OFF THE BUSES
Take a Shit As told to Vaginia Discharge
WHERE would we be without our local bus service? This ingenious network is responsible for getting hardworking Brits from A to B and then back again each and every day.
Behind the wheels of these lumbering double-decker leviathans of the road are bus drivers: Humble, salt-of-the-earth folk who ferry us tirelessly around with a quiet, stoical dignity. Folk like RON CHEESEBOROUGH.
“Bus driving is my whole life,” says clinically obese Ron, who spent a whopping SIX WEEKS driving the east Yorkshire 401 service between Goole and Selby, via Snaith. “That’s why I was so crushed last week, when I was handed my P45 and escorted from the depot by force. At that moment, the bottom dropped out of my world.”
But bachelor Ron hadn’t been caught syphoning petrol or pilfering office supplies. Not this time. He simply had the misfortune to pick up some of Hollywood’s biggest stars.
“To see the Tinseltown celebs up there on the red carpet or silver screen, you’d think they were model citizens,” he says, shaking his head sadly. “But take it from me, as soon as they clamber on board the 401, they become amoral maniacs - and their back-seat hell-raising has cost me my livelihood.”
Now, Ron has opted to tell his incredible story in the hope that his employers might read it, drop all pending criminal charges and maybe even offer him back the job he loves. TOP GUN TOM WAS OUT OF (CRUISE) CONTROL As the death-defying star of the
Mission: Impossible movies, TOM CRUISE is famous for keeping his cool on plane wings and skyscraper ledges. However, Ron recalls that the diminutive megastar well and truly lost it when he boarded the 401 to Selby... It was my first week on the job,” Ron recalls, opening a medicinal can of Special Brew to help steady his nerves. “I’ve had a bit of bother holding down steady employment over the years, due to minor brushes with fighting, drinking, gambling and sex addiction, but behind the mighty wheel of my 401, I felt like a new man.
I was pootling along my regular route one afternoon, when I stopped to pick up a load of kids from the stop outside Rawcliffe Comp. It was the usual gang of teenagers, and I barely gave them a second glance as they climbed on board, flashing their passes at me as they made their way to the back seat. Imagine my surprise when I spotted a familiar face in the middle of the pack ... Hollywood heart-throb TOM CRUISE! My first instinct was to ask the Top Gun superstar what on earth he was doing on Snaith Road on a wet Wednesday afternoon, but I’m a bus driver first fifirst and a blockbuster movie fan second, so I remained professional and simply offered him a curt nod as he approached my window.
The pint-sized icon flashed his buspass and shuffled to the back of the bus with the rest of the kids. Well, when you’ve been a driver for as long as I have - about two days at that point - you develop a sort of sixth sense that tells you when something’s not quite right. And there was something about the way Cruise had been holding the little vinyl wallet - with his thumb over the photograph - that immediately set alarm bells ringing. I opened the cab door and strolled down the bus aisle to where Tom was sitting and asked him if I could have a closer look at his pass.
He held it up, once again keeping his thumb firmly over the photo. I tried to take it from him to examine it, but he was gripping it firmly, refusing to let go. Eventually, after a short tussle and a brief exchange of blows and a karate chop, I managed to grab it out of his hand. There on the pass was a photo of an old lady - it was his mam, Ada Cruise. I confronted the Cocktail star with the evidence and he gave me some yarn about how he must of picked up his mam’s pass off the side instead of his own on his way out of his Bel Air mansion that morning.
Well, if I had a pound for every time one of the schoolkids has tried to pull that old trick on me, I’d have more money than the Rainman actor himself. And needless to say I don’t. In fact I’m on the bones of my arse.
I told Cruise in no uncertain terms that he’d have to pay the full fare of £1.50 or get off the bus. It was a straight choice; cough up or ship out. But he just sat there with his feet up on the seat and cheeked me off, while the other kids laughed and egged
“A-Listers cost me my job,” fumes sacked driver Ron Cruise sat with his feet up on the seat and cheeked me off, while the other kids laughed and egged him on.
Theron kept shouting and banging on the glass.
him on. Well I wasn’t taking that off anyone, let alone an Oscar-winning star of the silver screen. I’m a pretty big bloke - 31 stone to be precise - and after another brief struggle during which I defended myself using reasonable force, I managed to manhandle Cruise to the door and off the bus.
In all the excitement, Tom had had a nosebleed and lost a tooth, and as I pulled away from the kerb he gave me a proper mouthful. ‘I’ll get you, you fat bastard,’ he screamed. And worse. ‘You’re dead, mister’ he shouted. ‘You’re fucking dead!’ In the bus-driving business, you quickly learn to take these kind of threats with a pinch of salt. I flicked him the Vs, closed the doors and drove off.
