I Wish I Had My Phone

I went to the uni library this evening. It was quiet, just as a library should be. There was a very different atmosphere because of the high level of darkness in the air.

Anyway, I got on the bus to come home. I sat at the front. One guy decided to stand at the front by the compartment for luggage. His standing was soon interrupted by a man of many years. "You can't stand there" cried the man. His ears were filled with cotton wool and his trousers were designed for a much larger man.
"Ok" replied the man at the front, although he decided to not move and to just carry on listening to his i-pod.
"You can't stand there" cried the man again. At the next stop, another man got on. He too stood at the front. I knew that this would not go down well with Mr Cotton-Wool Ears.
"You can't stand there" he croaked. This had little effect. He arose from his seat and moved to the front. "There's a seat there" he said. Clearly he was willing to sacrifice his seat just so that nobody would stand at the front.
"It's ok" replied the newest member of the bus, who then carried on with his phone conversation.

Then it happened. Mr Cotton-Wool Ears could take it no more. He placed himself in between the two standing men and began to climb into the luggage compartment. This was no easy feat, he was old. After a lot of struggling, he was in position. Big deal, I hear you think, old people climb into luggage compartments all the time. However, not all old men climb into luggage compartments, lay on their back like a demented tortoise and swing their legs around so that nobody can stand near the front of the bus. This is what he did. Why? We may never know.

Please send in your explanations for his behaviour.

Some months ago, the same old man confronted me at a bus stop and told me to take my ear-phones off because they were too loud. This was a very strange thing to say, especially because my mp3 player wasn't turned on yet.

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I had once again gone to the library, there were very few people there, mainly because it was about to close, it was Saturday and the youth of today prefer to race cars and smoke illegal drugs than read books. I could have read all of the books if I wanted to, but I didn't want to start reading them, break my glasses and end up screaming in the face of irony.

Anyway, I took out eight books, but did not have my bag, so I would have to catch the bus. I knew from the start that the chance of the university bus being in service was slim. The term does not start until Monday. After a half hour wait, the number 116 arrived. If you don't mind, I will give you some background on the 116:

It is not part of First (the primary bus company in Swansea). It was set up about two years ago and was mainly run by Mexicans without coin dispensers.

On this occasion, there was not a Mexican at the wheel. Instead there was a man who couldn't have been more than 20 years old. As I expected he didn't have a coin dispensing machine, he was fully equipped with a bum bag stuffed with coins, or a fanny pack to you Amercianese.

The bus was full. I stood at the front. The next two sentences are not relevant to the tale, so feel free to skip it. The two chairs at the very front that don't face the front and are on a raised platform, had been replaced by one front facing chair. It looked very strange upon the high platform, a bit like a rocket ship. I placed my books in the luggage compartment and carried on listening to The Strokes on my mp3 player. The song was Electricityscape.

After thirty seconds or so, the bus stopped and the driver turned around, he said "Stop it". At the time I did not know who he was speaking to or what he wanted stopped. He drove on. I decided that I would stop listening to The Strokes and observe the bus instead. A group of five youths, aged 11-14 were standing up and opening the windows. Three of them had vaginas and two were each the proud owner of a penis. I did not check inside their underwear for this information, I worked it out by looking at their faces. It is only natural for youths to open windows, it gives them a feeling of power, as if to say "Look at me, I am an adult, if I want to open this window I shall". Then, out of nowhere, Mr Cotton Wool Ears emerged from behind the youths. On this occasion, his ears were empty. He closed the windows to his left, he closed the windows to his right. The youths stood back up and said "You smell. It smells in here" and re-opened the windows. For the next few moments the windows were re-opened and closed like out of control machines struck by the millennium bug.

After Mr Ears realised that he was beaten, he let out a roar. His voice was that of a thousand cats screaming in unison. "Drive!!! Drive!!! DRIVE!!!!!!" he yelled. "Tell them to stop. Tell them to stop!!!" Once again the driver stopped the bus.
"What is going on?" he asked. Mr Ears put forward his case and the driver told the youths to stop it.
"But it smells in here" pleaded the leader. The driver was now in a difficult situation, he was clearly inexperienced with such matters and being only a few years older than the youths he had no real authority over them. I, being a vigilante, was tempted to step in and put a stop to this hate crime, but it was only half past four and the sky was not yet black (As you know, real vigilantes can only operate under the darkness of night). The bus was made up of mostly OAPs, I assumed that they would come to aid the man, but they did not. I could not have expected what happened next. The OAPs actually began to laugh, they were on the side of the youth. I can only imagine that he really did smell. I could not smell him for I have a cold.

