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This is a question Why I was late

"On the way to the station, I got hit by a bat, it almost took my head clean off. Then the machine would not accept my ticket and the guy at the gate didn't think I looked like the photo on my travel card. So I had to go home and get my passport.

Then the train was 45 minutes late to the station because of the dangerous badger threat at Carpenters Park.

When I was on the train it took and hour and a half to get past the biscuit factory because the driver was really fat.

Then there was a delay stopping at the station because the train in front had heard we were coming and decided to play a practical joke with a rubber shoe on the track.

That is why I couldn't get here on time today."

What's your best excuse?

(, Thu 28 Jun 2007, 10:36)
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I was once late for an important meeting in London.
It was one of those days when, if something could go wrong, it would go wrong. I had thrown a coffee down my neck and was eating a piece of toast while trying to put on my jacket when a large dollop of marmalade fell off the toast and landed on my white shirt. I ripped the shirt off shredding all the buttons like some overly keen porn actor and put on another. As I turned to leave the bedroom, I tripped over the cat and whacked my head on the wardrobe. Now I have a hurty eye and it's turning red already. Great!

Next up, I fumbled with the lock on the door which leads to the garage and........my car had a flat tyre and so I ran back into the house and phoned a mini-cab. I was told 10 minutes which I understand is the standard response. 35 mins later it arrived. The driver, the worst in London, of that I am certain, didn't come to the door but just sat there, in the car, fag hanging out of his mouth, leaning on the hooter. I got in the car and asked him if he could hurry as I was late and it was a very important day, in fact this meeting was probably going to change my life. He just shook his head and informed me that he always sticks to the speed limit. I'm sure he deliberately went slow just to be awkward, even on a part of the North Circular where it is a 50MPH limit, he stuck to just under 30. Cars were hooting and he just kept saying things like, "Well if you want a speeding ticket, you carry on. I have a clean licence and I intend to keep it that way..blah blah blah etc". I caught his eye in the rear view mirror. "It's fifty here", I snarled at him. "Are you trying to tell me my job?", came the reply. I wasn't going to ague with him in case he slowed down even more or stoped and thrown me out. Eventually we got to my destination, the BBC, and I jumped out of the cab, throwing a tenner at the bastard. As he pulled away, I realised I had forgotton my pass letter to get past the jobsworth at the gate. How did I know this, because I had left my briefcase in THE FUCKING MINICAB.

Eventually after several phone calls I was allowed through. Now panicing as I was almost an hour late the security guard stopped me and made me wait while he made me a badge. This took about ten minutes, a task I could have done in 2. I ran into the building, waited at reception while the girl finished a phone call, which seemed to take for ever. Eventually she directed me to the lifts and to the room where I should have been in an hour and a hald ago. I walked in, saw another receptionist, who was also on the phone and this time it was a private call which made me even more FUCKING ANGRY. By now the veins in my neck were popping and I snapped at the girl. She looked at me, finished her call and told me to sit down. I was sat there for almost 20mins when the person who I had the meeting with walked in. He apollogised to me for keeping me waiting as he had only just arrived due to bad traffic. He looked into my eyes and asked me, "Have you been in a fight?" I explained but was both angry and relieved he was late,I could have killed or kissed him. Not sure which. Oh, the meeting was a COMPLETE WASTE OF FUCKING TIME TOO!

I got home later that afternoon. Walked in, poured a large drink when the doorbell rang. It was the minicab driver standing there with my briefcase. He held out his hand and asked for twenty three pounds. It was only £9.30 to broadcasting house so I asked him why it was more now. He explained that he had gone to another job the other side of the river and his next fare had found it and that this was his second visit to return it. Without any cash as I only had a tenner in my pocket which I HAD TO PAY THE FUCKING CAB DRIVER, so I had to wander around the corner to a cash point and when I got back he had put the price up to £30 due to the fact he had to wait. It was around about now that I snapped. After the police had left I went back inside and finished off a bottle of Cardhu malt.

I was half way down the bottle when I realised I had to pick up my girlfriends kids from school, so I phoned a mini-cab. "10 minutes". "I tell you what, I'll walk". It rained. I arrived at the school soaking wet only to see my girlfriend already there. I had forgotton she had the afternoon off and had told me the previous night that she would PICK THE FUCKING KIDS UP! On the way back she kept sniffing the air and asked me if I had been drinking. I just looked at her and said, "Yes I have. In fact I've had lots, no loads actually, nearly a whole FUCKING BOTTLE OF FUCKING CARDHU MALT!" The remainder of the journey was silent.
(, Mon 2 Jul 2007, 12:31, Reply)

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