Sunday, 18 July 2010


One of the jobs we have to do more and more is festival transport. Stuff your bus with people at a train station or parking lot, take them to the site of the festival and drop them off. At night you do the reverse. And it's brilliant job. Really it is (insert the frowning of my eyebrows and the yucky look on my face here).

So far this year I've done Rock in the Park, a Christian festival and yesterday a hardcore house party (meaning a lot of boom boom, so not really music in my opinion). Well, from the moment the first people (read 17-year olds, which was the average age) walked up to the bus, I realised it wasn't going to be nice. And I was right.

Half way through my shift, I told someone to get off. He wanted to high five me. I refused. He then slapped me on the shoulder. I told him to get off. If I don't want to touch someone or be touched by someone, it means I don't want to be touched by that person. Especially if that person has already had a few.

By the time I had finished at five o'clock, the floor was covered with beer. I had removed about thirty empty (and not so empty) beer cans and red bull cans, one empty whisky bottle, sweets and other assorted mess. And I still had to clean out one of the small bins: someone had puked in it. At half past one in the afternoon!

I was happy I didn't have to do the night shift...


  1. Nope, it does not sound like a fun time.

  2. I guess 17 year-olds are just about the same everywhere -- at least in certain groups and situations.

  3. I saw that coming. Festival means beer, not so great on the bus after it's over. ((HUGS))


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