Greyhounds
Whenever I take a bus, I sing the end of that Radiohead song Paranoid Android... "Froooom a Greyhound, from a greeeeey hooouuuund"

I recently had a Radioheader girl tell me that it's actually "from a great height". I still sing it.

Yeh..

This one time I was seven and we were in Mexico and we caught a bus, and for some inexplicable reason it was a luxury bus where I watched Starship Troopers, that one with the big spiders, and was subsequently terrified.

*scratches his bum*
(Poogle, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 18:19, Reply)

Stalker meets stalker
One day a couple of years ago Stalker Boy and I were on the train to Birmingham, which is about half an hour away from where I currently live (in three weeks this will no longer be the case, woo). I went out onto the platform while Mr Transport (he's a travel geek but too much of a snob to take a Leisure & Tourism course) got our tickets. Out on the platform nearby to me is a man on his own, who comes over and announces in a comedy Brummie accent "Cold today, isn't it? I would have worn a jacket but it wouldn't go with my trousers..." "I see."

After a while the comparatively normal Stalker Boy appears. Mr Brummie shows slightly more interest in us, and suddenly announces "I know what you're looking at, mate!" "..." "We're WEARING THE SAME SHOES!" Fortunately at this moment the train arrives. We get on, followed by Mr Brummie and wander to a table, where a random student is sitting on his own. Mr Brummie also sits down opposite us and proceeds to kick Stalker Boy's feet under the table and tell the student over and over that they're wearing the same shoes. It is at this moment I notice the smell of vodka.

At one point he gets up to go to the pissoir, and the student asks "Do you know that guy?" "Er, no, he sort of latched on to us at Nuneaton and wouldn't go away."

On his return Mr Brummie tells us the heart-wrenching story of how he lost his job because 'I wanted to take the company in one direction, they wanted to take it in another and they kicked me out...', and how as a result his wife left him and he was going to get revenge on his former employers 'it'd be worth going to prison for', presumably involving flaming death and explosions.

And then the train stops about halfway to New Street, for no apparent reason. Which adds another ten minutes to my stalker hell from all angles. (The student went to sleep on his enormous rucksack.)

After him, a day with Stalker Boy was a picnic. Even if he did try to get me to buy clothes from Marks and Spencers designed for 40-year-olds (I was 17 at the time) because they were 'classy' and 'elegant', and give me his usual annoying speeches about forgiveness and how I shouldn't EVER have sex. And if you were the guy with the rucksack, I'm so sorry you had to put up with them.
( Maladicta, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 14:16, Reply)

Bad Hitch
Me and a mate were hitch hiking from Scotland to southern England, and we weren't having much luck, so imagine our relief when a Land Rover with a couple of canoes on the roof pulled over, and we hopped aboard.

Unfortunately our relief was short lived, as the guy started to explain that he'd been up all night and nicked the canoes from his previous employer. It wasn't long before he started nodding off at the wheel, and kept swerving into the hard shoulder or the middle lane (we were on the motorway) lots of horn honking from cars that we nearly collided with.

A few miles further was some roadworks, the only lane open was the fast lane next to the crash barrier, my mate and I looked at each other with a kind of "oh my god we're going to crash" look. Sure enough he couldn't keep the vehicle in the single lane and we started running over the traffic cones, luckily we made it though and a motorway service station turn off was approaching, we persuaded him to pull over and get some coffee.

We decided not to carry on the journey in his company.
(corblimeylimey, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 14:15, Reply)

