Monday, 27 November 2006

Bus Bams

A couple of classic bams on the buses home from work on Friday night.

The number 40 certainly is in the running for the most bamtastic bus in the city and it served up a right heed-the-baw on Friday.

A lad and his young lady got on along Maryhill Road. Already wound up, by a guy in the pub ‘staring at the burd’ it was pretty clear that it wouldn’t take much to get him started.

And start he did, on a couple up the back, claiming that the girl had been talking big about some ‘kid-on hardman’ that he knew. Of course she hadn’t, and she attempted to explain this to him, in her Kelvinside accent.

Our bam preferred to treat this as a Maryhill-Parkhead dispute. They were from Maryhill he insisted and Parkhead boys could fight like fuck and would sort them out. He even went through the motions of taking his jacket off as his skanky ladyfriend held him back while also mouthing off at the couple.

It thankfully came to nothing as they got off a bit further up Maryhill Road. As Fraser pointed out though, someone was getting off him that night, most likely the bird.

On the bus from town back home there was a far more entertaining bam. The driver. From his accent he was obviously a Scouser. He attempted to rip the pish out of every second passenger.

He started off by dishing our general cheek to folk, about how many stops they intended travelling or how slowly he felt they were getting on the bus.

A young lad approached the driver clutching two tickets for Pink. Obviously heading for the SECC, he attempted to ask our boy where to get off.

“I don’t read Chinese mate.”

At the stop before the SECC, the driver gets out his carriage.

“Where are those boys for the Sec? Right get off here. You see that roundabout? Yeah? Okay, now walk round it three times. No mate. No mate. I’m joking.”

Every time he passed a girl he tooted his horn. However he was prepared to go further than that. “You’re not getting off now love are you?” he asked of one female passenger. “Cos I was going to ask you out.” He then printed out a ticket. “Stick yer number on that.” Amazingly she did.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked of one girl as she got off.

“Naw. But I think you have,” was her, probably quite accurate, reply.

“I’m only going to Partick station,” he told a bunch of women as they got on, when in fact the bus was destined for Drumchapel.

“Aw right,” they said as they got off the bus.

“I’m only jokin’ yer!”

Across the road from Kelvingrove, folk get on the bus, another guy asks, “What number are you?”

“61 mate.”

Except he wasn’t. It was a 9.

Instead of putting on the brakes at each red light, he chose to slow down, while activating whatever system they have for rocking the bus up and down.

“If you’re gonnie dae that, at least pit some music on,” shouted one of the women who had almost been duped by his Partick ploy.

“No bother,” said the driver as we were treated to a dance tune at full bung. “I’ve got some dirty ones as well. A bit early for that though.”

He made for a lot more entertainment that the nutter on the 40 that’s for sure.

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