i missed the bus (i wish)

From my previous blogs, I guess you can tell that I am rather “special” (read: weird) in my ways. This statement is of course for the benefit of those not familiar with my “madness” and its methods. Anyway, enough (wannabe) psycho-babble. Moving on swiftly, I’d like to welcome you to the first installment of “Chichi’s Classic Cock-Ups” a series I hope will be the first of many (series that is) different ones to come.

C3 (I like to call it) highlights some of the more questionable moments in my life, you know, those bashful moments I’d like to forget but would rather share with you for your amusement (hopefully) and in turn prompt future ridicule of me. So without further ado, allow myself to present… myself (so sorry, couldn’t resist as I think Austin Powers is simply groovy baby, yeah! Sorry) in:

Double Decker-dence

‘twas the summer of ’99. place: London, England. ‘twas a good time. ‘twas a special time. ‘twas a happy time. I miss that time. Being the nonchalant so and so I was (am really) with everything concerning my person, my boy Yozi decided to take matters into his own hands. He literally seized my vacation money and marched me down to Oxford Street to go shopping. My wardrobe was in need of a desperate overhaul, he said. Why, I wondered. What’s wrong with jeans hanging off my ass and sweeping the floor in the process as I walk by? What’s wrong with wearing scoffed (read: mutilated) Timberlands that are two sizes too big? What’s wrong with being the same size as Steve Urkel but wearing Fat Albert’s t-shirts? In my world back then (still quite the same now really), not a damn thing!

Anyhoo, we proceed on our journey to “woman emulation” but not before we wolf down some delightful Dunkin’ Donuts! (Chichi’s a big kid you see, so he has to be bribed to do these type things). Once the gluttonous overgrown seedling is satisfied, we proceed down the makeover road (way before reality television too). A few hours, few (gay) shirts, few (gay) pants, a pair of (gay) shoes and a few (ok, quite a few really) burgers later, the deed is finally done. To be honest though, I didn’t quite mind these new threads. They weren’t bad at all. Big up yourself Yoz.

To be completely modest (hee hee), I know I am a rather good looking chap and you can’t tell me otherwise. However, I like to be as obscure as possible, therefore have adopted the habit of trying not to look good to avoid attention. Ridiculous, eh? But I clearly am a ridiculous dude, no? if the shoe fits, yeah? So that’s why the hair (when there’s any) isn’t combed, the beard is unkempt and clothes un-ironed. Ok, to be totally honest, it has nothing to do with looking good; trying to look good or presuming I look good. It simply boils down to what I like to call laid back nonchalance but is really just laziness.

This is all irrelevant to the tale actually. I apologize. Moving on, after the tiring shopping exercise, all I wanted was my bed. It had been a long day of walking and trying on stuff. I was exhausted to say the least. So I and my good man parted ways and I began my journey to my brother’s house in Bow (East London massive! Bo! Bo!). I got on the bus and was relieved to put the heavy shopping bags down for a bit and rest my toothpick arms.

Upon getting onto my brother’s road, I recalled that I had a rather long walk from the only bus stop to his house, which was right at the top of the street at a T-junction. In my weary state, plus having all those bags, I was not looking forward to that at all. Being an open back bus, I figured the bus would have to stop at the T-junction before turning left, so I’d just hop off there, cross the road and bang, I was home. I got up, gathered my bags and leaned into the pole preparing for my dismount. I noticed the driver taking several glances at me through the rearview mirror but shrugged it off.

The bus began to grind to a halt, so I figured the earlier I made my move the better. I mean, why procrastinate, right? So I proceed to take one small step for man and one great fall for my dumb ass! SPLAT! Flat on my face. Bags and all. Sidewalk, Chichi. Chichi, sidewalk.

Here’s how it happened. As I stepped off the still moving bus, and my foot made contact with the floor for the briefest of moments, it (the foot obviously) gave way and I wait flailing and sailing into the air, parallel to the ground for a moment, before finally kissing concrete. Everything went dark for a while. I finally managed to separate my face from the floor and look up. I saw my arms sprawled in front of me in a “V” formation – with shopping bags still tightly gripped. I looked further ahead and there was the bus, stopping at the T-junction, before turning left. A few more seconds Chichi. Just a few more seconds. On the upper deck were two boys pointing to my pathetic state and laughing out loud (I swear I could hear them in hysterics). A car drove past me, full of people pointing and laughing as well. It was confirmed – I was a twat.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I got up and brushed the dirt off my shoulder (way before Jigga) and the rest of my clothes, then began the walk of shame home, never glancing sideways once. Eyes straight ahead! I put my key in the door, unlocked it and walked into the house. I muttered ‘hello’ to my brother and his housemate and walked up to my room, locked the door behind me and passed out for the night…

I guess I never really took heed to those molue* training videos that have one simple disembarking rule – hit the ground running! Now I know and hope you do too.

Moral of the story: Act like Spike and always do the right thing.

*for the ill-informed, a molue is a commercial bus, similar in make to the US school buses. They are falling apart, not at all roadworthy and always overloaded with passengers.

(Originally posted on May 17th, 2006)