Moscow to Tashkent - 3 days on a Russian train
Sounds fun, doesn't it? A jolly jaunt on a Russian train through the Steppe, down through massive Kazakhstan, and onwards through the deserts of Uzbekistan.
In my infinite wisdom, I didn't take any food with me, and decided to rely on the restaurant carriage on the train. So on the first evening I went to the restaurant car to get a nice bowl of borshch or something, and took a seat at a table together with the two English girls I was travelling with. We were the only ones in the restaurant car apart from the waiter and a rather scary-looking skinhead with staring eyes that suggested trouble. Never mind, we thought, we'll just avoid eye contact and all will be well.
But the skinhead said something to the waiter, and then the waiter came over and politely explained that he thought we should leave because the skinhead was a mentally ill soldier with a gun who had recently returned from a killing spree in Chechnya and had just told him he was going to kill us, and the waiter didn't think he was joking. So we didn't even get our borshch and had to beat a hasty retreat back to our compartment with empty stomachs. Oh well, an evening of vodka drinking instead then.
The following day I tried to go back to the restaurant car. Alas, some vandals (maybe the skinhead and his mates) had completely trashed it, and a sign had been put up saying the restaurant car was closed for the rest of the journey - still 2 days left to go! Bugger! What do we do for food now?
At the next stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere, I jumped out and found an old woman on the platform selling boiled eggs. "Salvation!" I thought. I'll get a load of boiled eggs in. So I bought about 20 off her. Got back onto the train and settled down to a few boiled eggs. Cracked the first one open and raw egg spilled all over me. Turns out I'd bought raw eggs, not boiled! Dammit! In desperation I even tried "boiling" them in hot (but not boiling) water from the carriage's hot water tank for making coffee and tea - but no joy, of course. So it was back to another day and night on the vodka on an increasingly empty stomach.
Shortly afterwards I started hallucinating due to starvation and excessive consumption of home brew vodka, but I do remember that things became dramatically less civilised in Kazakhstan (home of Borat) - at one station about 5000 peasants with sacks of agricultural produce boarded our carriage without tickets and squeezed into every last available space. We had random stinking peasants sleeping on the luggage racks above our bunks and under the seats for the rest of the journey. One of the Kazakh men engaged me in conversation in broken Russian and asked me how much my girls cost. "They're not for sale" I said. "Two camels!" was his response. "Look, I don't own these girls, they're not mine to sell!" No use. "OK, four camels!" he replied. And so it went on. By the end he was offering me vast numbers of camels for my increasingly alarmed companions, and I must admit I was just a little bit tempted.
Day 3 of the journey was a complete blank. But I'm reliably informed that I lost an arm wrestling contest to a Ukranian policeman and as a forfeit I had to drink vast quantities of yet more home brew vodka, and later was almost murdered by a gang of enraged Uzbeks and Kazakhs when I put a towel on my head and pretended to be an Arab and ran down the corridor shouting "Allahu Akbar!". Without doubt the longest, toughest, hungriest, scariest, most drunken journey of my life.
( Biffins Bridge, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 13:48, Reply)

Teeny tiny planes
On an internal flight in canada on holiday, we got shoved onto this tiny teeny tiny smallest plane in existence. it had about 6 seats, and before we took off, the pilot had to rearrange us to balance the plane.

I'm shit-scared of flying to start with, so tiny plane, coupled with huge amounts of turbulence did not a happy bunny make.

when i got off at the other end, my back was drenched with sweat. the only thing that had kept me sane on the 3 hourish flight had been the high power air conditioning fan doodah.


Second place goes to the journey over from england. The only thing i had to read was the da vinci code.


What do you mean you've had longer? you said it was a good size!
( Iananan Formerly known as el-rodente, not that you care, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 12:34, Reply)

Yes, the food IS that bad ...
Knowing the cafe in our own building is so shit they even have to have omlettes delivered frozen and then microwave them, MeColleage & I decided to eat in the main BBC Canteen at TV Centre down the road. I made the mistake of having fish.

Within 2 minutes of finishing the meal I knew I was in trouble. As we walked the 15 minutes back to our own building I was feeling rougher and rougher. Then my stomach decided there was only one thing for it: Dispose of the contents. I was 200yds from the (relative)privacy of a toilet cubicle, but no. The fish was getting a second viewing whether I liked it or not.

The only cover I could find was a shrubbery in the grounds that would dissapoint even the Knights of Nie. Still, I might have gotten away with it had it not been for MeColleague pointing and pissing himself with laughter as people walked past my retching form.

Spent the rest of my shift curled up with gutache in the corner sipping glasses of water. Then it came time to go home.

The walk to the station must've dislodged something as I then had to 'Plant a Richard'. Badly. Like in the next 10 seconds.

Sprinting into another Beeb building I tore past security and frantically searched for the toilet. I found a Ladies. Fuck it. Shit now, face Employment Tribunal later. Ran in and let one drop that would make TubGirl proud.

There then followed a seemingly endless stream of women in and out leaving me trapped. Finally I made my escape. Then came the tube journey.

No sooner had the doors closed than I realised I was probably going to be sick again. I began plannning escape points. If I could get to East Putney I could sneak round the back of the waiting room and chunder on the disused branch line platform. West Brompton would give me some good foliage to go behind.

No, I only got to Notting Hill Gate. Which has no toilets. Fucksocks. Ran out of the station and into McDonalds opposite. I barfed what was left inside (and the lining and some blood) in the cubicle. When I emerged there was a bloke washing his hands.

