Your Worst Day Ever

[Artemis]

What happened on the worst day of your life, so far?

I've had worse individual things happen, but as far as a sequence of not very nice things happening all in one day goes, today was up there for me.... let me tell you about it.

When reading the news the other day and hearing about a load of people moved from 'medical trial' to 'intensive care' with 'multiple organ failure', I started to think that maybe Parexel, the London based company administering the trial from hell, might, as a result, be paying more then usual for new volunteers, and having an unusually high cancellation rate from would-be elephant men. With little dollar signs ringing in my eyes like an arcade machine - like in those cartoons, I phoned them up and sure enough, they told me that they were recruiting for a trial for which you'd have to be at the unit for three sessions of 11 nights each. The payout? 4 grand. Yes, that's right, 4 flippin' grand! I'm ashamed to say that greed got the better of me and following that conversation with them on Wednesday, I booked an appointment at 12.45pm today (Friday) to have the medical 'screening'.

They had wanted me to book an appointment at 10.45pm ("this is the latest we are allowed to do"). I haggled an appointment of 12.45pm and they reluctantly agreed. This still involved getting up at 5.00am to catch a 5.35 bus to Manchester's Chrolton Street bus station. This is where the problems started - actually, no scrap that - the problems really started, as you'll see later, when I forgot to take my water bottle with me. Anyway - the bus was late, but I thought nothing of it. I certainly didn't think "this is just the start of a day so full of complete disasters, I can only conclude that there is a God after all, and that he hates me." It got me to Manchester's main coach station in time, though. I have never taken a coach to or from Manchester before and the only thing I know of it is that hookers used to congregate behind it looking for business. Well, despite my best efforts, I couldn't find any today, but I did notice that the station was full of (thinking of a way to put this without sounding too snobby) 'undesirables'. People who were there because they very obviously could not afford, and were never likely to ever be able to afford, the train. And cleaners, loads of them, all sharing a common lack of self-awareness, so that yelling at each other across the station seemed a perfectly acceptable thing to do.

Then the coach arrived. Now, all of the signs indicating what coach was parked in what bay were faulty. All of them. Luckily there was an information board that said my coach would arrive in Bay C. So I thought nothing of it when at roughly the appropriate time for my coach to start boarding, another coach (the ONLY other coach) turned up in Bay D. Five minutes before it was due to leave, I asked the 'security guard' whether that was my coach. "Not now, I'm doing something" was his charming response. A little undercover investigating (evesdropping on boarding passengers) revealed that this was indeed my coach, and my confidence in a safe journey was immediately undermined by the startling fact that Mr. Driver had problems distinguishing simple characters from the English alphabet.

The seat that I chose, one of the few left, was upstairs. As the coach pulled off and the whirring noise started, I discovered that at my feet was one of the main (I can only conclude it was a main one because of the industrial factory noise it was making) heaters. It started blasting out hot air and didn't stop until we arrived at London several hours later. To make matters worse, the air conditioning wasn't working. Now, I had chosen a coach that would get me into London at 11.45am, giving me an hour to find my way to the hospital in which the clinical trial unit was based. The woman from the unit said that was about as long as it would take me. The coach I had chosen was direct - zero changes and no waits. Straight to London. So imagine my surprise as we hit the Birmingham area and the coach driver had to choose between two signs: London, and 'The South West'. Guess which one he picked? Yep, you got it. As I was sweltering in tropical conditions, we headed towards Bristol. Fan. Bloody. Tastic.

I should have guessed as much from the little 'D' and 'C' incident the driver was involved in during parking. Still, it turns out he hadn't gone the wrong way - this was the route. 'Direct' actually meant 'several stops' - silly me. As we stopped at Banbury, two old women boarded. I can only imagine that they must have bathed in Old Spice on waking because they smelt like the cheapest body sprays from Kwik Save, combined, liquified, put in a bucket and thrown all over them. Naturally, they settled nicely in the seats next to me - one right next to me, the other across the aisle. They were also overweight - a fact I know you'll appreciate for purposes of imagery. The one next to me kept looking out of the window, immediately to my left. She must have been hunchbacked or something because her posture was such that her face was uncomfortably near mine. Two things became apparent very quickly: one, she had some kind of breathing problem that meant she breathed out very heavily, and two, her breath smelt like am abandoned sewer. I sat next to that walking biohazard for two and a half hours. By the time I arrived in London, half an hour later then scheduled, my stomach was in knots, and I really did feel quite vomitus. I also had a headache to end all headaches, because I was so dehydrated from the coach (remember my lack of water bottle?)

Anyway, I had arrived, and had half an hour to get from Victoria tube station, westbound on the circle line to Baker Street then north on Metropolitan to Northwick Park. The unit was about five minutes walk away from there. Just got to buy the ticket, at the machine which didn't work. So I queue up and buy a zones 1-4 all day travel card for about £5 - the wait takes another 10 minutes off me. Twenty minutes left. I start to realise I'm probably going to be late.

