The Businessboy, or There and Back Again (London, Part I)

Being the professional businessboy that I am, I went on a business trip to London last weekend. These are the sorts of things that as a highly paid business administrator, I am prone to do. I had to go in for a meeting on Monday and I figured that since I was heading down to Olde London Towne, I should make a weekend of it. What I forgot to take into account, however, is that I am prone to bad luck. By prone by bad luck; what I really should say is that I am retarded. So, let me rephrase: I went on a business trip last weekend and forgot to take into account the fact that I am retarded.

I left in the early afternoon on Saturday. I decided to take the train. I wish I could say that I choose that particular mode or transport because I am a romantic and wanted to experience the joys of the English countryside whist smoking a cigar and drinking whiskey; but the only reason I took a train and didn’t fly was because I was too lazy to go online and get a plane ticket. So, I decided to take the train and my journey began.

I walked the mile and a half to the city centre, stopping in TK Maxx (yes, the discount clothiers here is called TK Maxx) to buy a dress shirt, before arriving at Glasgow Central Street Station. After arriving at the station and looked at the sign and had a sudden epiphany: Glasgow has two train stations and I was at the wrong one. To anyone watching me as I turned on my heals and hurriedly walked way from the train station, I must have looked like homosexual middle schooler who was confidently walking up to the cinema to see High School Musical 3; but then wimped out and the last minute and walked away before any of his friends could seen him.*

And so I found myself, again, at a train station. I bought my ticket and planned my route. I would go to Edinburgh (1.5 hours) and then non-stop to King’s Cross (5 hours). I didn’t think it would be too bad and I had recently been given a collection of sort stories from the Ender Series** and I was keen to read them. I got on the train and started reading. I was slightly perturbed when a smelly Scotsmen decided to sit next to me rather than take a seat in any of the empty rows further up the train and decided to just focus on my reading and listen to my iPod. This decision turned out to be my undoing, and the blame surly is partly shared by the smelly Scotsmen. I was so engrossed in my Ender readings that I didn’t notice that I was the only person sitting on the train and, in fact, the train was no longer moving. We had arrived in Edinburgh and I had absolutely no idea how long I had been sitting on the train by myself reading my book. I felt a bit foolish and rushed off the train fearing that it would soon leave the station.

I had 15 minutes until my next train and was waiting at the platform when I realised that in my haste I had left my bag on the train from Glasgow. I rushed back just in time to see it leave the station. (this is the part where I first remembered that I am retarded). I went to the station manager and told her that I had left my bag on the train and she phoned Glasgow to have them put it in the lost baggage area. Now, part of me just wanted to go on to London without my bag; but then I remembered that my suit and shoes were in that bag and I didn’t fancy buying another suit to wear to my meeting.
Now, Of course I did not have a return ticket; but being the resourceful person that I am I, snuck on another train that was bound for Glasgow. When it arrived I hid behind a woman with abnormally large hair to sneak past the gate guards and into the station. I was able to retrieve my bag from the lost property desk and sneak back on the train, this time by hiding behind a man selling balloons.

When I got to Edinburgh there was only one option for going Kings Cross. This journey involved not one, but two, trains and a bus. I got into London about a quarter past midnight. Yeah, I’m retarded; but the return trip was an even greater debacle.


* You all know that my thing about gay marriage was facetious right? I have gotten some strange comments from people.

** Fuck you, Orson.

Later days,