Bear with me here.
Here in sunny South Africa, the main form of public transport is a minibus taxi.

These taxi's are more commonly Toyota Hi-Aces and are never roadworthy. They are loaded way beyond maximum capacity which includes someone almost sitting on top of the driver.

There is a mix of people on these taxi's everyday;
The Driver is normally unlicenced and drunk or high on something. He (sometimes she, dunno which is worse to be honest) has no clue of the rules of the road. The manouvers include surprise u-turns (anywhere, even freeways). the desparate dive across many lanes risking thousands of rands in damage for one paying passenger of R5. Hoooting incessantly to either get attention from potential passengers or other drivers.
The Conductor is a little twerp who collects the fares and opens or closes the door for passengers. He can usually be seen half hanging out the window, whistling or screaming and shouting for passengers. when the taxi is full he stands hovering over the passenger closest to the door, about 1cm from his/her face. He will be the next driver when the current one dies.
The working commuter is a normal person on the way to work who for some reason tolerates this crap.
The school-going commuter is obviously a school kid with a massive bag taking up more space, which the conductor and driver dont care about, they still load that extra passenger.

Catching one of these sometimes results in a comical start or end to your day because of some maniacal move by the driver or conductor. Or it results in this.
(Bluffboy South Africa! World Champions!!!, Fri 30 May 2008, 8:05, 1 reply)

General Silliness
Well, at the time it didn't seem silly. I was on the bus to school, but I had caught the later bus. And the bus driver for this bus liked to jump out at a stop and grab some snacks at the gas station. Why he didn't just buy this stuff before his shift, I'll never know.

Some other students who were also taking this bus were rather annoyed and surprised that he would do this. So what do they do? They smoke a bowl, of course.

Not really traumatic, but pretty much my most outstanding public transit story beyond seeing people unexpectedly.
(Sco smokes crack often., Fri 30 May 2008, 7:59, Reply)

Wet leg
Years ago I had to communte for a few months from London Bridge to Sevenoaks on the train (a journey of 45 minutes of so). One night, I got on the train mid-rush hour, and the only available seat was next to a guy who seemed to be asleep against the window. No problem I thought - it was a bit of a squeeze because he was slightly slumped across my seat but never mind.

The journey was uneventful, but when I got off at Sevenoaks into a windy night, I started to feel that my right leg was very cold. I reached down and found that my trouser leg was sopping wet.

What I'd taken for "asleep" must have been "passed out drunk". The guy had slowly pissed himself in his sleep. I hadn't noticed his body temperature wee at all because I was pressed against him anyway, and distracted by the book I was reading.

I stopped at the offy and bought six beers with an immediate view to drowning my sorrows the moment I got home. The cheery Aussie guy behind the counter ran them through the till and said, Celebrating?"
"No," I replied, "just drinking. A man weed on me."
( expf, Fri 30 May 2008, 7:55, Reply)

Smack!
This happened to my friends mother...She was on the bus clutching a very large frozen chicken in a carrier bag for the Sunday lunch. As her stop was nearing she got up and looped the bag over her arm.Holding onto the poles she made her way down the bus which braked suddenly causing a swift forward momentum of the frozen chicken which connected with the back of some unsuspecting blokes head...I still have a chuckle about this to this day...
(Antizan Doling out the happy pills...., Fri 30 May 2008, 7:40, 1 reply)

Big boob bus
Having moved job from Aldgate to Waterloo, I could no longer just hop on the east london line to the office.
Wanting to save money and not pay the excessive rate for entering zone 1, i'd get the bus to work.
All seems well, then the second day as the bus headed up the old kent road some idiot pulled out in fron of the bus. This caused the driver to break quite hard, and I had a tremendously soft landing. Thanks to a large carribieans womans ample bosom.
I got the train after that.
#2 - Cam and the Black Death Yawn
Cam was a great developer, but not such a great drinker. On occasion he would come out with the systems support team, who were hardened drinkers.
One such time Cam decided to enjoy guiness. This is great, all off to Covent Garden for more beer, a short tube ride from Waterloo..
Sadly it was at the moment the tube closed its doors and pulled away that Cam decided to decorate the inside of the tube train black,white and chunky, assisted by putting fingers infront of his mouth for that real 'spray' effect.
(The_artist_formally_known_as_alz0r, Fri 30 May 2008, 6:45, 1 reply)

True story, I swear
I actually sat opposite the victim concerned, why he actually 'fessed up to this experience I don't know.