To the tube platform I go, and look to see what the wait is for the next circle train heading west. No sign of it. Lots of district lines, but no circle. Huh? I check and double check I'm in the right place, and I am - no indication anything is wrong with the line, but the wait is at least 10 minutes, so I panic and head to the main train station to see if I can hop on a train going directly to Northwick Park. No such train exists from Victoria. Now outside, with ten minutes left to go before my appointment. I start to realise that a cab is probably my only option if I'm going to make it in something approximating a reasonable time. So I queue up - another three minutes. When I get to a cab, I realise I have no cash on me and ask if I can pay by card. "No". So, I go to an ATM to get cash out, knowing that means I'll have to join the back of the queue again. It was at this point that little tears began to well up in my eyes - I can't remember the last time frustration had produced such an effect on me. I wasn't angry, or mad - I seemed to have skipped that stage and gone straight to involuntary weeping.

£30 in my pocket later, I hop in a cab. It is now 12:45pm. I tell the cabbie where I want to go. The hospital has been headline news this past week. The paper he is reading has a story all about it. But I managed to pick probably the only cabbie in London who had to pull over and consult his map. Five minutes later, he tells me it'll be about £15-20. I sigh, but say ok. Another five minutes later, he revises the price. It'll now cost over £25, but if it goes over that, he'll cap it at £25 and won't charge me any more. I don't have a choice. I agree.

As we drive, predictably, he yacks away ("You'll never guess who I had in the back of my cab", etc. etc. ad nauseum) and conversation turns to what I'm doing in London. I explain, and he laughs for quite a long time then hands me a copy of today's Sun newspaper in which elephant man who's now ok (Mr. Multiple Organ Failure) has sold his story and goes into excruciating detail about how horrific the whole ordeal was. After reading a little of it, I hand it back and say I'd rather not read it since that's where I'm going. I needn't have worried about missing any of the story however, because my cab driver, shall we call him Mr. Tactful, fills me in on ALL the bits I've missed from the "head feeling like it's going to explode" (which mine did by this point anyway) to the "felt as if someone had parked a truck on my skull".

We get there are 13.25, and the taxi fare has crept above £40 - feeling a bit sorry for him, I give him the £30 and tell him to keep it. Then I go in and find this unit. Now, it's next to a hospital, and a mental unit. Wandering about, and passing me in the corridor, is Mr. Dribbling Man (a mental who was hobbling along and dribbling onto the ground) and Miss Screaming Girl (a girl who was screaming for no apparent reason). Feeling like death warmed up and confronted with these people, I am about ready for the earth to swallow me up.

Still, I make it to level seven, Parexel. I mumble something about "the journey from hell" and get given the notes for the study and a couple of forms to fill in. I fill in the forms and get ushered into an area and told to take a seat and wait. I notice that all the physicians and consultants are running around with worried looks on their faces. I read the notes: a phase one study ( i.e. never been tested on humans) to find out what the side effects are on a new anti-depressant. Volunteers are given doses of this stuff, in greater and greater volume, and the side effects are noted. I decide it is time to leave. Trapped, and with a full medical imminent, I have to act quickly. I pretend to get a phone call on my mobile. I ask them to let me out of the building so I can quickly take this 'personal call'. With a window to the outside world, I run as fast as I can outside, rip off my wristband they gave me, throw it to the ground and look for the underground to get away.

I have a good friend in London and had arranged to meet her for a coffee before my return coach leaves at 5.30pm. If I could only find the train station. I look, and look hard, but its nowhere. I end up asking some old geezer and he tells me where it is, but after a twenty minute walk I realise he's sent me to Harrow, the next station along. Ordinarily I wouldn't be bothered but Harrow is in Zone 5, and my travel card is zones 1-4. By this point, having fasted all day for the medical that wasn't to be, and feeling like absolute shit, I just pay three pounds for a ticket to the next station and get to Baker Street. At this point, it is difficult to descibe how bad I'm feeling - my head is pounding, and I feel like I'm going to be physically ill. I arrive at Baker Street. Just got to hop on the circle line for a few stops, and I'll be at Westminster to meet Anna (she works for a Labour MP at Westminster). Two stops in, and the circle line breaks. Line failure. Got to catch the district line which is going the same way. Fine. Two stops into the district line journey, and that line breaks as well.

I have about an hour and a half to meet my friend at this point. One frantic call to her later and I'm given an alternative route through the Picadilly and Jubilee lines. I arrive at Westminster and share about 45 minutes, she is so lovely that it all became worth it for that time, I'm glad to say.

I walk to Victoria station and catch the coach home, which was pretty uneventful (apart from the woman sitting directly in front of me who went to the toilet mid-journey but must have somehow managed to piss all over herself because she came out stinking of urine - a smell that did not decrease in intensity all the way back home).



What was your 'worst day ever' ?

[LadyDay]

Why didn't you just go to the Manchester unit?

[Artemis]

£4,000

[LadyDay]

You can get that in Manchester too


I'm making you feel worse aren't I?

[ColaCoca]

I thought Manchester usually paid 5K?

[LadyDay]

And they have a jacuzzi

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Trapped, and with a full medical imminent, I have to act quickly. I pretend to get a phone call on my mobile. I ask them to let me out of the building so I can quickly take this 'personal call'. With a window to the outside world, I run as fast as I can outside, rip off my wristband they gave me, throw it to the ground and look for the underground to get away.