"You alright, mate?" he says.

"Yeah." I say "But I'd go down the road to Burger King if I were you..."

Retched again in someone's garden on the way home (sorry if it was you) got home, called in sick and curled up into a little ball under the duvet.

Apologies for length, but it is nowhere NEAR as long as that journey seemed ...
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 11:08, Reply)

a really nasty journey
The Japanese students in China always had really good guidebooks on how to get places no-one else really want to go. I went along with my Jap roomate from Chengdu to Ching Cheng Shan on a local bus. The worst thing wasn't the constant spit flying past your face every few seconds, or the the smell of unwashed bodies, or even the old man with a large sack of animal bones wedged up against my legs, but the snack and pit stops. It's standard that there were no walls and no doors in the toilet shacks, but not standard for any big nose to be there, so there was no way to pee unless you wanted to have a large audience. The snacks were bunches of rooster legs, which looked like a vast bunch of winter tree branches, and turnips which they ate raw, peeling off the muddy skin with their teeth. Back on the bus, you had to fight to get your seat back (we had paid for a seat!) and then rooster foot bones and skin were raining down past our ears from every direction. Fortunately those peasants gobble fast so that didn't last long. Ching Cheng Shan was beautiful. On another journey from Kunming to Xishuangbanna, the whole bus stopped for the night at a dormitory and I remember waking in the night to find the woman in the bunkbed overhead holding her baby out over the floor and whistling to encourage it to poop. Good thing I'd stuck my shoes under the bed, eh....Unbelievable that nowadays everything is made in China....that was only 19 yrs ago.
(cherrypie, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 10:20, Reply)

This happened late Summer '05 at some point.
Wake up at 6AM. Throw something resembling clothes onto my body and have a vagueish stab at wandering into college. By the time I get there (8 15) I'm already beginning to sweat. Roll on lesson one with the windows wide open.

Fuck, no breeze.

Sweat pours out of every pore and my t shirt sticks to me like it wants my babies in a passionate embrace. Coat gets stuffed into an already over-crowded bag and abandoned.

2 45PM

End of college day. 29 bastard degrees. Dread what comes next. I knew it was coming, its been planned all week.

I walk the 400yds to the train station, the soles of my already battered trainers melting and sticking to the pavement. I buy my travelcard and go into the station.

Nice and cool inside, and as I round the final corner to begin my ascent to the platform, al looks promising. Then a shaft of light blinds me.

Bollocks.

I sweat it out for another 6 minutes before the train to Waterloo comes. I swear, someone was following me around London with a bucket. I descend into the bowels of the station destined for the Northern Line to take me the solitary stop to Embankment(I have a travelcard, I'm not walking in the heat.) It begins to dawn on me that as I drop down level after level of stairs, its getting warmer. Hell is dawning just around the next bend, I can feel it already.

Its so hot down there, even the rats were gasping for breath. My tube arrives. The saviour in a metal cabin. Was it fuck. It was hotter in there amongst the mass of swarming, shuffling, coughing bodies than it was outside. "Bad move there, Garry" I tells myself. I disembark the tube and piss off further into the seedy belly of the Underground Transport Network for either the Circle or the District lines. It matters not, they both go to Victoria, my destination for the near future.

I stand on the relatively cool platform, and I become aware that someoe is talking to me in a French accent. She says "Zis is where I get ze traaainn to Victoria?" I tell her to let me think a moment. She says "Monsiuer, pardon?"

"I'm sorry, are your ears painted on?"(I'm getting irate with one and all at this point) "Listen to the fucking platform announcements."

"Oui, oui" Buggering French people.

So, finally, thy death inducing heat machine pulls up alongside my leaking carcass and I roll on to the tune of "Do You Dig Me Baby" by The Subways. How irritatingly conveinient.

"Its only 3 stops" I says "No-one will care about the volume" So, as you can guess, the very instant my personal space was rudely breached by some large arse, but a small and weasel featured man arrives on the scene asking me to turn down the music. He gets a nod, a wink and a fuck off.

Right. I'm at Victoria. Blistering sunshine, even worse heat and its now 3:54PM. 1 hour and 36 minutes early. Shit, what now?

I begin to slowly saunter down the main drag to the Bus Station looking for any signs of refreshment that hasnt been passed through someone about 40 million times on its way through to me. I find it in a huuuuuuuuuge shop not far from the station. Perhaps my luck is changing? Nah, cant be, this is me, of course. This happy episode of sweat, toil, tears and Irn Bru was concluded in a somewhat sprightly 9 minutes. Still bloody eons until the Bus Departs.

