the tram as we pass through the outskirts of Sheffield. As the Tram arrives at the Attercliffe stop for whatever reason the driver has pushed the wrong button in the cab and both sets of doors have opened. Nothing overly fascinating in that. My attention is drawn away from the extra set of open doors to an elderly lady in her mobility scooter. The tram platform and the entrance to the tram are about level, occasionally there is a lip of a couple of inches.

As the lady is trying to get the scooter on to the tram she is hitting the lip. The conductor makes his way down and utters the immortal line.

"Jus' rev it me duck, you'll be reet"

She follows these instructions with aplomb. Backing the scooter up about ten feet. She hits the accelerate and becomes a blur. She hits the little lip buggy bounces up into the tram. Sadly she didn't apply the brakes as quickly and promptly shot out the (mistakenly) open doors opposite landing on the opposite side of the track and crashing into the platform.

To this day it is probably one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

The conductors reaction was just as funny. After looking through the doors to make she was ok, which she was, he simply called after nher

"Look here Penelope Pitstop, this is a tram stop not the start line in Wacky Races"

I have never had the misfortune to simultaneously wet myself and soil myself but i was pretty fucking close that day.






Length she went a good six feet past the tram before she landed.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 20:22, 1 reply)

The Bus Burglars
Many a moon back my friend J got engaged to a girl. He asked another friend, W, who worked for the local bus company, if he could get him a bus for the engagement party night and run people around the town- J was half joking but W said "Yeah, no sweat, see you later".

We're all waiting at J's place and bang on time, W arrives in his bus. We pile on and off we go to the club, ringing the bell, printing tickets and so on, all good harmless fun.

Halfway through the night J realises he's left a record at home that he particularly wants played, so me, W and another guy who lives with J offer to go and get it. We get in the bus, get to J's place only to realise that we have no keys.

This was a quiet road on a new-ish estate, "single track road with passing places" is what it says at the entrance. Not the usual place you'd see a bus, let along see 3 blokes (2 pissed, 1 ginger, 1 fat) pile out of a bus that would never drive up this road, try to get in all the doors and then curse and swear a lot, try all the windows, curse some more, climb up a shed roof, open a window, dive in, kick the dog out for barking, and run back to the bus in glee with a single CD.

No-one batted an eyelid or even called the law- kinda disappointing really, cos we were in the clear and it would have been fun proving so when it looked so dodgy.

J later split with the girl, which was a good thing because she had more teeth than a Ferrari gearbox and a face like a robber's dog. At least we had a good memory of that night.
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 20:17, Reply)

Riding my bike in a cycle lane
bus driver decides to swerve over to one side, while alongside me.

I end up in hospital with a broken wrist, driver doesn't stop and police can't trace him even though he drives the same route at the same time every day.

One reason I hate buses (and the police)
( thistle, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 20:16, Reply)

Bus Attacks
One day while getting on an extremely crowded bus to go to work, I noticed an empty standing space in the back. So, being sensible of course, I stood there. Sitting next to me was a tiny, thin old lady without any particular distinguishing features, so I pulled out a magazine and read for twenty or so minutes.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp death grip on my arm, like a metal sphygmomanometer with spikes had fastened itself on my arm. Naturally, I looked down, and who do I see but the old lady grabbing my arm and swearing like her spine had lodged itself up her bony ass. "FUCK YOU get the fuck out of my FUCKING way you FUCKbitchshit etc. etc." I was too shocked to think so I tried to pry her fingers off of my arm, but she had the unnatural Superman strength all old ladies somehow acquire after age 70, so I could neither move out of her way nor fight her off.

Luckily, she was getting off at the same stop I was so we somehow made it to the bus door, her screaming at everyone the entire way and calling them all sorts of name (including a scared-looking bodybuilder) where she finally let go of my arm. I sprinted to my workplace.


Sadly, that was only the second most disturbing/frightening thing that has ever happened to me on a bus. The first was a glorious vision of the pendulous orangutangy old-lady boooooobs (they were quite long, thus the extra 'o's) of an elderly woman wearing a see-through shirt.
(lbucket, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 20:14, 1 reply)

I have an whole hour...
There and back to discover and enjoy the delights of the Cardiff bus service..

One of the other ladies in my office got on the front page of the local paper after being stuck in a bus for an hour when the driver let them on and then left for his break...

Also I've experienced some of the worst body odour ever and a creepy man who when I sat by him he kept moving further over (I was sat in the aisle seat) towards me and when our legs touched he would shudder... EWWW!

Oh and the other guy who catched the bus at the same stop as me.. he is a gentleman yeah sure.. always ALWAYS lets me on first but FFS when I'm fannying round in my bag trying to find money/my bus pass get on first for heaven's sake.. its humiliating enough to have to rummage round for it.. let alone having the whole bus watch me cos I'm holing everyone up.. *CRINGE*

I miss the days when I was a kid going to high school, I went to a catholic school and lived right on the edge of the catchment area, they put on a bus for us and it was a coach, generally about 18 of us shared a huge coach and it was great, we played cards, watched tv and generally treated the place like a mobile youth club, those were the days!
(miss.spanky.pants .. is looking for a handsome prince..., Thu 25 Jun 2009, 19:37, Reply)

Nightclub Karma
One night in previous while stood outside a particularly crap nightclub in Brierly Hill (Eclipse?!?!) having removed a couple of the local chavs/cunts/scum/twats* for chemically enhancing their evening a discussion ensues outside which leaves one of them with a rather impressive black eye.

