As I’m sure you’ll know if you’ve ever caught a plane, or a Megabus to pretty much anywhere, arriving at a new destination is invigorating and exciting; but the actual travelling part of the journey is just a whole load of waiting, sighing, and looking at your watch. It’s boring, it’s long, and it leaves you with such a sore arse, that you contemplate ever sitting down again.
So what do you do to pass the time? Well, there’s only so much Eye Spy I can handle before I start wanting to punch the Spyer in the face (anger issues, working through them), so I’ve found that a great pastime is just to tell your funniest stories to any willing listener. Which is all well and good, except my “funniest” stories always seem to include a bodily function gone horribly wrong, and my friends are left thinking I’m Little Miss Disgusting afterwards…
Which is why, dear reader, I thought I’d share them with you instead! Brace yourselves, this ain’t gonna be pretty.
This particular story was rehashed recently on an especially long train journey from Budapest to Prague, where I was dying for a wee but too afraid to brave the dreaded toilet cubicle. My travelling buddies were perplexed as to why I didn’t just get up and go, so I let them in on a harrowing previous experience, which has basically scarred me for life…
(Dream sequence music and accompanying smokescreen)
Picture the scene. I’m travelling solo on a train from London to Worcester, to attend a work conference over the weekend. I’ve jumped on a train straight after working in the city, so have naturally just chowed down on a meal deal picnic, and sunk a couple of travelling G&Ts (don’t judge me, it was Friday). My bladder is the size of a walnut, so of course it was only a matter of time before I had to unload, and when that time came I did the classic “Can you watch my stuff?” gesture to my neighbour (which I always wonder if that person would actually fight a thief to the death to respect their unspoken oath), and trotted off to the toilet.
Got there, locked the door, and immediately was smacked in the face with a horrible smell – I’m talking, the scent of something that had died right there in that rancid little room – but just went with it, accepting that this was a train toilet, and not the Ritz. Just as skin touched metal, the train started shuddering violently. I looked up to the heavens, praying that my death was not going to take place in a derailed train toilet, and that’s when I saw it.
There, on the coat hook on the back of the door, was a giant, pointy, turd.
This is not a joke.
Obviously mid-flow and not able to move at that current moment, I just watched in horror as the bloody thing was shaking all over the place and threatening to throw down at any second. I genuinely did not know how to act or what to do about it, but to stare on in horror, wondering how the situation would pan out if it actually fell on me and I had to walk back to my seat, in shame. What would people think?! Would they help? Would they wonder if this was a regular occurence for me? Would they watch on through horrified side-eye as I tried to act like all was groovy?
Thankfully, it didn’t fall, and I made it out relatively unscathed – apart from my piece of mind. I scuttled back to my seat in utter bemusement, wondering how the hell it got there, how long it had been there, and WHO ON EARTH thought that would be a good idea. I actually tried making eye contact with fellow passengers to see whether I could read in their face if they had experienced this too. Here’s my theory:
Some charming human being, obviously as disgusted as I with the state of train-company-that-I-won’t name’s cleanliness, decided to stage a semi-violent protest to draw attention to this. But how far could they take it, whilst also remaining anonymous? That’s when they had their lightbulb moment – crap all over what they know and love (quite literally), and do it in their own home. Brilliant, hit ‘em where it hurts. Up yours train company! And they did their sniggering victory dance off to the toilet.
(End of dream sequence)
I don’t know how much I actually believe in this theory, it was probably the work of a self-proclaimed “bantersaurus”, but I would very much welcome yours. I did, on the other hand, send visual evidence straight away to a friend so that there was proof to back up this story – because I like to terrorise my contact book, and I am a terrible, terrible friend.
And that’s it for this week kids, one for you to take away and think about. Stay tuned to this category for more turd-riffic tales that we’ll be reminiscing about on the road – and do give me a shout if you have any insights into what the crappin’ hell could have inspired this event.
Even better, if YOU were the angry train toilet user, contact me immediately. We need to talk.