Anyway, he was commuting up the Northern Line into fair London Town early one morning, when a clearly hungover / drunken bloke flopped down in the seat next to him.

Not a great start to the morning, but scarcely unknown, he stretched and yawned.

Regrettably, this was the same moment the drunk next to him turned and vomited up the remains of last nights excesses. Yup, straight into his open mouth.

Our hero responded by vomiting right back at him, and then took the day off – “calling in sick” was never a more accurate statement.
(BeatsWork, Fri 30 May 2008, 4:00, Reply)

Not the worst for me...
(Sorry, I know I just posted, but I suddenly remembered this cause it was HI-larious with a capital HI)

I remember one wet and soggy day in winter I was getting the bus to work, which was fairly packed and I was lucky enough to get a seat on. At one of the stops, a man wearing a suit got on, absolutely drenched to the bone with rainwater. He promptly paid, and parked himself on one of the disabled seats with a loud sigh.

Next stop, an old lady got on, paid, and proceeded to take down her hood and hobble along to the (now) full bus. She glanced at the man in the drenched suit, and he snapped "Keep walking, bitch."

Some of the passengers gasped. Some said nothing. Most of us let out a small snigger. The old lady stood for the rest of her journey. Justice!
(LiquidRogue Powerful tiny fists..., Fri 30 May 2008, 3:55, 1 reply)

Buses in Edinburgh...
...have gone up from £1 to £1.10.

This sounds trivial, but think about it : It was so handy that the buses were only a pound, all you needed to have to get from one part of the scum-infested city* to another was a shiny, common pound coin, no more.

Now, I'm a guy, and as such I barely find myself in posession of anything other than pound coins and notes, or in extreme cases, 50p coins. Considering that the machines which you pay on in the buses (so you don't have to actually do the horrible deed of speaking to the whiny git that is most Lothian Buses drivers) can't give change, this requires me to have a 10p peice in my pocket, or, god forbid, smaller. This has lead to shameful begging to the female of the species, trying my best not to come across as a desperate ned as I poorly whine "Can I borrow 10p?". (Speaking of which, why do strangers who ask you for money always ask to "borrow" it...?)

And its not just me that has problems! I work as a exaggerated politeness simulator and barcode scanner in a local Tesco positioned beside a popular bus stop, and I get many customers asking me if they can get some 10ps in their change...I always say "For the bus?" and they go "Spot on!" and we passionatley moan about it for a good 5 minutes.

Lothian Buses were voted as the best bus service in the UK last year. Doubt they'll get that award this year.

And all for 10p. Cunts.

*I jest. Edinburghs not a scum infested city. Its a scum infested town pretending to be a city.
(LiquidRogue Powerful tiny fists..., Fri 30 May 2008, 3:47, 5 replies)

Mystery Tour
For anyone not in the know a college mystery tour is basically when you get on a bus and are taken to a Mystery town for an almighty piss up. Well this year was my first tour, on the bus I enjoyed 8 cans of cider but oddly felt sober going into the club, which had offers of A double vodka red bull for €9.

Details get a bit hazy shortly afterwards but I went in with 70 and came out with coins... My next memory is getting a text off one of my friends saying my bus is leaving(lie) so I get up leaving some girl I was with and managed to find the bus. On the bus I started feeling ill(something I ate?)

So I lean forward a start feeling better but then it hit me and in my drunken wisdom I sat back and puked all over myself.

I got off the bus and into a public toilet to clean myself up, I did a terrible job being very intoxicated.

Getting back on the bus amazingly un-hassled by the driver i sit down and ask for some deodorant from a lady friend to cover the terrible stench.

I feel asleep soon after and awoke some time later much more sober but with someone asleep on my back. without moving I inquired as to who my new friend was.

When he woke up we were very close to home when he turns to me and says do you smell puke on this bus?
(Lukekull Fuck, Fri 30 May 2008, 3:25, Reply)

Fun on the central line
I must apologise now to anyone who was on this tube.

It was a sunny Thursday afternoon and a number of us from work had been in the pub since 1. By about 8 o’clock id had way more than enough tia maria & Guinness, I don’t really like either of the drinks so god knows why I was drinking it.

