Grim New Year for rail passengers - (Tim & Søren)

The station was packed with eager travellers waiting impatiently to get a start on the weekend. The clock was nearing the magical 1337 which would trigger the arrival of the train. I looked around. A sign that said: “Touching wires causes instant death. $200 fine” was neatly printed on the fence which separated the station from the rest of the world. An eagle soaring high above broke the uncomfortable feeling of impatience long enough for me to imagine the tranquillity of my destination. The train was here. We went up the steps in a line, carefully  “minding the gap” and found an adequate seat in the back of the train. Or so I thought. Not one minute later a woman walked in with her hysterical kid that kept screaming: “I hate you” to his mother. Apparently, the source of the dispute was that the mother had refused to get the kid a snack pack of a Nestlé “Kit Kat” bar. I came to think of the power lines the sign outside had warned me about. It could have been a convenient little accident. On the other hand, $200 is a lot of money. The inside of the train was decorated in a theme inspired by the painting “The Persistence of Time” by Salvador Dali. I was awakened from my trance caused by the interior by a woman asking me if the seat next to me was available. I said that it was and she sat down, reaching for something in her purse. I noticed that it was a Vogue lipstick and a book called “Blood Meridian”. Suddenly, the woman spoke to me: “Where are you going?” What kind of question was that? I felt like yelling: “I am on my way to JFK International because I shot my wife through the head with a Desert Eagle” but I chose the civilised way. “I’m going to Europe on business”. Before she could ask me anything further, we were interrupted by the sandwich cart and the lady pushing it asked if we wanted to purchase anything. I bought a sandwich with potato salad and red and brown onions.  It was quite despicable but I ate it. Suddenly, I was scared by a noise coming from a laptop computer. It turned out to be the brat from earlier who had put on a cartoon with Woody Woodpecker. On the laptop several stickers was put on.  I read “Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again” and “Need Prayer: The Best Position Is On Your Knees”. I looked out the window again and at the same time we passed a diner called “Nachos As Big As Your Ass”. We passed it by quickly so I could not be sure that it was the name. All of a sudden, the train brakes was on and we were yanked forward. We had just recovered when a man armed with hammer, power-drill and screwdriver came through. We got a message over the speakers that a pigeon had somehow caused a malfunction. To calm us down, they put some music on. It was a piece of music by “30 seconds to Mars”. God, will I ever get away?  

No need to be rude about it

Title:  No need to be rude about it.

 ‘Please use the tradesman’s entrance’, said the sign at the general stores.  Robin and I were looking for old tools.  We bought nails, a bucket, a hammer and a monkey wrench and a smashed road sign that read  ‘High Wycombe welcomes careful drivers’. Unfortunately, someone had driven into it.  We hoarded like a pair of magpies.  I don’t wish to crow, I said but… and showed Robin the ‘visa applications on Wednesdays’ sign that I’d nicked from the back of the British embassy in Calcutta. 

Six weeks later Uncle Nick picked us up at the station.

 ‘Let’s eat!  It’s lunchtime.  We’ll try the Sparrow and Tern, as it brews its own beer.  One’s called the Great Bear and the other,  Global Minority’, he said.  But no luck.  It was written in the signs: ‘No parking’ said the sign in the car park.  ‘No smoking’ said the sign in the entrance.  ‘No food Sundays’ said the sign in the bar. It was empty.  So we abandonned the abandonned microbrewery. 

What about the pub across the road? It’s called the King Edward but we call it The Smith and Western, as it sells Smiths ales and it’s on the Great Western.  Once nestled inside the cosy bar, Uncle Nick asked, May I please have some pudding?  The barmaid, Moany Lisa, we called her, pointed to the sign ‘No food Sundays’.  I speculated on the myriad ways to interpret that.  It turned out the barmaid’s real name was Dawn and went to Spanish classes on Sundays.  She smeared her lips with Elizabeth Arden and left.

If on a winter’s night a traveller wants to eat, what do you do?  We consoled ourselves with crisps from the bar, chive and spring onion flavour, and marmite and Branston pickle sandwiches.  We found lodging upstairs.  The inn was furnished with old signage.  We delighted in the notice above the loo that said ‘Close cover before striking’. 

In the passage way was an old crow that could speak.  As we walked by, he announced:  ‘I’ll just have a little bit of chocolate.  It’s such good choc.’  And then ‘Oi! Olof Palme’  It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that.

In the hotel room, I turned on the TV as I went to turn in for the night.  There was a play.  Some kind of kitchen sink drama:

‘…yeah.  .--  , yeah….  .. someone said.  Actually no. why are you doing that?

Mummy said I had to Before I clean my teeth …. .  Well I AM cleaning my teeth.  Yes I can!’

Robin turned it off again.  ‘That’s no good.  You can’t watch the telly at the same time.’, I said  ‘Anyway, I am off to bed.  Goodnight’

We thought we were in for a peaceful night.  The scream told us we’d got it wrong.  Out in the hallway came a mouse running out from behind a screen quickly followed by Dawn.  Her lips were Coco Rouge this time. 

‘I have had enough of mice and men’, she said. 