When I got back to the depot, my gaffer Mr Bridges was waiting for me with a face like thunder. Apparently there had been a complaint that I had hit one of the kids from the comprehensive. I wasn’t worried. I knew the CCTV footage of the bus’s security camera would vindicate me, and show Mr Bridges that I had merely acted in self defence after being attacked by Tom Cruise. But unfortunately the tape recorder had somehow got smashed and all the tape had been ripped out and scrumpled up.
It was my word against Cruise’s. I couldn’t prove my case, but crucially neither could the Jerry Maguire star. Mr Bridges warned me he’d be watching me like a hawk from now on. I put the whole sorry episode down to experience and prepared to get on with my life.
CHARLIZE A JOLLY BAD FELLOW
Ron might have expected that his run-in with Cruise would be the only time he would go toe-to-toe with a member of the Tinseltown glitterati, but he was soon to be proved wrong. The very next day, I was heading down Snaith Road and I saw a blonde piece at the stop outside Costcutter put her hand out for my bus. I pulled up neatly by the kerb, the doors hissed open and the woman climbed on. Imagine my surprise when I realised who she was - none other than glamorous Devil’s Advocate star, CHARLIZE THERON. She handed over her fare and made her way up to the top deck. I presumed that, as a major Hollywood star, she’d want to keep her head down and simply get to wherever she was going with the minimum of fuss or bother. But it turned out I was wrong. Very wrong.
Things started going awry as I passed Gowdall Lane and noticed a sharp, repetitive pinging sound coming from upstairs. I looked in the observation mirror to see the
Prometheus actress smirking at me down the top deck periscope whilst jabbing at the request stop bell over and over again.
Now I’d encountered this kind of moronic behaviour before, usually around the time the schools got out, and I knew full well that attentionseekers only act up because they want to be confronted. Keeping this in mind, I ignored Theron’s pathetic antics and focused firmly on the road ahead. And surprise, surprise, after twenty-odd minutes of pressing, she lost interest and stopped. I had forgotten all about the incident until, as we were passing the North Duffield Methodist Church on Brigg Street, I heard the patter of footsteps coming down the bus stairs.
‘Mister?’ Theron yelled, as she banged loudly on the glass partition. ‘Mister? Hello? Mister?’
I couldn’t believe it. There was a sign literally six inches from the
Mighty Joe Young star’s nose that clearly read: ‘DO NOT speak to the driver while the vehicle is in motion’. But still Theron kept shouting and banging on the glass. Furious, I brought the bus to a juddering halt at the first place I could pull in, which happened to be outside a betting shop on Mill Lane.
I told Theron in no uncertain terms that unless she sat back down and stayed there, this bus was going no further. Hollywood star or no, I knew I had a strict timetable to keep to, but Theron was putting my passengers’ safety in jeopardy. It was a point of principle and I was certain Mr Bridges would understand.
After a Mexican stand-off which lasted nearly three hours, during which the other passengers had grudgingly disembarked, Theron finally yielded. ‘Sod you, then, I’ll walk the rest of the way’, the Mad
Max - Fury Road star sneered as she stepped off.
Feeling chuffed with my victory, but eager to get straight back on with my route, I nipped into the bookies for a quick wee. However, when I came back out seconds later, my supervisor Mr Bridges was standing in my bus with a face like thunder, demanding to know what I was doing in a betting shop and why the 401 was more than three hours behind schedule.
I tried to explain that I’d been engaged in an ethical deadlock with one of Hollywood’s most beautiful actresses, but he simply wouldn’t listen to reason. He gave me a “proper dressing down and placed me on probation. From that moment on, I told myself to be extra wary of picking up A-List passengers.
ROCKY JOURNEY HAD TO BE TERMINATED
After his experiences in the previous few days, Cheeseborough’s guard was well and truly up when it came to allowing Tinseltown legends onto the 401. However, he got the shock of his life a few weeks later, when TWO of Hollywood’s toughest icons managed to sneak aboard illicitly...
It was my last journey of the day, and I was just pulling out of Pinewood Drive when I noticed two big, burly figures slip through the back doors without paying. I squinted into my mirror, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realised who they were - none other than SYLVESTER STALLONE and ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER.
Now I can’t abide fare-dodging, but I recalled all too well what had happened when I’d attempted to lay down the law with other stars. So I decided to play it cool this time, just carry on with my route, and then confront the pair when they got off. However, as the journey progressed, it became clear that them wagging the fare was the least of my problems; because the Eighties icons were each getting stuck into a big bottle of White Lightning cider, and graffitiing the seat-backs with a Sharpie.