Mr Ears was clearly outnumbered. Men and women of all ages were united against his desire to keep the windows closed. Then it happened. He began to cry. He put his hands to his face and wept whilst the driver drove on. Now victorious, the youths ran from seat to seat opening the windows. Other adults on the bus began to laugh and joke with the youngsters, this was obviously a bus gone mad. A woman rang the bell to stop the bus. It didn't stop. In the noise and confusion the driver kept going. The woman of approximately 65 years approached the driver and bellowed "Why haven't you stopped? I have been pressing the button again and again. I think you're being distracted by that man. He really is a menace". Mr Ears life could get no lower, he was defeated by the youths, laughed at by his peers and labelled a menace by a woman. He continued to weep. We finally arrived at his stop, but he did not get off, he remained in his seat and cried out all of his sadness.

Poor Mr Cotton Wool Ears. Only on the 116 could this ever happen

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I was delighted in my lecture this morning when a girl sat next to me, not because I'm a pervert, but because it appeared that she had an equal or even greater uninterest in Egyptology than me. After exchanging a few words it became clear that she too hadn't done the homework, in fact, she didn't even know what the homework was, one step greater than I. Our lecturer asked us to go over our homework for a few minutes, giving us a chance to do something, but I obviously hadn't bought the textbook that was needed and neither had she. A tie. Luckily the girl on my other side said I could use her's. After making a few notes, the girl who knew nothing asked me what I had written, so low was her knowledge of things Egyptian.

So there I was, giving out information about something I have no idea about like some sort of wise man. I was enchanted by her lack of research. We had both arrived late, so we had to sit on the chairs at the back without a desk. I, Chin, simply rested my notepad on my lap in a casual manner, but this girl defeated me once more. She had just one piece of paper and nothing to press on. Can you imagine the genius of such a thing? One piece of paper and nothing to press on! So she folded the piece of paper two or three times and pressed it against her left hand. Her hand! She used her hand as a thing for pressing on! What could have possibly topped this? Her pen. Her pen was filled with red ink. Red ink! Who in their right mind uses red to write with? The odd word here and there, yes, but to write entire sentences is madness. All the signs in my head suggested that I was in love with this girl. We would get graduate together, get married and live out our lives as Egyptologists who know nothing about Egyptology. We would have a dozen kids and send them across the world to universities where they would get degrees in all sorts of unuseful things.

Then it happened. My dream was smashed. My lecturer asked a question, a question open to anyone in the class and the girl cried out with an answer. Such enthusiasm did not fit in with my plan of a life of no knowledge. She was a fraud, she probably had shelves filled with books about Egypt. A shame.

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Today I encountered the biggest scum-bag I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. Only in Swansea could such a person exist.

Whilst walking up the worst street in Wales on the way to the local train house I decided to stop off for some chips. I tried to flow my body matter through the door of the chip emporium, but I was blocked off by a shouting man, a man with little teeth and little brain. He was screaming at the chip-makers, words that sounded like "Give me my fucking meat and chips, you fucking paki cunts!" I managed to squeeze passed him using my years of Metal Gear Solid playing, but he caught up with me and stopped me getting to the counter. He explained using a rare type of English that he had paid for some food for his dying mother, who had just two months to live, but the chip-makers were claiming that no money had exchanged hands.

In between telling me this tale he would cry "You've got to leave here some time" and "I'm going to fucking slice you" whilst miming a traditional throat cutting. He had in his possession some curry sauce and chips, which he described as "fucking freezing", but was kind enough to offer me some. I declined.

At the end of the tale, of which I took in very little, he said "So can you do that or what?"."Do what?" I asked."Get me a fish and chips""Oh, I've only got £1.80" I truthfully informed him."Listen, my sister won the lottery. Half a million on the Spanish lottery" he proclaimed."Oh" I replied. I once again searched my pockets, for I was becoming a bit scared. Little did I know that the scared I was feeling was a level of scared that I would have gladly maintained.

"I'll fucking show these cunts" he said "I've got two needles here with AIDs in them. Cos if I break their legs, they'll feel pain, but they'll heal. If I cut them up, they'll feel pain, but then they'll heal. If I fucking stab them with this they'll be done. There's no healing from AIDs". He was right.

He fished his hands into his pockets, which filled me with terror. I frantically started to search my pockets again in the hope of finding enough money to buy the madman some fish and chips. He was on my side for now, but how long could I guarantee that I wouldn't be on the side of the men who were going to be stabbed with AIDs? It was very unlikely that he was carrying pure AIDs from an AIDs lab, but was certainly the kind of person with enough AIDs naturally flowing in his blood that he could simply stick a syringe in his vein to produce a deadly close range weapon.

Luckily he became distracted by some outdoor chavs and entered into conversation with them. I took this opportunity to order some chips and begin my fleeing. As I tried to leave he cut me off once more and started telling me that I shouldn't have bought chips from here. In his defence, I had said to him earlier in the conversation that I'd buy them from somewhere else then, in order to stay in his good books. Had I crossed the line? Was I about to be injected with the AIDs? No, thinking on my feet I thrust 80p into his hand, his dirty, stinking hand. "It's only 80p" I said "It's all I've got"."£1.80?" He asked"No, just 80" I said. Was it enough to pass? Was it game over for poor old me? No, he accepted it with joy and let me catch my train. Someday a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets.