The Megabus Passenger Straight Out of Hell

Candid shot of Callum and Maurice.

*Originally posted on my blog at http://www.emmieleey.com/2015/05/the-megabus-passenger-straight-out-of.html*

So, last Friday Callum and I travelled from London to Brussels by Megabus. Why? Obviously not for the comfort and luxury! One, because it was really cheap and two, because it got us from A to B with minimal stress, the idea being that we'd sleep overnight on the Friday and arrive Saturday morning feeling "refreshed" (HA!) and raring to go for a full day of sightseeing. 

A lot of people looked at me in horror and physically recoiled when I said we were going by Megabus, but it really isn't that bad and at the end of the day you get what you pay for. 

How bad could it actually be anyway?

The answer: pretty fucking bad.

Within two seconds of setting foot on the coach it became very clear that the individual you end up sitting behind can really make or break a journey. 

Spoiler alert: you won't need two guesses to tell what kind of person we were sat behind!

For this anecdote's sake, let's call him Maurice. 

Now, Maurice was the Apex predator of the London to Brussels Megabus. He had a face like thunder and attitude to match. He was a cold blooded Belgian killing machine that could put you on the ground with nothing but a stare. 

He was a Grade 1 Listed Asshole.

The first time we laid eyes on Maurice, he was sat broadly in the aisle seat of a busy coach with his bag taking up the entirety of the window seat next to him to make double-sure that no one could sit there.

Once we had taken our seats on the row behind him, Maurice wasted no time in reclining his seat as far back as it could possibly go and I am not exaggerating when I say that he reclined it so far back that his balding head was just inches away from Callum's disgusted face; so close that, if he had wanted to, he could have counted every single hairless follicle on Maurice's scalp without even having to lean in.

Not long after cutting off the circulation in Callum's legs, Maurice decided to branch out into new horizons by tossing his bag on the floor and moving to the window seat (the one in front of me) because apparently one seat just wasn't enough for this fucker. He proceeded to recline that one as far back as it would go too - let's take a moment to remember that his DISUSED seat had been left fully reclined, nicely crushing Callum's knees - and I did what any sane British person would have done in that situation: said absolutely nothing and avoided all unnecessary human contact. 

Smooth.

For the next hour or so, Maurice clambered from seat to seat, snoring loudly wherever he sat until finally we boarded the ferry at Dover. This gave us chance to stretch our legs, have a wander, and soon enough forget all about Maurice and his tyrannical attitude towards personal space. Be that as it may, it didn't stop us from leaping at the opportunity to adjust Maurice's TWO SEATS and pull them forward when we realised we'd made it back to the coach before he had.

Victory was ours! Fuck you, Maurice!

Unfortunately, we had severely underestimated Maurice's ability to take a hint and this man was like a bull to a red rag. He swaggered down the aisle and before he had even sat his ass down he'd clocked that his seats had been tampered with. Fury filled his black eyes and he threw himself down into his aisle seat and with all the force of a rampant animal he cast it back into its fully reclined position, but did he stop there? Oh, HELL, no. In what can only be described as a repeated thrashing motion, Maurice hammered his chair back as far as it would go, to the point that it actually broke. Triumphantly, he turned his head round like an owl and gave us a chilling look of pure rage - a look I hope is never directed my way ever again. 

What came next was unexpected. Like a madman, Maurice started tinkering with the bottom of his chair until he'd worked out how to move the seat sideways - SIDEWAYS! This is the man that already had two Goddamn seats to himself! How could he possibly want more width?! With one last side glance of glee, Maurice shifted his seat a couple of inches further into the aisle, pulverising Callum's leg in the process. 

Maurice had won, but at this point we didn't even care anymore. We were done. This is the kind of shit you just can't make up; the kind of shit you just have to let slide.