I find a sheltered, shady spot at the gate. Luckily for me, it was right beside the toilets, so every time someone walked out, I got several gallons of urine and "clean" tap water thrust at me from many directions. However, because I am on the floor, and this is of cold stone, I am surprisingly content.

Roll on 5 30

Bus finally decides to arrive.

5 45

Still bored, but we do get the lovely priveledge of queueing up for another 20 minutes listening to some irate Irish woman talking about some gibberish to do with "Those bastard droivers not letting my on the foooookin' coach. I should slap that foooker"

On the coach at last. Shaded spot, of course, this time not beside the urine shower area. I'm sitting on the drivers side of the coach. "Champion!", I think, because that means the sun wont be in my face.

Is it possible for me to be more wrong. From the moment we pulled out of Victoria, the sun was giving me a winning smile from every direction I turned. I read a magazine, the glare from the pages blinds me. I read a book, the white pages reflect the gaze. I listen to music, I stare out the window, guess who the happy bastard staring back is. Yup, well done, Satan's Football. Lovely.

9 49PM

Finally roll into Bath Bus Station. Too many hours since I last saw dry land, and another human being who wasnt nattering about pointless subject like the FUCKING WEATHER!

I KNOW ITS HOT, I CAN FEEL IT. I KNOW ITS BRIGHT OUT, I AM NOT BLIND. DO NOT SAY ONE MORE WORD ABOUT THE FUCKING WEATHER TO ME, OR SLAPPINGS WILL BE DEALT.
"Rude little fooooker, aint he?"
*screams many a bad word*

Get off the bus. Strech legs. Realise legs are still on the coach, decide to abandon them there in search of a better future away from all things buslike.

Find my Relevant Collector(in this case, step-dad) and hobble slowly, on my stumps, to his car. A Ford Sodding Probe, to give it its full title.

Smooth, quiet ride, stuck behind a trio of tractors. I nearly cried. Got into the house in Westbury and collapsed through the front door. Had to be dragged cursing busses forevermore.

01 35 AM

Have been roused by liquids of a fizzy nature, and haribo, I begin to feel better. Still fucked off with French and Irish. Still in need to kill things.

I remember spending the night peeling fabric from a small puddle which was forming beneath my arse. Not a comfortable night.

No apologies for length, its all I have.
(King of Swandanavia Proud owner of the worlds first Flong, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 10:00, Reply)

European wind
During a tour of europe a few years ago I ate a bad pizza in Paris that inflicted me with gut cramps in Prague, eruptions in Vienna that are best left undescribed, followed by the most amazing wind in Munich. After running to the Gents in an Augsberg eatery to release said wind, it was with embarrassment that I learned the Gents window faced the outdoor courtyard that was filled with happy German diners. After my non-silent expellation of volumes of gas that would have floated the Hindenburgh, I heard an elderly gentleman in the courtyard exclaim 'Gott im Himmel!'.

Edit: a few months later, my wife and I were watching the film 'Titanic' on TV and during the scene where the Titanic is going down amidst the sounds of metal tearing and compartments collapsing, she looks over to me and says 'That sound makes me think of your incident in Augsburg' with a look of disgust...
(mrfalafel, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 9:11, Reply)

Worst Journey in the World?
Ha! Just imagine you're a female Emperor Penguin, having just dropped a massive great egg out of your egg-hole, having to scrabble it up off the freezing bleeding Antarctic ice-floe into your partner's tummy-fold, using just your frozen, clawed feet... And then you've got to bugger off 70 miles to the edge of the ice-floe just to get a bleeding snack. Takes you three months.

Then tell me your journey was shit.

/Morgan Freeman
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 7:04, Reply)

Greek Taxi Anyone?
During the 2004 Olympics in Anthens, we decided to book a last minute deal in Crete as a family holiday (or more to the point, I got in from work to find that Mrs Coopsweb had booked us a holiday). Anyhew...

Being a last minute deal-thingey, we got all inclusive for next to nothing [wayhey - all the cheap local wine we can drink!] however - transfers were not included so on reaching the airport we were forced to use a local taxi...

I don't know what's more going to freak you out more - the fact you've drunk far too much on the plane over to fully realise what's going on, or the 80mph speeds your taxi driver is doing around blind mountain bends at 3am... while crossing himself and praying to the statue of Mary on the dash.