I was pissed and I knew I was in trouble but couldn’t afford a cab so it was off to the fun of the Central Line.

It wasn’t too busy thankfully and managed to get a seat for the long journey from Oxford Circus to Newbury Park. After about 5 mins I was bad, real bad. But somehow held the sick down and keep convincing myself I could make it all the way.

Made it to Liverpool Street and felt ok. But as soon as we pulled off that was it, the sick was coming. I put my hands up to my mouth but it was coming out at such force it was spraying between my fingers and all over the carriage. It just wouldn’t stop, and for some reason I started laughing and barfing at the same time, no one was near me and im not surprised.

I jumped off at Bethnal Green and finished my business on the platform. I had failed to notice a young American family were very close to me, the young girl asking parents “daddy, whats wrong with that man?”, apparently I was a very sick man who had no control of himself, I believe my response was a very loud “FUCK YOU”

I got on the next train covered in puke and stinking. I still feel bad for abusing the family, I sobered up pretty quick and felt terrible for abusing them for days.

Im sorry yank family and anyone else who witnessed my antics that night.

Im not proud
(Lanceuppercut, Fri 30 May 2008, 3:18, 2 replies)

It's not trauma
But whenever I go on the bus during school hours, it's always full of old people, who smell horrendously of urine.

Well it's not very pleasant.
( Rev. Cleo still alive, Fri 30 May 2008, 3:13, 1 reply)

posh bitch
a few weeks ago i was getting the train from worcester to london on a hot sunday afternoon. the train had no air conditioning which was pretty uncomfortable. at oxford, the train fills up to the hilt.. people standing in every free bit of space.

not long after leaving oxford, a woman barges her way through from the carriage behind mine.

i must pause to comment a little on what exactly she was wearing for it was a fairly hideous outfit. she was wearing all pink which is never good but to add insult to injury she had on a tiny floaty sarong thing which did her lumpy cellulitey thighs no favours. stretched across her breasts was the statement "grumpy but gorgeous". grumpy she was but gorgeous? far from it.

anyway, she starts making a fuss. she's trying to get through to first class to get away from the, and i quote "oiks and commoners". but sadly she can't get through as there is a man blocking the way with his bike. he can't move it as there are too many people in the carriage. he tells her she can climb over but she doesn't want to.

she literally started screaming at everyone. a couple of chavvy girls took offence and started arguing with her which only got her more riled up. she started calling one of them "colleen mcloughlan lookalike, not".

then came the mentions of how much she had spent on her education. £25,000 if you're interested. at first people were just annoyed. it was hot and stuffy and here was this posh bitch screaming at us. but after a while of her ranting and occasional demands to the man with the bike to move, people started to laugh. by the time we reached the next station, the whole carriage was in hysterics. when she finally moved on, we saw her off with a round of applause.

apparently she didn't get far though. we were informed that she was held up in a similar fashion in the next carriage. pretty awful at the time but ended up being pretty funny.

length? you try enduring her.
(jeaneye, Fri 30 May 2008, 2:09, Reply)

i was on the bus
(with miss psycho eyes), this woman not only smelt of several different bodily fluids but reeked of some unholy shite. it sort of came in sudden waves but there was always this fuckoing rotten pissy shit smell, i've never been quite sure as to whether or not the liquid beneath her, on the floor, was from her shopping or herself.
suffice it to say i was holding my breath for some time and nearly put me off my beer for the evening.
(Just Harry What should I put here?, Fri 30 May 2008, 1:58, Reply)

I don't remember...
All I know is I'd just learnt how to (or how not to) drink at the ripe old age of 17. After 3 lagers, a double barcardi, 2 double vodka's and 4 quadruple Bells we headed to the kebab
shop. As the cold winter air hit my face, my friends told me they helped me across the road. They couldn't make me stand so propped me against a bin. The bus came and they came outside the kebab shop with their chips. I was somehow in the bin. They got my money and paid for the bus. Thats the last of the known story.

I awoke on the kitchen floor surrounded by towels. After thinking - phew - what a state I was in but at least I was coherent enough to not wake my family or cause any damage I went to nurse my hangover in bed.
My mum knocked about lunch time with a cup of tea. "Can you remember your night last night?" were the first words mentioned. "Yes, mum, it was great!" Came the reply.
So you remember the ambulance? "no?". The police? "no?".

