Tales From The 62 Bus - Number 4 - The Tooth, The Whole Tooth and Nothing But The Tooth

Since I am currently away on holiday enjoying myself, here's another tale from the 62 bus.

It was a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon, so I decided to go into the city centre to buy a new pair of sandals. Yes, I know - the World Shoe Mountain currently resides in my spare bedroom, but, well, you never can tell when that rumoured Slingback Shortage is going to occur, so, abiding by that old Girl Guide motto 'Be Prepared', off I trotted. (For the purposes of this tale, it's actually irrelevant that I was thrown out of the Girl Guides due to my reliance on my own personal motto 'Be a Pain in The Arse'.)

So there I was, sitting on the bus, gazing out of the window and listening to my ipod (The Clash if anyone cares). About half way into town, I noticed someone sitting down next to me. When I say 'I noticed' what I actually mean was 'I couldn't help noticing because he sat on my knee and breathed stale beer fumes all over me'. Oh good, that most annoying of Bus Pests, the Glasgow drunk. He apologised profusely. I mostly couldn't hear what he was saying due to the music so I I just smiled and turned away. Then he spoke to me again and I just nodded and smiled and looked out the window. So he tapped me on the shoulder and spoke again. I pointedly took out the earpiece from the ear on the Bus Pest side and said "Sorry?"

"Oh! Are ye listening tae music hen?"

"Yes."

"Whit are ye listening tae?"

"Just a mixture." (My patented method of getting rid of The Bus Pest is be brief, be polite, don't give them too much information, they'll only ask more questions).

"Is it some of that meatrocker music?" (OK, so my patented method needs a little work). "Ah'm an Elvis man maself. Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra... Ah'm no much o' a singer mind." I breathed a sigh of relief - thankful for small mercies - at least I wasn't going to be treated to a rendition of My Way. "Although, I dae a pretty guid Ma Way, if I dae say so maself." I cast about feverishly for a hole of swallow-me-up size, but luckily he decided not to sing.

In one way, I would have loved to have seen him sing. He had apparently recently been to the false Teeth Shop but was obviously in a hurry on teeth shopping day. I knew this because a) he had the most perfect set of top teeth (apart from the fact that they moved independently from his gums) and b) he had 2 yellow bottom teeth (and I don't mean he had two yellow bottom teeth in an otherwise perfect set. I mean he had only 2 bottom teeth, and they were bright yellow). Watching him speak was like watching a badly dubbed Hungarian film. When he finished speaking, his top teeth were still in motion - moving away from his gums, out over his bottom lip and, on a couple of really scary occasions they were sucked back into his mouth and disappeared towards his throat. I was mentally practising the Heimlich manouevre.

Instead he held out his hand "Ah'm Big Chick. Pleased tae meet ya hen. And you are?...."

"Donna", I said quietly.

"Did yez hear that?" he announced to the rest of the bus "The lassie's called Donna. Whit time is it Donna?"

"Ten past one."

"Ten past wan? Ten past wan in the MORNIN'?"

"Errrr.....no, afternoon" What, did he think Glasgow had sneakily moved locations while he was down the pub and was now situated in the land of the midnight sun? At that point, a woman got on the bus and he said to her "Dae ye want ma seat pal?" She shook her head and moved on, despite the pleading look I gave her. Big Chick leaned over to me and whispered (and, when I say 'whispered' what I actually mean is 'boomed loudly') "She's just jealous 'cos ah'm sittin' with you instaed o' her." Yes, I should imagine the whole bus was positively emerald green with jealousy at my good fortune by now. At least, those who weren't sniggering with glee at my predicament and increasingly red face.

"Where are ye fae' Donna?"

"Here. I live here."

Again, the annoucement of this titillating piece of information to the rest of the bus "Did yez all hear? Donna lives in Glasgae."

Someone up the back of the bus laughed. My Bus Pest turned round, taking his jacket off "Hey youse up the back - haud yer wheesht. Dae yis want tae fight me?" Luckily no one took him up on this. I say luckily because he then turned back to me and said "Ah'm a bouncer." Oh. Really. Since 'Big' Chick was less than 4 feet 6 inches tall and more than 104 years old, I found this a tad difficult to believe.