And the best bit was - the only reason he was doing the whole 'deathwish on a mountain pass' act was thanks to the Greek government, as they had given all the taxi drivers on Crete handouts to buy brand new Mercedes saloons to make the tourists feel more 'safe' on the roads to the resorts.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 2:30, Reply)

Trippin'
Me and about eight mates had decided too drop a trip each in our local pub. When we were fully up we decided we wanted to go to Tibury Fort, a local 16th century fort. But we were so out of our nut we couldn't find it(we've been there hundreds of times). As we're driving down a dual carriage, way, the A13, we see a hitch-hiker on the other side of the road so we turn round and offer him a lift. The bloke was massive. Queue six blokes in the back of a van tripping out of their nuts and shitting them selfs thinking they'ed picked up a mass murderer.

Sorry for length but I'm out of my nut again.
(Tronn206, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 1:35, Reply)

Where do i start.........
Hmmm well there was the 40hr coach journey from hell going to Austria where we got stuck in the Munich rush hour and the heating got stuck on rull resulting in a coach load of smelly and profusely sweaty teenagers.

Or the bus* journey through Laos along mountain passes where the road had been eroded away, in deep fog and with a bus driver out of his face on amphetamins (he drove for 15hrs straight) and armed guards wandering around with AK-47s. So even if were werent shot at by roaming bandits we were likely to die plunging over the edge of an unseen corner. This was rather scarely proved at one roadside where there was a similarly piece of cr@p bus with a crushed in roof.

I think the worse trip was probably crossing the whole of thailand in 48hours (about 900 - 1000miles). First was 17hr train journey to Bangkok, I luckly managed to end up in 3rd class (metal benches amongst chickens and piglets) and next to the toilet. This little adventure was made all the nicer by an epic hangover, a brilliant combernation of rice whisky (£4 a litre), beer containing phormaldyhyde and 40degree heat = Huge head ache and vast amounts of sweating.
I was so tired I didnt even consider the fact I was being charged 5times what I should have been for a tuk tuk (three wheeled taxi of death). Then I had to wait around Bangkok most of the day, the smelliest, grimmiest and most polluted city Ive ever been to (coming from a person who lives in Bradford). Just from walking in some parks I got excrament all over my shorts, no idea how. Then I had an overnight bus journey to the south where they played thai dance music for the whole journey. the next day i had to jump on another local bus, so no fans or air con despite being in a tropical zone to end up at a bus station 10kms out of a town. Resulting in a 2hr walk with a bag the weight of a small child. This was all to discover I would be the only english speaking person out 5000 people on an mosquito infested mangrove excuse swamp of an island**.

*read pieces of metal loosely connected to create a ratteling, smoking vision of certain death.

**turned out to be 4 of the most incredible weeks of my life.
(serial lurker, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 23:01, Reply)

My Father

recently bought one of them satellite nav thingies. The first time he used it when I was in the car with him was during a 60 mile trip, and he had it set to Anne Robinson's voice giving out the directions and may I state, for the record, SHE GETS RIGHT ON MY TITS, so as you can imagine listening to the ginger whinger pipe up every 30 seconds was not too enjoyable.

Anyway, after an hour of travelling we reached our destination but for the last few minutes he decided to change the voice to show me who else you can have directing you. Now when the Ossie Osbourne voice came on I thought, hang on, my father loves Black Sabbath so why didn't he have Ossie on from the start?

Me:"Why didn't you have Ossie navigating us here?"

Dad:"Are you kidding? have you never seen The Osbournes, he's as thick as pig shit, his directions would've taken us twice as long to get here"

Parents, gotta love 'em.
(Lt Columbo, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 22:33, Reply)

Coaches...
I had a pretty bad journey on saturday, on the way back from camp - apparently it was against the rules to go to a different drop-off/pick-up point than the one you caught your original coach from, so even though I had to be in south London that night, I had to take a coach to Leeds.

Thus: A coach from camp, all the way to some other camp to pick up football people (took us an hour out of our way), then dropped off in a warehouse near Manchester.

Left there for an hour, then caught a different coach to Leeds.

At Leeds, get a train to Sheffield. Wait on Sheffield station for a bit.

Get a train from Sheffield to St. Pancras.

Tube from Kings X to Bank (hellish)

DLR from Bank to Lewisham (scary sitting at the front, it's like a rollercoaster...)

