Public transport is the absolute pits.
I say this with such ease, because for over 12 years, I used this horrific mode of transport for work purposes. Every day it felt like I was in Hell.
Every day for 10 years I put up with listening to the general public’s shit; their crappy, boring conversations, being stood on, being pushed, being subjected to the stinky smell of pasties and curry and 6am – the list goes on and on and on.
Trains, taxis and planes were my main mode of travel and all three were equally irritating, in their own way.
Trains were probably the worst, for no other reason than there’s a shed load of weirdos on them. From the freaks who consume Cornish Pasties for breakfast in their suits as they head to the office at 6am to the nut jobs who come and sit next to you at 9pm in an empty carriage. The whole carriage may be empty, but no, they choose to literally sit on top of you – what the fuck is that all about??
This one time, I was travelling home from work at teatime when a chap put his arm around me – what the fuck? No politeness here “Get your fucking arm off me” was my response to which he replied “What’s the problem, I’m just stretching out”. What the fuck?? Fair enough he didn’t look like a weirdo with his NHS Pharmacy ID card around his neck, but it just goes to show weirdos can dress up and impersonate normal people.
Taxis drivers, god love em. Most are sound, don’t get me wrong but then there’s always those that want to chat to you at 4am. “Listen up, and listen up good” I always wanted to say, “It’s 4am, I’ve not long been up and I’m off to spend a day in a windowless room with a group of self-proclaimed ego maniacs, do one will you.” But of course I never did. I always politely sat and chatted, unwilling to upset the chap who was old enough to be my Dad and who’d dealt with drunk fucktards for the majority of his 12-hour shift.
Then you get your bog standard psycho drivers. I was once in Glasgow with colleagues when the driver started chatting away, as you do. I wasn’t really listening to him until he said to my friend Steven, ” Yeah mate if you and your mate weren’t here, I’d have blondey and the other one locked in the boot of my car and I’d be heading home with them”. What the actual fuck?? This wasn’t 3am I’ll have you no, nope it was 2pm driving some back way though a derelict estate…. Not that I’m tarring all Glaswegian taxis drivers with the same brush, hell no, but don’t think I’ve ever travelled in a taxis in Glasgow since this incident.
And finally there’s the drivers who want to stop for petrol after your flight and you’re on your way home. Jesus Christ what’s that about? I mean a bus driver couldn’t just nip for petrol, but it’s ok for a private hire – again what the fuck?
Another time I was in a taxis at 7am, applying my lipstick for the day when the driver thought it was totally ok to repeatedly hit his breaks in some humourous way. What the fuck? How’d you like bright red lipstick in your eyeballs dickhead was my response.
Planes. Whole different kettle of fish. Commuter flights full of what I can only describe as wankers. Wankers I say, because they’re mainly overt dickheads in their work lives in addition to their social lives. Dickheads who kick off because the stewardess has run out of shortbread and she’s only stocked with ginger nuts. What the fuck I used to think, you dickhead it’s an hours flight, have a word with yourself and man up.
Then you’d get the nightmare sat next to you. You know, the one who’d think they had rights over the arm rest… Well mofo, you may be a bloke and not short of 7ft, but I’ll wrestle you to the death for it; not because I necessarily want to rest my arm, oh no, but because you’re a knob who thinks he’s entitled to it.
These days, it’s safe to say I no longer use public transport. Thank god. Because if I did, with the shit experiences I’ve encountered, I’d probably end up nutting someone. And after watching Orange is the New Black, jail is not a place I ever want to be.
So instead I sit behind the wheel of my car and shout and scream at the ineptness of British drivers. But that’s a whole other blog, for a while other day my friend.