As his particularly gobby mate does the spreading the arms and walking away shouting come on then/I'll fucking do you/I'm gonna fuckin' shoot you** dance. He continues to walk backwards into the road. Where he is promptly side swiped by the 139E Merry Hill Shopping Centre to Birmingham express.

Ho and if you will Hum.

* Delete as you see fit.

** See above ^^

Length?

139E. About 25ft I think.

Him. About four feet back onto the pavement.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 19:22, Reply)

Very quick story...
On one of those small shuttle buses.

Cyclist pulls out in front of the bus.

Bus driver brakes hard.

Old lady on the front set of seats slides along the floor and ends up on her back right next to the driver.

Hilarious, fucking hilarious.
( mr.dogshit The world's premier anthropomorphic canine faeces, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 19:19, Reply)

School bus
There is always someone at school who got remorselessly (spelling?!?!?!) bullied, at our school it was William Treadwell. William was a fart of a man, in that he hung around longer than expected and smelt awful. He was the target of the bullying. Even I bullied him and I know that makes me a cunt and is something I have apologised to him about several years later.

Any way on with the bus related anecdote. The 839 West Midlands Travel School Service transferred pupils from leafy Sutton Coldfield to the slightly less leafy (i.e. Beirut on a bad day)Pype Hayes estate.

Being in year 11 we exercised our rights as oldest/hardest/fattest to the upstairs back seat and proceeded with the obligatory food fight. I should point that these inevitably ran out of food quite quickly as we were unable to conserve our ammo and often ate it at lunchtime. So bad was it we often resorted to throwing empty sandwich boxes and still full and sealed cans of pop at each other. These battles were so intense they would give Harry Patch PTSD and resulted in broken noses and on two occasions a broken upstairs windscreen,.

It is during a particularly heated one of these confrontations that William disembarked the bus in what has in later years regarded as about the most legendary thing any of us has ever seen.

As Will stands at the top of the stairs a particularly large year 7 hurls a Transformers lunchbox (the ones that also had a flask in them) at him cracking him right between the eyes. In shock he steps back falling down the stairs looking like a Charlie Chaplin tribute act. He proceeds to gambol backwards down the stairs. The bottom of the stairs is right opposite the doors of the bus as Will falls he promptly flies through the now open doors and lands in a dazed heap in the gutter at the bus top.

Length??

The lunchbox flew about six feet with pinpoint accuracy.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 19:11, Reply)

Our college bus (from Middlesbrough College to Redcar)
regularly had the back part on fire. Twas a Beamish bus though, I'm surprised it was still in operation.
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 19:09, Reply)

I have too many
I am in an ongoing war with my local bus company for general shitness.

Highlights however include:

* Bus driver telling me the stop I normally boarded at [a bus stop right next to my work] was a "stupid place to try and catch a bus" when I complained about her being nearly an hour late.
* Bus driver telling me to "get a life" when I said I was going to report her for using her phone whilst on duty
* Yet another bus driver having his door closed at the stop 2 minutes before it was due to leave and asking me sarcastically "if there was anything else I would like" when I knocked and asked him to open the door!

I think bus drivers in this town must misread their job descriptions... don't get me started on the trains!!
( Mrs Trouser is probably annoying Dave just by being here on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 19:00, 2 replies)

Chavs and their comeuppance, and other tales
I wish I could claim responsibility for this, but unfortunately the credit has to go to my old flatmate. She's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet if you're on her good side, but I wouldn't want to piss her off.

Anyway.

On a bus in the lovely part of London where we lived, two shell-suited-baseball-capped-fake-diamond-encrusted locals were blasting some dodgy music out of a mobile phone. As it was early in the morning, nobody was in the mood for that sort of thing, so she politely asked them to turn it down. This was met with the predictable hail of abuse, so she asked them again, this time slightly less politely. When this was met with "fuck off", she calmly leaned forward and grabbed the phone, then threw it out of the window of the moving bus, watching out of the back window as it smashed on the ground.

I think the best part was their reaction: "What the fuck d'you that for, I only nicked that yesterday...".

While I'm here: night buses. It's less than amusing to find, at nearly 5am, having been up for more than 24 hours and consumed far more beer and sambuca than is really wise, that your stop has been moved to somewhere obscure because of roadworks or something. Ended up paying 40 quid for a cab after I wandered around for over an hour looking for it, only to find I'd missed the last one anyway.