Then I had to fucking WALK from Lewisham station to my destination. Half an hour, uphill, with a massive heavy fucking suitcase. It was upsetting.
(Balue Free From Tetanus, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 22:28, Reply)

Dubai.
A colleague and I, a few years ago. We come out of the place in town we'd had a meeting, and there's a taxi rank right next door outside a shopping mall.

It's July in Dubai... very hot, very humid. Not comfortable at all outdoors fully clothed. So we dash to the front cab and pile in, announce our destination and sit back...

...at which point we spot the little signs we'd missed in our haste - fake fur seat covers, the drivers' dreadlocks, the plastic model spliff and the picture of Haile Selassie hanging from the mirror.

The driver was very laid back. Just a touch too fucking laid back to be driving anything.

He drove the whole 20 minute journey without his hands ever touching the wheel. One hand on the handle above the door, the other on the gear stick, steering with his knees. Including negotiating a couple of clover-leaf highway junctions. At speed.

I really didn't think we'd make it.
( chaotic_illuminator proud spacehopperist, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 22:12, Reply)

The awkward passage of a catheter
up the narrow, sensitive tunnels of a male urethra.

As anyone who's been treated for kidney stones can tell you, that's a pretty rough journey.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 22:10, Reply)

csc2ya
Lancing to Worthing? A whole three miles? Pansy.

Roughly three years back I walked 11 miles from Brighton to Worthing, because I played timetable chicken ("yeah, it's only a 2-minute walk from the pub to the platform, I'll make it, honest") with the last train home and lost. Not enough cash for a taxi (Forty quid? Not bloody likely) and no means of getting any cash, having left the plastic at home.

All I had for company were the inane witterings of the resident moron at Southern FM, courtesy of my phone's radio. Still, he did play Black Velvet for me, as I was walking the final few hundred yards to my house. Nice song to end a 2½-hour walk. Feet hurt like a bastard the next day, though.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 21:14, Reply)

Black Ice
I was driving into work on an icy morning in my MG when This happened. I made it work as well, then the shock kicked in and I was taken to hospital.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 20:30, Reply)

I've noticed a few Greyhound ones here
And I do know how you feel, believe me. Travelling from Monticello, NY, at 5am after a night of hard partying, to arrive in Virginia, VA, with no sleep, a grouchy bus driver, and for quite a long portion of the journey fighting off this absolute horror from Charlotte, West Virginia. "Yeah sure I'll email you... oops I dropped her address down the nearest drain, oh well...". And then to arrive to a houseful of screaming kids. Ah bliss.

Also, to note, New York Port Authority bus station truly is a hellhole on Earth.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 8 Sep 2006, 20:27, Reply)

Six Hours of Eternal Hell
By far, my worst journey was a Greyhound bus ride from Michigan to Chicago during the autumn of my freshman year of college. It was the first time in my life I'd been apart from my parents for more than a week, and I was terribly homesick, so I decided to hop on a Greyhound bus for home one cold, dark, rainy afternoon in October. I sat by a window planning to be antisocial. At the next stop, an enormously obese woman with her 4-year old daughter sat down in the single seat next to mine, crushing me up against the side of the bus. I couldn't move and could barely breathe. The woman immediately proceeded to tell me her entire life story in minute detail, and her child cried and kicked and writhed throughout the trip. I thought the 5.5 hours to Chicago could get no worse.

But then a group of extremely drunk passengers, both men and women, boarded the bus, sat in the back, and proceeded to get even more drunk, as if that were possible, and very rowdy. An ever increasing number of empty liquor bottles rolled around on the floor as the bus sped up and slowed down. The drunks began to get surly and combative, and roamed up and down the aisle threatening people, including the bus driver, even going so far as to tell the mother of a crying baby that, if she didn't make it shut up, they'd throw it out the window. They appeared to be quite serious about this. I decided I was very glad, indeed, the obese woman and her child were sitting between me and the aisle because they made it virtually impossible for any of the drunks to get near me. These 5.5 hours were absolutely hellish.

To top it all off, while waiting for me at the Chicago bus station, my mom's billfold was stolen from her purse, leaving us with no money to pay the parking garage fee. My dad had to take a cab from work to get us out.

Since then I've traveled a lot and have never had such an awful experience. Even when heavy smoke started seeping from under a trap door in front of me on a flight to California couldn't compare.
(bunnybutt, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 20:13, Reply)

It was the worst journey

not for me but for my parents. We went on holiday to Wales one year and I was allowed to bring along my 2nd best mate Brian (Colin was having his bar mitzvah). We spent the entire 4 hour journey with a hand under our armpits perfecting the art of pumping the tune of The Pink Panther.