"Ah'm gettin' aff at the Sandyford." I breathed a sigh of relief. The Sandyford was a pub a couple of stops further up. "Are ye coming in? Ah'll see you right." I didn't know whether he meant for a drink, a fight or a lumber*, but frankly, I didn't want to ask.

"Errr, no, thanks all the same but I have to go into town."

"Okay hen, well you come in and see me on Monday. I'll be in the Sandyford fae' aboot 10 in the morning. It's a great wee boozer. It opens at 8am, so if ye get up and ye feel like a wee drink, ye can just stoat along."

Great. Hold me back.

Big Chick heaved himself out of the seat and walked to the front of the bus, turning round at the front to give me a last beery wave "Bye Donna hen. Ah'll have a wee pie and a pint waitin' fer ye on Monday mornin'."

Mmmmmm, can't wait.

Tales From The 62 Bus - Number 2 - West Side Story Glasgow Version

As I am still travelling, here's a lazy post. Following my 'snakes on a bus' experience here's an old tale from the number 62

We were out at a party and when we left it was impossible to get a taxi home as they were all aken. So we decided to wait for a bus. Now, this was a pretty bad idea anyway because after 10pm, Glasgow buses become an alternate universe where people talk to each other (but you
wish they wouldn't) and where no matter which bus you get on, where you're going, or what time after 10pm it is, you'll always be treated to a rendition of My Way ("hand naow, the hend is neeeeeeeeah"), somebody will be lying in the aisle snoring, sporadic fisticuffs will be breaking out at random and the air will be heady with the smell of fish and chips and beery belches.

Now, not only did we get on a bus after 10pm, but what we got was The Last Bus - a Glasgow experience that ranks only with typhoid on the list of Things To Be Avoided At All Costs. But there you go. We got on it. It was really crowded, so we had to stand up. And we immediately discovered a pitched battle going on between the front of the bus and the back of the bus. The main reason for this as we understood it (given that no-one was in the remotest bit comprehensible) was that someone at the back of the bus was ringing the bell over and over.

It was like The Sharks and The Jets. At the back of the bus was a group of neds in flammable shellsuits, and at the front was a group of elderly ladies who appeared to have put on sequins to go to the bingo. Both groups had been drinking heavily. Light the blue shellsuit and retire. I thought I'd stepped into a particularly Scottish version of West Side Story.

The air was thick with quaint anglo-saxon terminology - most of it, it has to be said coming from the elderly bingo-goers. Most of the insults I couldn't repeat here, but there's one which is a typically Glaswegian one which sounds innocuous but, when delivered with the right amount of sneering venom, is like a red rag to a bull "Hey you, ya tube". I'll leave you to imagine the rest. The neds were more or less restricting themselves to "You're not ma maw", "Naw, she's yer granny", and "Gie yersel' peace Methuselah" (this particular one was followed by a few moments silence as everyone digested the name, until someone piped up "Was Methuselah no' that baldy-heeded bampot who used tae play fer Dundee United?")

By this time, everyone on the bus had joined in the slanging match. The bloke standing (I use the term advisedly since he was swaying all over the place) next to us, was shouting over and over again at the top of his voice "Shut the f*** up ya wee nyaffs". I wasn't quite sure whether he was talking to The Neds or The Sequins and I don't think he did either. I, on the other hand, just wanted to sing "I feel pretty, Oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay, And I pity any girl who isn't me today", and then see the two halves of the bus break out into spontaneous dance, or at the very least, stand up without staggering. Meanwhile, in all this madness, the phantom belldinger of old Glasgow town was still at it.

The bus stopped and I looked out of the window. Hang on, this wasn't a scheduled bus stop. This was the police station. Excellent. Of all the crimes being committed all over Glasgow last night, we were in the middle of probably the most heinous. I could just see the headlines the next morning "Glasgow Revellers in Bus Bell Drama".