From what I gather, the police knocked at my mums door at 2am telling her to come pick up her drunk son. She fobbed it off to my sis and her then bf who followed the police down the road. They saw me being nursed by an ambulance crew who didn't want my in the back of their van due to me being covered in so much vomit. They took me home and dumped me in the kitchen covered in towels so I didn't spew on the floor.

From what I gather, this must have been the worst bus journey of my life. I only made it half way home and have never, 8 years later, been able to remember if I got off the bus to spew or if I spewed and was kicked off the bus into the petrol station before passing out in the middle of the forecourt.

Must have been great for the passengers! Not done it again since but have seen many similar incidents in the fair old land of Croydon!

Length: about one nice warm regurgitated microwave lasagna over cream jeans and my fave shirt!
(Something funny, Fri 30 May 2008, 1:08, Reply)

I'm the nutter
Well not really but i sit next to chavs with there music on and i talk really load about how I've been cutting up the swans in the park with a rusty knife for practice.
Then i get off the bus and wave at them before taking off hat and then try to eat it.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Fri 30 May 2008, 0:59, Reply)

knickers to buses!
whilst in 1st year seniors, or year 7, i think, i was more than a bit podgy. hell, i was fat. as a result of this, i was reduced to wearing elasticated school skirts.
word of this soon got around, and finally reached the ears of angela veesey(yes, you bitch, i don't care if you see this), the sixth form bully.
i'd heard all about her from my older sister, who was in the same class. none of what she told me was good.

anyway, after a particularly shitty day of school, i boarded the bus, my school books clutched to my chest.
that bitch angela was behind me. on a packed bus, in front of all my schoolmates, this 16-year-old girl thought it was funny to pull my skirt down, displaying to all and sundry my knickers with "sunday" emblazoned across the front.
to say i was angry would be an understatement.
i launched myself up the bus(after i'd pulled my skirt up, of course), punching her in the back of the head. she went down like a bag of shit and i pounced, kicking, biting, scratching and punching for all i was worth. my friends had to pull me off her eventually.
i found out from my sister the next day that angela had gone up to her and said "keep that sister of yours away from me, she's a fucking animal!"

i also got hit by a bus once, but it was only doing about 2 mph, so i didn't even fall over.
i mostly get cabs now.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 30 May 2008, 0:50, Reply)

Cumbria: Not really worth it in hindsight
Living in Manchester I got a call from one of my former DJing mates (in the Jonh Peel style nightclub gig sense, not the Judge Jules sense)saying 'come and do this rock band in Whitehaven'. Off I set on the bus into Manchester with my 400 CD flight case which weighed more than anything I'll ever carry anywhere long distance. I dragged it down Market Street to the station, and the journey up though the Lakes and that was fine. My mate's house was great, hadn't seen him in ages, and the gig was brilliant. This was about 2001 and nu metul was all the rage (I bought 'Last Resort' by some whiny yanks on the advice of my mate who said I'd need it!)the band were alright, can't remember their name, and the set went down a storm, I had them moshing to 'Baby One More Time' and a met a rather lovely young lady. The next day, alas, I had to return to Manchester. There was about one train leaving that day, which I duly caught, and it ran up to Carlisle then I changed for the People's Republic of Mancunia. I got on, along with the rest of Whitehaven, and got a seat at a table opposite a Geordie who'd been up in Whitehaven on a building job. Sod all in common but we yarned away the miles chatting about this and that. Decent sort. We were in the window seats at the end of a carriage near the bogs. Utterly hemmed in by the two sat next to us and the rammed aisles. So of course, half an hour into the hour long run to Carlisle he needs a piss, doesn't he?

Ten minutes later he's all "Ah cannae herld eet in mooch longah" and grimacing. I'm tapping people in the aisle, asking them to move so he can get the three metres to the pisser for a slash. There's nowhere for them to go other than out of the train. There was, as we found out shortly thereafter, nowhere for him to go but in the train.

"Ahhm gerrin in me fooking kecks, man"

"Aaah, fookin 'ell, ahhm gerrrin in me fookin kecks"

"Ahhhh, fook".

