Showing posts with label poo bus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poo bus. Show all posts

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Day 1014: All you need is a dead parrot and you've got yourself a sketch

I've written before about catastrophic fuck-ups made by the local transport services in Sweden and even though I risk turning my blog into an unending rant about how piss poor communication is for passengers in the event of a service problem I feel like I have to share what happened today on a seemingly innocent replacement bus.

Now, it might not be as stupid as last week when my bus driver terminated early and ordered everyone onto the bus in front, which had done the same thing with its own passengers, before two completely empty busses drove off leaving a hundred or so very baffled commuters behind, but it probably could serve as a Monty Python sketch (or at the very least, a Benny Hill circular chase.)

Essentially what happened is that a vital tube line had a "power outage" (could be a code word, who knows) for a large portion of the route. When I went downstairs into the bus station as directed I could feel that there were a lot of very angry people wanting to get somewhere in a hurry. I don't really know where I got this mysterious feeling, but it may have had something to do with the two couples having a massive shouting match in the middle of a bus door about whose buggy got on first and is entitled to space. Or the crowd of people jostling to get on another replacement bus. Or the number of people shouting and swearing and cursing and yelling....bear in mind this was on a pleasant, sunny day in the middle of the afternoon and not in a blustery, miserable rush hour (if it had been, I would probably now be dead, judging by the patience levels of the people present).

I decided not to take the shouting-buggy-crazy-parents bus to the local train station, and opted for what I thought would be the safer choice, a rail replacement bus.

Oh how wrong I was!

First and foremost, I should have noticed that the bus driver had no idea what he was doing when he couldn't figure out how to close the doors. By the time he actually managed that, at least 20 additional overenthusiastic people had crammed themselves onto the bus. Some passengers were so angry about this that they began heckling, shouting and swearing at anyone who even looked like they might consider, maybe, turning their head towards the open doors. It was around about this time that I noticed there were two slightly, shall we say, unhinged people centred in the bus who wanted to complain, loudly, about things and get some feedback. Having worked in a library I have a wealth of experience with these kinds of people who, having nothing else to occupy them at around midday on work days, thrive in spaces with seating, warmth and plenty of people with nothing better to do that sit and listen and/or respond to them. Unfortunately, most other people don't have this wealth of experience and are like cannon fodder.

The part that these unhinged people enjoyed the most about the journey was when the driver took off in completely the wrong direction, heading north instead of south for 5 minutes along a road which only ended when you got to the roundabout to come back again. The driver, sensing that this was perhaps not the best thing to do with a bus full of very angry, very crowded nut-nuts, decided to tell everyone via intercom he had driven in the wrong direction because he was feeling stressed. This triggered a near riot and a scrum of know-it-alls shouting different suggestions for the best way to drive. Because, naturally, when you're stressed and driving a large vehicle, what you need is 30 different suggestions for the best route.

After what might have been the longest 20 minutes of my life covering ground that the usual train covers in 2 and standing in the middle of a crowd of people screaming either directions, complaints or "leave him alone he's stressed" we eventually arrived at the next tube stop. A good number of people chose this point to abandon ship, and I was relieved to see that the craziest were among them. But my relief was short lived since they were replaced by equally as crazy people. One man began punching the doors when the driver didn't follow his advice about what route to take. Although I was rather inclined to join him, since the route he had in fact taken was one that went twice around Raspberry Mountain, yes that really is a real place, rather clearly demonstrating that he had no fucking idea where he was. His response to the door-punching man's cries of "where are you going? why are you going here again!?" was to point one of the members of the scrum and say "he told me to go this way".

Eventually door-puncher was released from his bus-prison (which had many windows that were locked shut for some unfathomable reason) and the crowded bus calmed down a little bit. Just in time for a parade of old people with zimmerframes to come and try to find some space on the bus. Cue a host of aggressive and very warm (no windows, remember) passengers finding any excuse whatsoever to yell "help him! help her! stand up! move!" under a thinly veiled guise of helpfulness. At the next stop, I reached my tolerance limit for all the crazy, old, unhinged, hot, know-it-all or overly-helpful fellow passengers and managed to get a skeleton service train. At this point I had very much decided that the whole situation was almost a textbook definition of ridiculous and deserved a blog post. Unfortunately there was no way to take pictures of the events for the blog, so just imagine a bus full of angry people instead. I'll leave you with an image of Raspberry Mountain.

*Not the same Raspberry Mountain

Monday, 5 October 2015

Day 787: Plastic not so fantastic

Today marked the first day of the new rules in England forcing everyone to pay 5p for their plastic bags. Once again, as with the "Poo Bus" last year, I am left wondering how the hell England is so far behind environmentally. Well, I say that feeling all smug over here in Swedenland, but actually it turns out Sweden doesn't use that many fewer bags...

Source: BBC
God knows what the Czech are doing with their bags, making a fort? Brewing them into bag beer? Oh wait, I know, making LE FASHION.

 Katerina Smejkalova, Miss Czech Republic 2005

A hundred bags per year in Sweden? Really? I don't think I collected that many last year. But my boyfriend recently developed an obsession with reusable bags with cute print. He buys them "for me" you understand...

okay...he didn't buy ALL of them,
We do have a plastic bag full of bags in the cupboard though, which I am sure everyone has (unless you live in Finland or Denmark. There you have a plastic bag containing exactly 3 bags). What do Finns and Danes do when a friend visits and needs to carry something home? "Do you have a plastic bag I can use" "Piss off it's my last one". Reminds me of a Rolo advert. Do you love anyone enough to give them your last plastic bag?

What about when you run out of bin bags? Then what do you use? I guess a nation prepared enough to live life on the edge with only 4 plastic bags per year is also prepared enough to never run out of bin bags. This is something Brits will take some time to adapt to, culturally. We're not the most prepared folk, we'd rather just deal with the problems when they show up rather than pre-emptively tackling them.

"You've put asbestos in that wall"
-"Yeah we'll take it out when we find something better".

"Are you going to put insulation in that house?"
-"No we'll wait for people to move in and they can install it themselves".

"Let's make lots of nuclear power plants!"
-"What about the nuclear waste?" 
"Oh I'm sure we'll find something to use it for".

-"Is it a good idea to encourage dependency on Diesel fuel?"
"Sure why not! What's the worst that could happen?"

-"What will happen when you sell all those NHS contracts to private companies?"
"Only good things, I'm sure!"

And so on, and so forth. Perhaps this would be a good time to take some advice from the Danes? On this handy dandy website there are some top tips for how to avoid using excessive plastic bags, with such classics as "carry it yourself" and "make your child carry it". With the BBC already worrying on behalf of the pound shop who, poor them, will have to charge 5p increments instead of nice, round figures, I can only wish good luck with your reduced bags, England. I think you'll need it.