She puffed on a cigarette.  It was some fancy foreign pack with a peculiar name.  Not Gaulois or Gitanes or Camel.  Uranus or Colt or something.  ‘Winston Churchill used to smoke these’, she said, disappearing into a room with an H on the door.  ‘Smoking can seriously damage your health’, I said to her disappearing back.

In Many Weeks There Has Been...

In many weeks there has been a seagull and a common buzzard sitting on a wire, with the attached sign that says: Danger – High Voltage, outside the Italian restaurant, Polaris. They are oblivious to the sign because they are so focused on finding some Kellogg’s Corn Flakes.

Two tourists exit the restaurant exactly at 4.41 pm with a hammer and some green paint, which they have to use for the renovation of a historical cottage called the Thomas Jefferson Cottage to which they are heading towards. This is what can be heard:

Italian restaurant owner: Goodbye. Have a nice evening. Auf Wiedersehen!

Tourists: We’re from Denmark (smiling)

Italian restaurant owner: Oooh, right.... Ehm Arrivederci! Good night!

Tourists: Good night!

The tourists have grabbed some French fries with garlic taste and are eating them as they walk. They try to feed one of the French fries to the birds, but before they get so far they see a sign that says: Please, don’t feed fingers to the animals. The male tourist lights a cigarette, but the female tourist points to another sign that says: No Smoking – it is against the law to smoke in these premises. “What! I can’t even smoke out here?” he exclaims, to which she replies: “Don’t you remember what the restaurant owner said inside?! He said, Please, don’t throw cigarette ends at the floor – the cockroaches are getting cancer”. Annoyed he put out his cigarette and they continued with their journey.

One of the key characteristics of the male tourist is his impatience and he keeps asking: “Are we there yet?” Finally, when they arrive at the market they come to a stop, as they hear the scream from a desperate mother with flamingo coloured hair. As the male tourist has a tendency to eavesdrop to hot gossip they stop to listen to the conversation between the desperate mother and her husband. The husband, who is wearing a T-shirt with the logo Nestlé, tells the story of how he had caught his daughter reading To Kill a Mockingbird outside the circus tent, and now she has gone missing. The parents are now worried because on the sign it says: ‘Warning! Children left unattended will be sold to the circus’, and they have seen a suspicious clown with a Colt gun. The husband tries to calm his wife by explaining how he had insured their child, and he had already tried to get hold of the company:

The husband: I called my insurance company, and when I told the man on the phone what my problem was he told me to call another insurance company and then he hung up the phone.

The wife: That was strange

The husband: Yeah, especially when the company I called, was my insurance company

The wife: Hmmm... Maybe you should call again.

Impatiently, the female tourist pulls the male tourist away from the area while saying: “Come on, let’s find some scallions”, and they continued with their journey...

(Stine Jungersen, Pernille Brøndsted Nielsen)

Tattoo You (travel writing)

My stop was next, and I wasn’t about to play it nice and be Gandhi upon leaving the train. In fact, I was looking forward to pushing aside the group of chatting teenagers who were blocking the exit. I had rolled out of bed at the very crack of dawn, and now I was being forced to listen to absolutely pointless conversations, such as that one blonde brat who hadn’t done her household chores that Sunday afternoon and had to say it loud enough for the entire compartment to hear:
“I haven’t done the laundry.”
“What?”
“I promised I would. Fuck.”
“Hah, not good.”

I had left my previous motel that morning after having eaten the mandatory bowl of Kellogg’s. When you were on the road, a healthy breakfast was one of the things that you couldn’t neglect. Even if the logo was something as stupid as a rooster and not something cool like a damned eagle. Or a fairy-bluebird, if you will.

I had just stepped out onto the platform of the new town when I heard a voice calling out: “Hey, wait up, you dropped this.” It was the blonde from before who had picked up a pamphlet that read ‘Bloody Bones’ in the belief that it was mine. Why would it be mine? Did I look like I was into witchcraft or voodoo? Did I look like I slaughtered pigeons in my basement at night? I think not.

The hotel I had picked out for my stay in this town was called ‘The Uranus’. On the sign above the entrance the ‘Ur’ had been separated from ‘anus’ by some nice artwork, no doubt done by a group of teenagers believing themselves to be delinquents.

I signed in at the hotel under the name Winchester and went out to buy my Kraft macaroni and cheese. Upon my return, I placed my pair of boots by the door and noticed the tiny danger sign next to the doorframe. Apparently, the management wanted its guests to be careful with the semi-automatic doors. It was my plan to visit a renowned tattoo parlor the following day. Around midnight, I found the lock to the bathroom to be out of order and I didn’t feel like spending my night picking away at it with a needle. So, I grabbed the ‘please service this room’-sign and put it on my door. They could figure it out then. How long would that take? Probably so long that I would already be gone. I doubted anybody would turn up in the morning with a witty “Josh is here” and fix the lock.

I couldn’t fall asleep that night. Instead of counting sheep, I was so inspired by my trip to the grocery store that I decided to try and bore myself to unconsciousness with listing various types of onions and potatoes. I got as far as pearl onion, yellow onion and the pink eye potato until I finally dozed off.

(By Dorte J. & Amalie F.)