Poor, poor bastard. No-one knew where to put their faces. Mercifully, I'd managed to sit in my window seat with my case in front of my legs under the table, against the leg they sometimes have, so whatever might have been coming my way the case saved me from. The true wretchedness of this hapless Northumbrian's plight is not fully appreciable by anyone who does not factor in his being within plain sight of the door of an unoccupied toilet, and that his clenching valve was spent when (and only when) the train began its gradual slowing as it made final approach on Carlisle station. One more minute and he'd have been having the best piss of hs entire life. As it stood, he had the worst, and so did the rest of the carriage.

Carlisle station was characteristically sodden and drenched, so whatever spray might have caught my CD library was washed away in moments, but I was due to catch the next train down with him on board as he was going to Manchester as well. I just couldn't face the poor bastard. Not now, not after that. Now that we had something in common, a shared experience, we both wished we didn't. I veered off ANYWHERE ELSE and deliberately missed the train, resolving to catch the following Manc-bound boneshaker, due in twenty minutes. I did. I'd sooner have caught a skydiving hippopotamous.

The train was as rammed as the last, only I was last on, due to my case, which I had to stand with between my legs. It was up well past my knees, but the train was too cramped for me to sit down on it, as that would have needed an inch either side for me to flex my knees into.

It was here I learned that if you can lean equally onto three people on a cramped train, none will think you are leaning on them (I'm 5'8 and slim) and put your lateral pressure down to cramped conditions, so you can relax a little if you are brave. I was just at the point where I was beginning to feel rather zen about the whole thing, catching glances of the glorious Lakes in the gaps between those who separated me from the windows. Then, somewhere quaint I'd never heard of, FORESTRY COMMISSION WANKER gets on. He's FROM THE FORESTRY COMMISSION, MOTHERFUCKER. He's pre-booked a seat on this train, and he's fucking well going to get into it. Or so he thinks. He literally climbed over people hunched low in the aisles and bullied and shoved his way to his seat, where the person sat in it smiled up at him, knowing full well there was nowhere to be thrown by Forestry Commission Wanker even if FCW could have pulled him out of the seat. The doors from the end bit to the cabin closed, and I only had a view of this through many gaps between arms. I was lucky to see as much of it as I had, no idea if he ever got sat down, but he got off only a few stops later, looking vexed.

And in Bolton, we were emptied off and told we had to change. Bolton. That's just teasing me. Oh, and it was Sunday and everything was shut. And my connectionwas in an hour. I missed it, as a station monkey had sent me to the wrong bit. I began to envy the bloke with pissy trousers who'd made it back to Manchester already.

Got home in the end, and never quite made it back to Whitehaven for another gig, despite having a great time up there and wanting to see that lass again.

The train companies didn't apologise for length and neither shall I.
(governmentyard, Fri 30 May 2008, 0:35, Reply)

...in a sketchy part of town...
...a drunk had the same stop as mine. He stank, so I prematurely stepped down into the stairwell by the back door, to put as much distance between me and him as possible.

It wasn't worth yielding the high ground to gain that six inches of space. Trying to use the hand rail as a support, he leaned forward - and let loose a river of hot spittle from his slack mouth, which went directly down the back of my neck.

As I turned around, sickened and outraged -- he defensively passed out, pinning me awkwardly against the door and setting off the tamper alarm.

That sucked.
(Larry_Mudd, Fri 30 May 2008, 0:24, Reply)

Thought I,d killed someone.......
After driving busses in Cardiff for a few months I started to get a few night shifts.

Cardiff has a pretty busy nightlife on Friday and Saturday nights and the drunken idiots wouldn,t give a fuck wether there was traffic about or not.
One such chap was too quick for me one night and ran across the road in front of me,I swerved to avoid him but,too late... BANG ...I SWEAR HE FLEW THROUGH THE AIR LIKE FUCKING SUPERMAN..He eventually lands about 20 feet away in a heap, fearing I had killed him,(his head nearly went through the windscreen)I jumped up and hit the emergency button on my radio above my head for an ambulance.
Shaking I sat back down...looked and the guy was gone!!!I gets off the bus and he,s sitting on the pavement bleeding with bits of glass in his head,wondering what the fuss is about,I told him he aint going nowhere before the ambulance sees him.
His mates who are with him offer words of comfort of sort along the lines of "fuck me you head must be made of rock"
When people sometimes think they are invincible when pissed this guy was that night and his mates treated him as such as well as me.
(andycrass loves two hats on, Thu 29 May 2008, 23:40, Reply)

How many B3tans
ride the Northern line on a regular basis?

