I missed my original Megabus back to Bristol and am told by some oafish looking goon to sit and wait for the next one, which I do. Then realising I might need a new ticket half an hour later, I speak to the manly looking older woman on customer services who tells me with a deep, cancerous growl that I’ll be now charged £30.00 for a new Megabus ticket because the goon didn’t inform me I’d have to get something called a ‘missed bus’ ticket. Now, I am not paying £30.00 for a Megabus ticket, simply because I was owed one of those missed your coach tickets. She would not issue me one and I tried everything. I said I had no other money, explained multiple sob stories and I even let a few diamond ‘Cheryl Cole’ tears roll down my cheeks, my greatest performance yet. NOTHING. She even raised her voice at me when I didn’t move after she said no. There was no reason for her not to let me on the coach, she was being difficult with me because I most likely reflected something she didn’t like in people, I will not take offence – she didn’t know me, and she hasn’t heard me sing Nessun Dorma – she’d be lining up to buy the CD otherwise. For example, if a middle class, over privileged student type needed help from me on customer services, the rules stated differently and I’d had a bad day – I’d be difficult as well. However all was resolved once I put on my Ruby Woo lipstick and fluttered my eyelashes at Jergen, the driver who rolled his smiley eyes at me like we were in a 1950’s sitcom and let me on the Megabus. I wanted to flip her the bird for making me cry and then I remembered I faked it anyway. There’s no moral round up to this story.