|pie, chips and quilted toilet tissue (standard:humor, 1860 words)|
|Author: ade||Added: Oct 24 2002||Views/Reads: 2043/1123||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A story of a teen who embarks on a trip from his dull home town to the big city of london. this is his journey.|
Adrian Byrne Pies, Chips and Quilted Toilet Tissue The lack of leg room, the constant chatter of old people and mad people a like. We are content reading our books and magazines or listening to our personal stereos, but no matter how hard we try we always end up talking about the weather or how Britain's youth are on a downward spiral with an old person. If you don't have an old person next to you, you are more than likely to have a very open person next to you and we get to hear all about their lives, whether their favourite food is pie and chips to whether they use quilted toilet tissue. Think yourself lucky if you sit down next to a young boy or girl who is content looking out the window, or if you sit next to somebody who has something even slightly interesting to talk about. Is this something you have experienced? I think it is something we all have. The bell rings for the end of school. What happens next is bigger and much more urgent then the gold rush, it's the rush to see whether you will get on the first Metro to town and in my case it's a must. I am lucky that I am bigger than most of the children, therefore I am able to use my superior height and strength to get nearer to the doors, and able to obtain a place on the first bus. I sit cramped up in my seat next to an irritating little child who looks about eight but is probably about thirteen. The fact that the boy is younger and smaller than me, still feels it necessary to hurl abuse in a lame attempt to impress his friends. Maybe he does have an older brother or a bigger dad, it doesn't mean that I am going to back down from giving him some abuse that will make him look small a stupid in front of his friends. I pick areas on him that are common use among insults, the fact that he has ginger hair is an immediate target area and the fact that his trousers are so short and tight that they could be a pair of cycling shorts. I leave him feeling stupid and yet surprised at my response. I wouldn't just insult anyone, it's that if someone can give abuse and can try and make someone look small they can receive it back. I hear nothing from the boy for the rest of the journey. I arrive in town. I am half an hour early so I proceed to the nearest shop. I get some appropriate reading material, in the shape of Kerrang! a rock and metal magazine. On the way to the counter I pick up a bottle of Coke, a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar. I am at the counter and I ask for twenty B and H. When I walk out of the shop a Big Issue seller confronts me. “Buy a Big Issue or I'll follow you home.” That is the funniest line any Big Issue seller has ever used. I buy a copy so I can read it on the coach as well as my copy of Kerrang! I commence my short walk to the bus bay. The sound of a mobile phone can be heard. O my God! There's more than one, it's the greasy slick Rick's, most probably called Trevor or Kevin. I am not being stereotypical, it's just that when you see them all the time you start to associate certain people with certain things, for example you always associate snazzy Dr Marten boots with art students. I light up a cigarette; I need to get my nicotine levels up for the journey ahead. Those bloody mobile phones. Don't get me wrong, everyone needs to find a tune that has a nice jingle, and yet retains your sophistication, I did it myself, but when there are five people going over every tune on their phone, each one double and triple checking each tune it starts to get a bit annoying. I light another cigarette. When I get on the bus I find a suitable place next to a window, although there is barely enough room to swing a gerbil let alone a cat. I sit reading one of my magazines. I immediately turn to the concert listings and see what is being said about tomorrows gig, there isn't much. All is fine and we are nearly at Cirencester, I have successfully flicked through about half the magazine. When we arrive at Cirencester I am asked if it is possible to move so a lady can sit next to her son. I oblige and sit next to a girl who is about five feet four inches, has long black hair and looks quite oriental. Click here to read the rest of this story (86 more lines)
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