Apologies for drivel. Too hot to make much effort.
( Dave McF wrote some words on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 18:33, Reply)

Birmingham, 1977.
I was a student there and took frequent advantage of the cheap night bus. One night I will remember forever was when we had got as far as the Irish Club in King's Heath. A young chap got on the bus and came upstairs. He walked halfway down the bus and proceeded to punch his way through the roof of the bus. His hand was pretty much mangled to hell by the time he'd finished. I was shitting myself in case it was my turn next. Then comes the real weirdness: He looked at me with a huge shit kicking grin and said "That feels better! Gisa hand wrapping this up will you?" He took his t-shirt off and ripped it into strips using his good hand and his teeth. I managed to bind his hand up pretty well (ex St. Johns Ambulance me, eat your heart out) and he was so pleased he gave me a fiver and a half finished bottle of Guinness. We had a pleasant chat then he got off. Strange.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Thu 25 Jun 2009, 18:11, 2 replies)

There are many bus journeys
I could talk about as I went to school on one every day, and lived much further away from my friends than is acceptable.

One day on the school bus, I was sat downstairs (my preffered seat) with a friend and we were talking, just waiting for the bus to pull away and take us away from the cesspit of hell that was my school. There was a bus in front of us in the queue to leave and all you could see in the back, downstairs wndow of the bus infront was the naked arse of a really quite fat ginger girl who was proceeding to wipe her arse on the glass. We heard the next day it was for a bet. For a packet of Skips and a Snickers.

She wasn't a very bright girl.





It's an image that I still strugle with!
(one-winged-angel-616 isn't as depressed as she sounds, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 18:04, Reply)

Can we put school bus rides here?
...Well too late.

My old school bus was a piece of crap. Seriously, I'm shocked that we didn't fall through the floor onto the road.

Anyway, as it was struggling to go along our road a football shot out of a garden and under the buses wheels. After a loud bang, the ball rolls out from the other side; and the bus grinds to a halt.....
...
...
After that we got an even shitter bus. (We could see daylight through the floor)
(Dante licked your nipple on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 17:58, Reply)

"I'm not F*cking Swearing, whay are you being a c*nt?"
On the 30 bus, going from Highbury to as near to "Randy's Pimp Palace" in Homerton as I can get. On the phone to Mrs Randy at the time, regailing her with my erotic lyricisms, and generally making her laugh and wet in equal measures. Good times.

Been to a footbal match at the Emirates and in general jovial mood. Outside the Tesco on Morning Lane, for those who know it, 24 hour Tesco, and after about 9:30 every night, exclusively populated by the scum of the Earth. A complete Twat gets on, complete with his unmarked carrier bag of Cider, I'm on the top deck, and can't see him at this point, but can hear him clear as day, let's call him Cuntface:

Cuntface: "You Fucking Cunt, I ain't got no money, I ain't paying"

Subtext: As I've spent the lot on Cider.

Driver: "Please do not swear at me Sir"

Subtext: CUNT

Cuntface: "I ain't fucking swearing, what are yo being a cunt for?"

Subtext: I've had lots and lots of cider, and have acheived cuntvana

Driver: "Sir, as I've asked you nicely, I'm not moving the bus until you're not on it"

Subtext: Fuck Off.

This goes on, and on, and on, much to the annoyance of everyone on the bus except me, who is still making Mrs Randy even randier with my quips and witicisms.

Anyway, Cuntface eventually gets of the bus, and the bus driver closes the doors. This results in Cuntface standing in front of the bus shouting "You can't go nowhere with me in front of the bus"!!!!!

This goes on for some time, with every move the bus makes Cuntface compensates this way and that. Eventually, Cuntface makes his fatal move and stumbles off towards the pavement in a final desperate throw of pissed up ineptitude. The bus driver, seeing his opportunity makesa a bid for freedom, and accelerates off toward the open road, propelling me tantalisingly closer to home, only for Cuntface to recover just in time to throw his body in the way of an accelerating bus.

Cuntface knocked unconcious and cider cans pissing and hissing all over the road, and Randy releiving his baldder in his pants through the shear weight of laughing like he's having a epileptic episode.

Brilliant. Didn't stick around for the aftermath of Police and St John's ambulance brigade, and decided to walk home instead, much to Mrs Randy's frustration, as I could have been round her's getting less Randy by the second, and waht a good second that would have been.
(Randyqueen Hangin' out the back of Lady Boys, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 17:46, 2 replies)

Bens and the buses.
Two of my best mates are called Ben and both not very good with buses, seeing as we don’t really have them in Cornwall.

Ben 1 has managed to get punched by two separate bus drivers on two separate occasions. Not sure why either, he seemed to get punched a lot in those days. But the only person I know to cause enough offence to a bus driver to cause a punch. But that was in Cornwall.

Ben 2 was visiting me in the big smoke just last year. We were meeting in Hammersmith, so I told him to get the 220, only 2 mins from Shepherds Bush, won’t take him long, see you later.

Half an hour later I called him to see where he was. “I’m on the 220.”… you should be here by now…”yeah, I got on the wrong one, it’s ok, it’ll turn around in a minute”… no it won’t, it’s going about 5 or 6 miles out of the way, get off, cross the road, get on the bus going the other way and come back… “nah, it’ll be alright”…

2 hours later he got to the pub, was only meant to take 2 mins.

Best thing about it was the bus driver made him get out at the end of the route even though he knew he was coming back. Then made him pay again. Good old London bus drivers…
(CornishStanley can't post hyperlinks, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 17:44, Reply)