London transport stories...
By egcellentTramp at 2013-08-12 18:59:42
London, UK
74 replies
11325 views
Saw a disturbing looking guy sat opposite rubbing one out over his trousers on the Central Line. He was sat next to what looked to be an 8 year old girl, and her mother.
I think he in fact came too, and not a soul said a thing apart from me who called him a filthy twat as I got off.
She opened the family size bag wide as she could then pushed her mug into the bag whilst she pushed the crisps through the bottom of the bag. She pushes the crisps into her chops and wipes her face off with a tissue.
Apparently she had her eyes closed all the time and quietly moaned. She's seen her twice now doing it both times.
It was morning both times if that's relevant.
Eta: another time my train got stuck between two others at separate platforms. We had to go out through the drivers cubicle http://i.imgur.com/FF4oABM.jpg
Camera Phone
Bag of Doritos
Last year, all through Andy Murray's final tennis match at the Olympics, I was on the underground from St Pancras to Hyde Park Corner, and at each stop the announcer kept updating us on the tennis results, until we ultimately got the statement that Andy Murray had won the gold. Cue the whole train's worth of people letting out a huge cheer. One of those great moments of nationalistic pride I will never forget.
So I had some cake - it was nice - vanilla sponge together with buttercream and icing.
I didnt die, I didnt awaken up in a tub of ice with no kidneys, I didnt leap from a rooftop shouting am a golden-haired god I just had some nice cake - yet a lot of folks freak out when I tell them that story.
A few seconds pass, then the doors re-open for whatsoever reason. A unexplained hand appears from within the carriage, into the barger's face, then pushes him off the train, back onto the platform.
I love each tale in this thread and i don't have a cool story to tell but it's all i have
I was between 3 and 5, me and my mum waiting to get on the bus, i determined in my infinite child wisdom to flykick the entrance as it opened to get onto the bus.
Leg gets wedged where the door folds as it opens (i recollect when these buses doors opened they would fold into the side of the doorframe instead of stay put straight and press against the frame, if that even makes a slink of sense) anyways my foot got wedged mid kick, i fell down and landed on my ass, cried, got McDonalds.
It was a good day.
One other story is when my Grandma used to pick me up from school we would get the G1 up the hill to her house, every time she paid the bus fare i would always run to a seat and shout i saved you a seat grandma and she said everybody would each time laugh, then i'd fall dead to the world and she would have to carry me from the summit of the hill to her house.
When I was a young man, I had a job that required me to wear a suit and tie (incidental, but scene-setting... I look all smart 'n' stuff). I got my tube home from Tottenham Court Road each evening, and as I'm walking down the steps onto the platform - with the train waiting - I hear the buzz as the doors start to close. I sprint forward, fling myself at the door and manage - I'm not quite definite how - to end up on my backside on the platform with my leg jammed in the closing door. I lie there for a few seconds. The door opens. I get on my feet, walk into the carriage, and look up.
Everyone. Everyone is staring at me. 300 people, packed carriage, plus - to a man and woman - they've all caught this ad hoc piece of sub Cirque du Soleil. And then somebody starts clapping, and the whole carriage goes off in a round of more or less good-natured laughter with applause. What can you do except bow, as elegantly and genially as possible? Still smirk when I think about it.
Back in 2000 when I was younger - I was on the way back from a five aside game on the tube. We'd been for a drink afterwards so I was drunk, clammy and in a sports kit. fundamentally not looking like much of a catch.
I started chatting to a girl - absolutely not my type. Piercings, a little punky, and to top it all - a Kiwi. someway though we started getting-off. All this is absolutely out of character. We got off at Hammersmith (literally plus figuratively) and chatted a little more. Turns out we were in the same group at school in Yorkshire until her parents emigrated when she was 8 or so.
Roll ahead 13 years - and I'm now blissfully married with a couple of kids.
Not to her though. She wouldn't come home with me or bestow me her number. Prick tease.
I was on the 214 one nighttime (around 2 a.m.) from Camden to Shoreditch and this down-and-out guy sat down next to me. He started droning where I just kinda disregarded him and played around on my phone. Started droning louder. Tapped my shoulder and asked, Kitten Cowboy, whadya think of that tune? I was pretty stunned for the reason that 1). Everyone told me it was fundamental anathema to make smalltalk with others on London transportation and 2). Did this guy just call me Kitten Cowboy?! So I just kinda garbled that it wasn't bad and gawkily laughed and then, after hearing my accent, he said, no Kitten Cowboy, you Yankee Labradoodle! and then the remnants of the ride went on like that, where he asked people what they thought of his song and allotting them these bizarro-ass names. Hey Tartsicle (woman in front of us)! Whadya think of that tune? or you, Mushroom Slice (guy in front of us) whadya think of that tune?
It was an remarkable ride.
Years ago, I was getting the last train out of Waterloo. It's always pretty hectic and chock-full of drunks (and if I'm on it I'm frequently drunk also, so I'm not judging).
I was sat next to a troop of women. They were pretty pissed. A man went to get the gangway seat past the group of women. Instead of saying me please he pushed one of the women's legs out of the way. They didn't like this, not one bit.
One of the women said touched her fucking leg, you fucking pervert. Now he had touched her leg but he was being rude, not creepy. still I was pissed and said you can't just tap people's legs without asking. (I stand by this statement, but in retrospect I perhaps didn't help). The lady opposite me joined in and called him a cunt. He told her to fuck off. Then stuff escalated. The lady who had called him a cunt's boyfriend objected to him telling her to fuck off then lamped him one. A proper scrap broke out with a number of of the other blokes in the carriage either defending our (the women's) honour or getting some violence out of their system.
Someone pulled the emergancy lever, then the train had to be diverted down the supplementary line where British Transport Police could better deal with it. The man who had touched the woman's leg was arrested, the other participants were taken off the train to allot statements, they may have been arrested also. The train leaves Waterloo at 1.05 AM. We at last got to Woking at about 3.30.
The next morning my partner said you get in at quarter to four? And why is there blood on your jacket?
train home was all the answer he needed.
