Creepy Takeaway From This Story: You Were Too Old For Him

, , , , | Friendly | August 28, 2019

(I am waiting at a bus stop one day, answering work emails and messaging my family on my phone, when a man about twenty years older than me sits beside me, so close that our arms are touching. I scoot as far away as I can. I am not one of those people who enjoys small talk with strangers, especially when I’m already doing something else.)

Old Man: “I don’t bite.”

Me: “I don’t like sitting close to strangers.”

Old Man: “Surprised you knew I was there at all, you’re so into your phone.”

Me: *sighs* “Yup.”

Old Man: “You’re so invested you probably only knew I was here when I touched you.”

Me: “Yup.”

Old Man: “You see? You kids can’t even home a proper conversation!”

Me: “My mother taught me not to talk to strangers.”

Old Man: “You’re being rude! Kids these days ought to–”

Me: “I’m 31. Quite far from a ‘kid.’”

(He sputtered a few more nonsensical words before huffing and resigning himself to silence. When the bus came, he didn’t even board; he just got up and walked away.)

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Strolling Into Reverse Bigotry

, , , , , , , | Friendly | May 23, 2019

(I’m waiting for a bus with several other people. There is a lesbian couple who are getting quite affectionate while they wait. They have a young girl with them in a stroller. I notice the young girl break loose from the belt and climb out of the stroller, with the intent of petting a dog who belongs to another person waiting. As she climbs down, she manages to unlock the brake and the stroller starts rolling away from us and down the hill. There is a busy road at the bottom. I decide to tell the couple.)

Me: *tapping one of them on the shoulder* “Excuse me, your—“

Woman #1: *turn looking disgruntled* “Do you mind? We’re BUSY!” *turning back*

Me: “I just thought—“

Woman #1: *turning around again* “You just thought you’d try and stop us? Well, it’s not going to work. It’s a free country, and if I want to snog my girlfriend, I can. You just have to sit there and take it.” *flips me off*

Woman #2: “Yeah, f*** off, you homophobe!”

(They turn back to each other and start getting really into their session, to the point of mimicking orgasms. My friend, who has said nothing at this point, decides to intervene after we see the stroller get run over by a bus. Had the girl been in there, she probably would have been killed.)

Friend: “EXCUSE ME!”

Woman #1: “Another gay hater! Well, you can fu—“

Friend: “We just thought you’d like to know that your stroller, the one with your daughter in it, the one you should’ve been paying attention to, has just been driven over by a bus!”

(Both the women look to the spot where their stroller was and turn pale.)

Woman #1: “Oh, no!”

Me: “Your daughter’s fine; she climbed out before it rolled the hill.” *pointing to the girl and the dog*

Both Women: “WHY THE F*** DIDN’T YOU TELL US?!”

Me: “I tried—“

Woman #1: “No, you didn’t! I bet you wanted to see my poor girl die, just because I’m a lesbian! You make me f****** sick!”

Me: “What?!”

Woman #1: *getting out her phone and dialing 999* “F*** YOU!”

(My friend then grabs my head and smacks his lips against mine. I’m a guy, too, and neither of us is gay. He holds my hand after he stops. The women stare at us, dumbfounded, and we can hear the emergency operator trying to get their attention on the phone.)

Friend: “No, he didn’t. He was trying to be a nice guy. But you decided to s*** all over him with your vitriol.”

(Both women stare in horror at realising that we must be together before grabbing their daughter and fleeing down the hill after the stroller, which has now attracted quite a crowd. I turn to my friend. We’re still holding hands.)

Me: “I suppose that was one way to deal with the situation.”

(He let go of my hand and caressed my cheek before winking seductively. We then burst out laughing at how awkward it was.)

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They Can’t Throw You Under The Bus

, , , | Right | March 4, 2019

(The hotel where I work is also the long distance bus depot. We very clearly state that the bus hours are from nine am to five pm. However, if the person working the front desk is trained they’ll often do bus-work after hours provided we aren’t busy. Since I work primarily the graveyard shift I’ve never been trained on how the bus works. I am working afternoons, and at seven pm I get a fax and a phone call. The woman on the other end wants me to use the fax to purchase a special ticket and fax it back to her.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know how to do that for you.”

Caller: “I’ve done it before. Just give me the ticket?”

Me: “I’m sorry. Bus hours are nine am to five pm. You will have to wait until tomorrow to get the ticket.”

Caller: “This has always worked in the past and only takes a few minutes.”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but I haven’t been trained on the bus, so I don’t know how.”

Caller: “Is someone else there who knows how?”

Me: “Sorry, I’m the only person here.”

Caller: “Can you call someone?”

Me: “No. I cannot.”

(This goes on for five minutes.)

Caller: “Are you new?”

Me: “No, but I mostly work the night shift, not nine to five, which is when the bus depot is open.”

Caller: “What’s your name and when will [Owner] be in?”

Me: “My name is [First Name only]—“ *which just makes her angrier* “—and the owner will be in around nine, when the bus depot is open. Have a nice night. Goodbye.”

(I don’t think I have much to worry about when I go into work tonight.)

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Direction Deflection

, , , , , | Friendly | January 31, 2019

(I am waiting for the bus. As soon as it comes into view, a young man approaches me.)

Man: “Excuse me, miss. Do you know if this bus goes to [Direction]?”

Me: “Yeah, sounds about right.”

Man: “Great! Thanks.”

(He got on the bus with me. Two hundred meters later, at the next stop, he jumped out of his seat, sprinted across four — thankfully empty — lanes to the other end of the intersection and got on a different bus… going in the opposite direction. I was left confused.)

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On The Bong Side Of The Law

, , , | Friendly | October 5, 2018

(I am heading to the bus stop with my girlfriend, and right when I get there I see a guy carrying a four-foot bong. I turn my head and stare because, well, it’s not every day you see someone casually strolling down the street with four feet of drug paraphernalia. He sees me staring and turns to face me.)

Guy: “Forty bucks and it’s yours.”

(Since I do smoke, and it IS a very nice piece, I figure, “What the h***?” and take out my wallet.)

Me: “I only have thirty.”

Guy: “Sold!”

(I hand him the money, he hands me the bong, and a couple minutes later I’m on the bus home. I feel a bit self-conscious hauling this thing back home, but again, “What the hell?” Then I notice a price tag near the top.)

Me: “Hey, this still has a price tag on it, for $140.”

Girlfriend: “Looks like you got a real good deal, then.”

Me: “I… I think… did I just buy a stolen bong?”

Girlfriend: “Oh… Yeah, I think you did.”

(Afterward, I did try looking up if any head shops had had a break-in, but couldn’t find anything. I eventually got rid of it, because as neat as it was, it was completely impractical for someone who only smokes a couple times a month.)

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