The very, very worst embarrassing travel moment was related to me by a young man we were dining with some years ago. His name was Reggie and he bore a striking resemblance to Tommy Steele, the fifties musical star, and the twinkle in his eyes always led me to wonder whether his story was true, but he swore to me on his poodle’s life he was telling me the truth.
Reg worked for a merchant bank in the City and commuted from Sussex each day. Most days his journey went without incident but on this particular Friday Reggie’s wife was expecting several for dinner and he had been warned not to return home at all if he missed his train.
Reg had spent most of a liquid lunch break in the pub and had consumed rather too many pints of ale accompanied by a packet of cheese flavored crisps, two bags of peanuts and a portion of tortilla chips dipped in extra hot and spicy chili sauce.
His immediate superior at the bank had called him into his office just as he was on his way out of the door to catch his train. By the time Reg had escaped from his boss’s office, the queue for the elevator had grown to gargantuan proportions so he decided to attempt the staircase marathon.
Reg bounded down sixteen flights of stairs and arrived in the lobby out of breath and feeling a slight discomfort in his bowels. He straightened his tie, adjusted his bowler hat and proceeded to power walk through the rush hour crowds, against the clock.
He was halfway to the train station when he experienced a colonic aberration which brought him to a dead halt, causing several shoppers to collide with him and a dozen plastic shopping bags to scatter the pavement with a variety of groceries. A horrified Reg inched his way to the doorway of the nearest Gents Outfitters, ignoring the abuse now being hurled at him by the owners of the scattered groceries and hoping to slide into the shop without drawing too much attention to himself or indeed to his now nasty poo smelling trousers.
‘Can I help you Sir?’ asked an unctuous salesman dressed in cashmere and obviously completely poo free tailored suit.
‘Pair of dark grey trousers, 34 inch waist, 32 inch leg, any price, within two minutes please,’ stuttered Reg desperately.
‘Certainly, Sir, would you come this way to the fitting rooms?’‘
No, just pack them quickly, or I shall miss my train, hurry up man!’
Mr Cashmere Suit wandered over to the rails, selected a pair of trousers, slowly put them into a large and elegant carrier bag, and then began to chat with his junior assistant. Reg was by now wild with indignation and humiliation as several customers began to edge their way down the counter to escape the unpleasant aroma wafting from the general region of Reggie’s underpants.
When the Cashmere suit finally arrived back at the counter, Reggie grabbed the bag, paid the extortionate bill without waiting for his change, and ran headlong out of the shop before he could encounter anyone he knew. Trying to ignore the unpleasant trickling sensation coursing down his right leg, Reg threw himself through the barriers at the train station and pounced through the train doors, red faced and perspiring.
He thankfully bolted himself into the nearest toilet and leaned gratefully against the wall, praying the train would leave the station on time. At last Reggie’s prayers were answered, the train left the station exactly forty seconds later and poor old Reg was finally able to peel his disgusting and evil smelling trousers and underpants off. He waited for just one minute, until the train was safely away from the platform, then he rolled the trousers and underpants up into a foul smelling parcel and expertly threw them out of the window, across a grassy bank and into a field.
Reg cleaned himself up as best he could manage in such a small space, and then reached for his carrier bag. Inside was a ladies pink angora cardigan featuring pink pearl buttons.
Reg gagged in panic and horror. He glared at the cardigan and rummaged in the carrier bag again, hoping to find his trousers miraculously nestling beneath the cardboard lining on the bottom. Nothing. Reg sat down upon the toilet and tried to think what he could do.
He removed his jacket and tried to fashion a pair of trousers out of it by pushing his legs through the sleeves and buttoning the jacket down the front but he could not cover enough of his modesty with the meager four buttons available; then he nearly knocked himself out on the wash basin when he overbalanced trying to get his legs back out again.
He fashioned a diaper out of his shirt and then tried the whole ensemble on again, wearing his jacket on top and his shirt tied dhoti style in back and like a sarong in front. He looked like an imbecile he decided. There was nothing for it but to ask for help. Gingerly, Reg opened the door of the toilet.
Beyond the next carriage, he could spot a fellow passenger in an otherwise deserted area stowing an overnight bag onto the overhead cradle. Checking the corridor in both directions, he sidled out into the unknown, the sleeves of his diaper trailing behind him. Just as Reggie reached the door of the next carriage, he heard the sickening sound of the toilet door opening. He turned to see an elderly lady entering what Reggie now regarded as his private toilet. She slammed the door and Reggie’s heart sank to his stomach as his last hope of dignity in the face of disaster faded away.
He hurried to the next carriage and grabbed the arm of the man with the overnight bag.‘Please, I beg you; lend me some clothes’ he pleaded, as the man eyed his chalky legs up and down with distaste.
‘Sorry mate, I’m a student, my bag is full of books.’
Reggie crouched in the doorway of the carriage in despair, but then went weak with relief as he spotted the Guard making his way along the corridor.
Reg arrived home twenty minutes late, wearing the bottom half of a British Rail Guards uniform; and a ladies pink cardigan draped casually over one arm. He was fined £250 for traveling on British Rail without a valid ticket.
Jan Gamm writes reflections on life with an emphasis on world travel. She has lived in many countries and traveled extensively in the Far East, the Middle East, America, South America and throughout the South Pacific. She writes for fun and for money whenever she can manage it.