On the way home we spent our time working on the introduction of farting for extra bass effects.
(Lt Columbo, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 19:59, Reply)

Another one from me,
About three years ago I was doing agency work. there was one place I worked for in lancing. I can't remember the name of it now.

When I finished at the end of the day I couldn't find the train station. rather than doing the sensible thing...asking someone for directions or phoning for a taxi. I walked...all the way from Lancing to Worthing....in shoes that were slightly too big for me...can anyone say huge blisters?...ouch.
(csc2ya also uses this name on xbox live, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 18:05, Reply)

Mine
That was probably after I went on an induction day after joining B&Q about two years ago. Journey there by train was alright. Got to the station and got a taxi to the store.

Taxi driver gave me his mobile number and said if I needed a taxi back afterwards to phone him. Really nice guy...very chatty.

Anyway...here comes the bad bit.

I completely forgot that he'd given me his number afterwards and looked up taxi's in the yellow pages that they had in the store.

I only found numbers for firms that said they wouldn't travel as far as I needed to go. I ended up walking back to the station. I then bought a first class ticket from the machine by mistake...doh...then sat in the second class part of the train without realizing it...even bigger doh.

Got reimbursed by the store I worked at when I started the next day though. Bastards sacked me for what they said was inapropriate use of my discount card in april though. I was cleared by an employment tribunal though and B&Q agreed to provide me with a reference and pay me the equivalent of one months wages - £800...ker-ching:-D

Tried going back in there to buy something a few months ago. Security guard told me that anyone that is dismissed is banned from all stores for life. As far as i'm aware that's unenforcable now though as I was cleared. Still don't go in there though. Managers a complete and utter cock.


I think i'll stop here...i'm rambling now.
(csc2ya also uses this name on xbox live, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 18:01, Reply)

I had an awful journey to hospital once
with a saucepan jammed handle first up my arse.
It made sitting on the bus very uncomfortable.
And when I got there, my dad didn't even seem pleased that I'd come to visit.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 17:25, Reply)

Camping it up
about 6 years ago, me and a couple of mates of mine decided to go camping, but not ordinary camping EXTREME CAMPING Ray Mears style. It was ok though because we'd seen at least 2 of his programs so naturally we could survive in the antartic with only a toothpick. luckily we were only planning on west wales.

so off we set with only a tarpaulin, a knife, an axe and some rudimentary food. One long walk on the cliff edge later we saw an ace camping spot in a clearing below us surrounded by trees. by now though it was getting dark and foggy (as it was autumn) so everything looked like some scene out of a horror film. what we saw next nearly made 3 teenage blokes shit themselves in unison.

Looking down into the darkened trees we saw a large white shape move through the trees and into the darkness. after much speculating and clutching at the knife and axe we decided to go down there anyway and start getting things together to build the tent. scanning through the woodland to look for a suitable place went something liek this:
"what do you see?"
"not much, tree, tree, tree, another tree, enraged bull, tree"
"hang on, what was that one?"
"oh shit"
so being big and brave we scarped down to the nearby beach (not the sand type beach either, the gravel kind. Fuck it we thought we'll pitch here, so we dug a hole in the stoney beach with our bare hands (by now its totally dark and raining) big enough for us to fit in, line it with some ferns and put the tarpaulin over us for shelter. then it was time for food.
"what survival food did you bring?"
"survival food? er, ive got some mars bars my mum packed me"
"fuck it, that'll do"
Unfortunately it was at this point we wished we'd been able to see how far away the sea was, as it turned out it was pretty close, so close it crashed over our 'tent' soaking us moreso.

At this point we gave up, walked back along the wet dark cliff path of death to the main road where one of my mates called his mum to pick us up. You know those 'coming of age' stories people have? this was the opposite of that. ah good times.

My length and girth has not been surgically enhanced or tested on animals
(Absynth&Cheese Have you tasted my Jesus, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 16:57, Reply)

Business Trip
Travelled to Leeds on business. Which was fine. The return journey was the bad one.

Me and a collegue went from Leeds to York without any issues and with time to spare. Greb some fodd thought I!

Sitting in the cafe I asked him when the train was: "ten to 6" he replied. Lookin at the clock I realised IT'S TEN TO SIX NOW. SHIT!!!

