Transparent puke
It was about seven years ago. I'd had an evening out and about for the first time since having a really, really unpleasant stomach infection - you know, the sort that produces elegant arcs of green projectile vomit, whilst your mum screams at you to 'AIM FOR THE TOILET!!!!' because you can't make your mind up which end it's shooting out of faster.

I took a long time to get over it, and spent weeks not wanting to eat anything at all, not even the obligatory tinned tomato soup that seems to be in the cupboard every time you're ill. Finally having been able to stomach a full meal, I went out shopping with some mates. Yay!

The trip was good, I bought Christmas presents, had nice ice cream and just generally enjoyed myself. Feeling good, I boarded a Superoute 66 to go home.

A couple of stops later, an old high school friend gets on the bus with a guy who looks really, really unwell. Greener than a diseased tramp's mimsy, his eyes are rolling in his head and he keeps moaning in a not at all arousing way. I can't take my eyes off this guy, because now I have Teh Fear of puking again. With my own stomach acid memories still burnt in my mind and the back of my throat, I silently pray that he's not going to blow chunks.

As we get closer and closer to home, I think we're in the clear. Dumbass. The guy gets up and staggers to the front of the bus, still doing an impressive Dead Rising impression, and starts to beg the bus driver to let him off. The stop is literally ten yards away, but the bus has had to stop at a junction, and clearly the guy isn't going to make it.

The bus driver doesn't let him off.

Instead, he unleashes the contents of his stomach right in the entranceway of the bus. It was all there - the splashing sounds, the smell, the quiet sobbing of someone whose food has taken the emergency exit. The worst bit? It was either that the guy's puke was completely transparent, like he'd vommed some vile acid water, or that the bus driver didn't stop and clear up the tidal wave of barf at the entrance, and carried on merrily driving around. The water chunder splashed up and down the bus, around people's shoes and bags. Unsuspecting new passengers walked in the watery lake by the door and traipsed it up and down the aisle. And still the bus driver didn't clean the stuff up.

Me? well, I managed to hold back my own contribution (I regretted that ice cream), and using skills that a scrawny parkour wannabe could only dream of, I didn't get the stuff all over my shoes.

I didn't eat my dinner that night, though.
(Bondvillain2k, Thu 29 May 2008, 16:02, Reply)