And can we get badges and secret handshakes and stuff please?
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Thu 29 May 2008, 23:36, 38 replies)

Found a seat!
I'd just finished a days work and was on a busy commute back home on a train that is regularly packed. I'm lucky if I even get space on the floor and it takes a good hour usually, but is always fully seated by the time it gets to my stop.

Ambling down the aisles after it arrives, I was in shock to notice that there was a free seat at one of the table boothes and quickly made haste towards it, not questioning why it should be empty.

As I sat down quite relieved, I realised why it had been vacant. Sat opposite me was a 16/17 year old lad with down syndrome. Not about to get up and lose my seat, and not thinking much of it anyway, I stay put and mess about on my phone a bit, trying to give an air of someone not wishing to be bothered. It didn't work.

"You alright" he said, looking over at me. As he said it I saw the various other passengers around the table look away or out of the window. Anywhere else really.
"Yeah I'm pretty good, you?" I offer back.
"Good too...Do you like sausages?"

I talked with him for about 5 or 10 minutes about how I preferred bacon really and was never a big sausage lover, which he couldn't understand because he loved them. I ravelled off the various merits of bacon against the sausage and so forth, but didn't win him over. It was clearly obvious throughout this that many people around us were eaves-dropping and it was beginning to get slightly awkward.

The conversation dies down and I pretend to go to sleep, like you do, so as not to be bothered anymore really. I probably sound quite horrible but it was a hard day and I'd rather not be bothered. I thought it was genius.

It seemed to do the trick, me closing my eyes, because he didn't bother me after that.

Anyway, about 10 minutes in to my 'snooze' my phone starts ringing. Can I ignore it? Could I just pretend I'm in such a deep sleep that I can't hear my ring tone or feel the vibration? Of course I fucking can't. So I answer it.

It's my fucking brother. I forget what he wanted, but it couldn't have been important, otherwise I'd know now what it was. I hang up and look across the table. He's looking right at me and now knows I am awake. He springs back into action:

"You're muscly." He says, completely out of the blue. I'm not really that muscly at all, but he appears to think so.
"I like to keep in shape" I say in cliché.
"Do you want an arm-wrestle?"

It takes some moments for the words to be fully comprehended in my head. A fucking arm-wrestle?! I stare blankly at him for a moment before politely declining but he persists further. I protest, trying to convince him I'm not muscly and it wouldn't be worth it.

I can't believe I'm about to tell you this, but I did actually arm-wrestle the lad. He was very insistent and I thought it'd be over quickly and then I could get on with the rest of the journey. That and it was fast becoming a scene.

So we get down to the arm-wrestle and it soon becomes apparent that I'm not going to win. I'm going to be beaten at an arm-wrestle by a 17 year old lad with down-syndrome on a packed commuter train in front of everyone.

I start feeling a bead of sweat run from my hairline and look up at my opponent. He's hardly exerting himself AT ALL. On top of this, he then starts laughing, quite manically and my hand begins to get ever closer to the table, trembling as it does so due to my obvious exertion.

Just as he's about to hit it down on the table and win, he lets go and laughs again to himself. I look round the train and notice a fair few people turn their heads as our eyes meet. They'd seen it all...

Anyway, it all went alright after that and was generally one of the more interesting commutes I've had. And I got to do it sitting on a nice chair...and technically, I didn't lose the arm-wrestle.
( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Thu 29 May 2008, 23:33, 5 replies)

Lost luggage
A good decade ago

I met a "long time no see" school buddy at the train station while i was waiting for my train to the parents on Xmas eve..
We got carried away into the discussion and eventually took the wrong train..same platform but other direction..took us only a second to notice..no big deal it was just a local train and we stopped at the next station in order to catch the next one back.
..1/2 hour & 2 joints later said train arrives and we both jump on it, still laughing from being so stupid..
i went "ah ah..ah"
he went "ah ah..arghhhhh fuck!""
Friend had just left his bag full of christmas presents for all his family on the platform..i later learnt that he went back to that small train station & found nothing ..finally couldn't make it to the family dinner because he missed the last train as well.