Run out of the Cafe, got to the platform and hauled ourselves onto the train, gasping for breath and grabbed a seat. After a few minuted the ticket inspector arrived asking for said tickets..."Going to Glasgow"? said he.

"Yes" said we.

"So why the fuck are you on a train to Scarborough?"

"FUCK" said we.

Off at the next stop to await the next train back to Leeds. Waited for about an hour in the fucking cold whilst punching a metal fence in sheer frustration at my stupidity.

Train arrives to take us to Leeds. What train was it? Only thye bleedin one we were on an hour earlier! The twat didn't teel us it was the only train on that line.

ARSE!

Still, got paid overtime for it.

Glee!

No apologies for the size. I'm just glad it still works. (see sig)

Yours

Alma del Diablo
( diablo290582 Professional.....something., Fri 8 Sep 2006, 16:36, Reply)

L.A. to Vegas on $95 - then back again shortly thereafter.

8 years ago - me the poor guy in Los Angeles but had $95 to my name - where else to go but VEGAS! - Me and my girlfriend - My jeep wouldn't make the 5 hour trip as it would overhead in the desert so we borrowed her friends crappy ford escort thinking we would win BIG! and pay for a hotel once we won. OFF WE GO! -- halfway there, in the middle of the desert, a tire blows out - no kidding. 3 hours and $30 later we have a "New Used" tire installed at the local kmart... Back on the road. Get to Vegas and go straight to the Rio Hotel/Casino with our remaining $65.. She goes to the bathroom and I proceed to lose it all at the roulette table - keeping $10 for gasoline for the trip back.. We ended up spending the night at some seedy roadside public reststop - sleeping in the car with the doors locked... Woke up early in the morning, turned the key and finished the drive back to my crappy studio apartment in the Hollywood Hills. I survived on Raman noodles, potatoes and water til my next paycheck. We were in Vegas less than a hour.
(xianstudio, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 16:33, Reply)

Sort of not me....
Returning from a rather lovely if extortionately expensive holiday, we were delayed only a couple of hours before our (first leg) of the homeward voyage from La la Tinsel to Heathhell.
I - like most - find flying rather tedious at the best of times. in fact, I'd rather row the atlantic alone if it weren't for the time it takes and the considerable risk of drownage. I digress.

After an hour or so, we're pleasantly informed by an astoundingly camp 'Cabin services director' (read; Chief steward bummer) that the entertainment system is not working and our 12 hour torture will be devoid of the slight distraction they amusingly call "entertainment".
At this point I begin to deeply regret not buying the overpriced story-devoid paper-back novels and content-shy magazines on offer in the terminal. Thankfully for me, the overwhelming strain of a fortnight spent driving around and 'seeing stuff' kicks in, and I avoid the inconvenience documented above by falling soundly asleep for a good 9 or 10 hours.
Waking to see my wife on the verge of tears while hurtling over the South-West coast of this scabby island we call home, I courteously enquire as to what is upsetting her. She responds with a glare that would extinguish the sun, refusing to elaborate.

In Heathhell, awaiting our second flight I find the cause of my wifes upset. Oddly this wasn't my fault (at which point I found myself in completely new territory) but the (admittedly minor for this thread) ordeal she'd suffered at x-thousand feet. I should point out here that I sleep rather soundly, to the extent that a fire engine was once on our front garden during the night and failed to wake me.
Apparently the flight had suffered from some rather violent turbulence which had brought on bouts of vomiting for numerous travellers (I thought there was an unpleasant smell when I woke, but assumed they were serving breakfast!) and scared the living bejeesus out of everyone on board (those of THEM who were conscious anyway). My wifes particular greivance was that the rather unbalanced american woman on her other side had been quite distraught while looking beyond my slumbering bulk and seeing that the usually stable wing of the 777 was flapping like that of a sparrow due to the afforementioned turbulence. So much so that she apparently began to scream "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!" at increasingly regular intervals until the turbulence passed.
After some days, my wife was able to look back at this and laugh heartily. Unfortunately i could not share in her giggles of mirth, not only because I failed to witness the spectacle, but apparently she'd found a little humour in watching me snore through the 'lift-your-arse-off-the-seat-and-smack-your-head-on-the-overhead-storage' level of turbulence without so much as a stir from my slumber.

The effects on me of this airborne ordeal? A slightly sore head (sadly lacking the 'reading light' shaped indentation) and rather scratchy throat because I snore when sleeping upright.

Happy landings!
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 16:24, Reply)