When I saw what was going on I was incandescent with rage. Arnie and Sly were the only passengers left on board, so I pulled into a layby and marched straight to the back of the bus. I told the Expendables stars in no uncertain terms that they each owed me £1.30 fare, and they’d be scrubbing that bloody graffiti off the seat backs themselves when we got back to the depot.
‘Oh yeah?’ Arnie drawled in his thick Austrian accent. ‘Are you going to make us, then, mister?’ Sly took out the pen again and readied himself to unleash another crudely drawn representation of a naked woman lying on her back.
‘I’m warning you, Sly,’ I muttered. ‘My supervisor will go bananas.’ He grinned mischievously and scrawled ‘MR BRIDGES IS A FAT BALD TWAT’ in huge letters across the back window. How on earth he knew that my gaffer was called Mr Bridges - let alone that he was fat and bald - I will never know. But he did, that much is certain.
‘That’s a step too far, lads,’ I said, taking my hat off and rolling up the sleeves of my jacket. ‘No-one insults my supervisor on my watch.’
Sly and Arnie drew themselves up to their full height, and I realised with
sinking feeling that my love of the East Yorkshire bus network - along with my unwavering respect for my superiors - had just caused me to pick a fight with Rocky and The Terminator themselves.
Now I’m not bad in a dustup - I served various sentences in the Eighties and Nineties for aggravated GBH, none of which were my fault - but this was me against two of the world’s hardest fighters. A couple of punches to the head and I was spark out on the floor of the bus.
When I came to the next morning, Arnie and Sly were gone. In their place, Mr Bridges was standing over me with a face like thunder, looking at the empty cider bottles, the offensive graffiti and the marker pen that Sly must have planted in my hand. Needless to say, he put two and two together to make five. I tried to explain, but he gave me a final, written warning, and ordered me to scrub the bus clean of obscene graffiti in my own time.
Nursing a sore head - and a heavily bruised ego - I swore that never again would an A-Lister clamber on board the 401.
OBSCENE SHEEN CAUSED DOUBLE DECKER FUSS
Through no fault of his own, Cheeseborough was now on perilously thin ice in his beloved new job. But little did he know that his next brush with a silver screen legend would cause that ice to start cracking beneath him... “I was taking the 401 back to the depot one evening. It was absolutely chucking it down and I was passing that abandoned building on Rawcliffe Street, the one people in the pub say is a knocking shop, when I spotted three figures frantically trying to flag me down. Now, the bus was technically out of service, but I couldn’t leave these poor souls to get soaked through. Good Samaritan that I am, I stopped to offer them a ride back to the garage with me.
However, as soon as they boarded, I saw this was no ordinary trio. The first fififirst figure fififigure pulled back his anorak hood to reveal he was none other than
notorious Hollywood hell-raiser CHARLIE SHEEN SHEEN. And his two companions were scantily clad prostitutes.
Sheen asked if I would drive the three of them to the nearest hotel, but I killed the engine and told him in no uncertain terms that I was not moving an inch until he and his ladies of the night had disembarked. The Two And A
Half Men bad boy just grinned: ‘No problem, we’ll just have our no-holdsbarred sex orgy right here.’
His good-time girl associates began undressing, quickly stripping down to their underwear. I didn’t know where to look. At that moment, the Hot Shots icon got an urgent call from his agent and hopped off the bus to take it. I was left alone with the two working girls, but as I marched over to try and eject them, my belt somehow became snagged on the luggage rack, causing my trousers and pants to fall down around my ankles. And my shirt to come off.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Mr Bridges’s appeared at the bus door with a face like thunder. I realised full well how this entirely innocent situation must have looked to him, but unfortunately he wouldn’t listen to reason. He sacked me on the spot.
As I was escorted from the depot later that evening, with my P45 and cardboard box of magazines out of my locker, I realised that my depraved A-List passengers had lost me the only job I’d ever truly loved. Right there and then I vowed that never again would I board a bus, or watch a big screen blockbuster, as it would simply be too emotionally painful.
NEXT TIME: Ron gets a new job as a conductor on the Blackpool tramway, but is sacked within five hours after Brad Pitt, Scarlett Johansson and Morgan Freeman steal his money belt and use the cash to back a horse which loses even though someone in the pub who knew the jockey’s brother had told them it was definitely going to win.
A couple of punches to the head and I was spark out on the floor of the bus.