not the worst public transportation story but better than those i have involving body odours, pucking, etc...like that greyhound trip across USA..after three days on the same bus the chemical toilet tank at the back really smells like if someone had just taken a huge dump behind a tiny tiny pine tree
( olivier8 (euroloon), Thu 29 May 2008, 23:23, Reply)

STUCK...
I drive public transport,I can put up with allsorts,fighting,assaults on myself,unwashed stench abuse and such.
But the 2 things that does do my head in big time and you cant do fuck all about it is a crying infant,and the smell of sick.
(andycrass loves two hats on, Thu 29 May 2008, 23:15, Reply)

Old trains, new trains
Travelling home from school one day on a packed old style train from London Bridge, I, being the last one to get on, closed my school scarf in the door.The journey to Eltham was tortuously slow. I couldn't open the door as the door was on the other side of the carriage to the platforms. I couldn't open it ever so slightly either because everyone would probably have fallen out with me. When i did eventually get my scarf free by opening the door I got some strange looks from fellow passengers.

Fast forward to the modern trains with smaller seats - twos or threes. Again, on a packed train this time from Charing Cross. I managed to get a seat on the threes and sat on the outside aisle leaving the middle seat free. On gets a big fat woman with a man. She indicates to me that she wants to sit down but wants me to shove over to the middle seat. I look at the other man by in the window seat and realising if I moved over I'd be squished between two fatties. I said no. She really got huffy with me and let the other passengers know that I was being awkward. So, when I got off, I said in a fairly loud voice that I didn't want to be sitting between to lard arses. Sorry, to the other man.
(Riza that's not my real name, Thu 29 May 2008, 23:14, Reply)

Boston 'T' System


I sat in a pool of tramps piss whilst in Boston. Not fucking funny in the slightest, it smelt like warm port vomited in the Delhi sun.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Thu 29 May 2008, 22:41, 2 replies)

I used to work in a public transport department
so know loads of stories about machete-wielding bus drivers who'd stop their bus full of people to get a MacDonalds.

But my personal public transport nightmare involved:

1. Attend game launch in London.
2. Get rather drunk on the free beer and shots going round.
3. Get on train back to Bristol.
4. Wake up in Cardiff at 2am.

I spoke to a guard, and he told me there were no trains back to Bristol until 6.30am, and that I'd have to spend the entire time in the waiting room. He said if I left the waiting room I'd show up on the police's CCTV and be arrested for trespassing.

Just after I'd finished drinking some contact lense fluid (I was massively dehydrated due to all the beer), I managed to sneak into the ladies' loos and drink some water in there. From a tap, not the loos.

Length? It was the longest night of my life.
( krang, Thu 29 May 2008, 22:36, Reply)

Where to start..
Let's start with a story that was my fault...possibly.
Usual thing, company night out in the west end of London, some seriously hard cocktails, not much lunch and no dinner.
Got to the Piccadilly line for my tube trip to Arnos Grove. tube was busy but I got a seat and proceeded to drift off into a drunken sleep... I vaguely remember how hot it seemed and how violent the carriage was shaking me as I passed out.
I woke up at my stop fortunately - yet the carriage was empty save for a mature Jamaican woman sat directly opposite me. My nostrils filled with the rancid smell of stomach contents and booze as I looked down at myself, covered in vomit, presumably my own as I had passed out and missed out on the event.
I looked up, feigning horror and the Jamaican woman tutted and sucked her teeth at me.
I felt utterly ashamed.
( Razor What the fuck - a sig?, Thu 29 May 2008, 22:22, Reply)

Hmm...
I have several.

Scariest: a terrifying Manchester bus driver (good old UK North) when on a night out. He decided that 60mph (I was stood near the front and could read the speedo) was a good idea up Oxford Road. Bear in mind that I'm stood out of necessity, the bus was packed, and consequently lent over alarmingly round the bends down near Owens Park. I've not been that fast along there before or since.

Most uncomfortable: going on the Tube sometime between 7/7 and the botched 21/7 bombings. I was off up north visiting people for a few days and using the Tube to transfer between stations, so I had a large rucksack on my back. The carriage parted like the Red Sea.

Funniest: Sat on top of a particular blue bus in Manchester, with a gang of chavs on the top deck at the back smoking weed. Somebody had obviously reported them, as at one stop several Policemen got on and came upstairs. Typical Manc wit from a copper: "Come on lads, I know this is the Magic Bus, but you're taking the piss!"

Biggest sense of relief: Traveling on a Virgin train, one of the flash Pendolino tilting ones. I dropped an enormous turd in the train toilet, curled round and getting on for as thick as a Yule Log. When I got up to flush, I realised it was in an airline-style, dry plastic bowl with a hole the size of a golf ball. What made it worse was pressing the button to flush it, nothing happened for several seconds. I was briefly mortified at the thought of it being broken and leaving such a monstrosity there, but luckily it did flush. It's quite amazing what you can fit down those toilets...
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Thu 29 May 2008, 22:13, Reply)

'I look, feel and smell like a bag lady.'
Overnight coaches. On paper they're such a good idea. Leaving at about 11.30, getting in at about 6.30, and booked enough in advance, costing £1. On this day last year I had great success with it, falling asleep half an hour out of London and waking up half an hour before Sunderland, so I decided to book myself onto it again for a forum meetup in August; I've posted about that before.

Despite turning up an hour early, I was one of the last people on the coach, and the last double seat was right at the back, next to the toilet. I dumped my bag, took off my shoes and jumper and dumped those on the floor as well, and congratulated myself on getting a good double seat.

Wrong. I wasn't last on, someone else parked their arse next to me. That scuppered my plan of putting my feet up on that seat to try and get some sleep. Not only that, but there was a group of people spookily similar to these across the aisle.

And I was drunk. Drunk on a bottle and a half of mixed wines, and 15 minutes into the journey my stomach was curdling. I jumped, in my stocking feet, into the toilet, sat down to wee, and threw up the scant contents of my stomach into the sink.
I should have left my shoes on. The toilet was leaking and I had my feet in a two-inch pool of blue stuff (some sort of disinfectant?), water and other people's piss. Ew. I finish up, rinse out the sink, go back to my seat, where I take my socks off and stuff them in my shoes. Headphones in and settle down, praying for sleep.

Not so. The braying wankers across the aisle are still shouting and singing as if they think everyone gives a rat's cock about how they've spent the day, and the man next to me is dozing off. He leans further and further towards me, and eventually his head drops onto my shoulder as he fully falls asleep. Bloody marvellous.

An hour in, six hours still to go, and I'm still wide awake, Shoulder Boy has fortunately shifted a bit so he's leaning backwards instead of on me, but no, the men opposite are as loud as ever. I crank up the mp3 player to try and drown them out and the battery cuts out on me. I lean over to get another one out of my bag, miss in the darkness, and grab my jumper.

Why is my jumper wet?

I pull it up, and the smell hits me.

I can't describe the horror of realising that your jumper, socks, shoes, bag (mercifully waterproof) and hems of your jeans are soaking in other people's stale piss. Several other people's stale piss, for that matter; I certainly wasn't the only one to pay a visit that night. I dropped my jumper in horror, grabbed a battery from my bag and tried to block it out. But the knowledge and the smell lingered...

At the service station, I rushed for the toilets, not bothering to put my shoes or socks on, washed my hands so much they ended up pink from scrubbing, and bought a caramel shortcake. Back on the bus, stepping into the puddles under my seat made me feel so ill I couldn't eat it.

I cried all the way from York to Sunderland. This part only took about two or three hours but leaving York it felt like the longest time ever. I wanted my washing machine, my shower and my bed. I didn't want to be sat in a pool of other people's wee. And I was at that hideous comedown stage of sobering up, combined with the rattiness I get with no sleep. Not to mention that, even if I put my feet on top of my bag, my jeans were still deeply unpleasantly cold and wet against my legs. And the smell lingered.

I was first off the coach at Sunderland, probably offending some people by none-too-delicately shoving them out of the way, but who cares, they'd probably had a lovely peaceful journey. One small ray of light appeared in that a bus heading up my street was sat waiting at the stand. It was blessedly empty so I didn't ruin many other people's morning with my foul sight and smell.

10 minutes later, I barely stopped to close the front door before running straight through to the washing machine, throwing in my jumper, socks, jeans, and for good measure my t-shirt, with half a bottle of washing liquid. I'm not a long shower person, but I was in there for at least half an hour.

In hindsight I probably should have said something to the driver.

Um. Apologies for this turning into an essay.
(and now for someone completely different, Thu 29 May 2008, 22:06, Reply)