Fucking hell. It'd have been ever better if you were wearing only a hospital gown too. Add to the sense of drama.

Sorry to hear about your bad day.

[Garfield And Friends]

Wow. Nice post Artemis. I've got visions of D-Fens (Michael Douglas from Falling Down) and Frank Grimes (from The Simpsons) in my head now!

Those straws can really add up some days, eh?

[wheatgod]

That does sound like a shit day, sorry to hear it. Can't sympathise about the "direct" coach complaint though. Direct means you won't have to change to another bus, not that the bus goes straight to the destination without stopping. That would be mental!

My worst day was probably my A level results. I actually did tremendously well, easily getting into my university. But I got dumped that evening, when I was meant to be celebrating. The mix of joy and sorrow mashed my brain up a bit.
Same happened when my Mum left. Sunday night, asked my next girlfriend out, she said yes, yay, wooh. Next morning, Mum wakes me up to tell me shes leaving to live in Hungary, and I'm not to tell Dad. Bummer!!

Yeh, shit days, but they've all been better since.

[Utter Shit]

Ahahahahaha, for fuck sake.

Artemis, quickly check the back of whatever coat you were wearing. I guarantee that there is bird shit on it.

[Artemis]

You can get that in Manchester too


I'm making you feel worse aren't I?

Yes.

Manchester are currently doing a pretty easy study for £1,600 that I'm thinking about doing - it's not phase one either, which is always a plus.

[LadyDay]

Pfft, phase two? Lightweight!

[danielreal2k]

The forms you have to sign, what are they like? "If we fuck up and you die, whoopsy daisy, not our fault, please sign here to say so"

Can you really do this, sell your body to medical research for thousands?

hmmm.  Dont know whether I would do it or not,  No Deal.

[LadyDay]

No, it's more like "If we follow correct procedures and you die, whoopsy daisy, not our fault, please sign here to say so"

[danielreal2k]

Yeh, makes sense now, when I first heard the story I thought "wow they will sue for millions" then realised, hang on.. they will sign away any rights they have wont they so you are giving them full consent.

eew just brings back images of V for Vendetta when they throw all those bodies in a big pit in the wood after doing tests on them.

[Al Tha Funkee Homosapien]

I could do it easily. Sell your body to medical research I mean.

[LadyDay]

Yeh, makes sense now, when I first heard the story I thought "wow they will sue for millions" then realised, hang on.. they will sign away any rights they have wont they so you are giving them full consent.

I was only joking!

[Artemis]

The forms you have to sign, what are they like?

From that thread on clinical trials gone wrong...

 

Parexels' were MUCH scarier, though, it basically said: anything can happen and we're not to blame. Sign here.

[TOCMFIC]

So it's your worst day ever because you missed out on potentially being killed by untested medication?

My worst day? The day my Dad died twice on the way to the hospital and they had to shock him back to life. (Still going strong, 14 years later.) The day my father-in-law died. The day my wife had her c-section. The day I wound up in hospital last year. The day I found out my fiancee was not only cheating on me, but lied to me about being in hospital in a coma. (Seriously.)

Your day was just frustrating. If that's the worst day you ever have, be very grateful. (Though I can relate to a multitude of small things adding up to absolutely heartbreaking, soul destroying frustration.)

Oh yeah, when I went to my father-in-laws funeral, I had to catch a coach. It stopped at EVERY SINGLE LITTLE BACKWARD ASS FUCK TOWN in the province between my start and end points. (And on top of that, I also developed a nasty infection that day.)

[Oscar]

The day I found out my fiancee was not only cheating on me, but lied to me about being in hospital in a coma

How does that work? Did she tell you she was in a coma when she wasn't? Surely you must have suspected?

[aaaaaaaaaargh!]

Edited coz it was a bit harsh

[dan dirty ape]

Getting mugged and facially lacerated by three young ne'er-do-wells at a lonely bus stop in Hayes after I fell asleep on the bus to Acton and foolishly believed the hollow words of the driver when he said 'you're alright, mate. Last stop. Just get out, cross the road and I'll pick you up on my way back'. (Obviously, if he'd have had any intention of helping he'd have just asked me to save the effort and stay on the bus, but I was drunk, miles at home and feeling regrettably trusting, thus logic took a holiday). That was technically the start of the day, it continued with me having to knock on almost every door on the main stretch by the A Road feebly asking for someone to call an ambulance for me, whilst my left cheek and an area scarily close to the jugular vein gushed claret like a bad Hollywood special effect. Once finally in A&E the examining surgeon misinformed me that I'd lost part of my ear (it had just sort of folded back) and that's why my first sentence to my Mum at 3 in the morning, fuzzy on painkillers, was "Mum...I've been mugged and they've cut my ear off".

The rest of the day was just waiting in a burns unit for stitches, and for the police to come and take a statement, and they never bloody showed up. So...horror mixed with tedium with occasional flashbacks of horror. Rubbish day.

[Bogey]

The day I found out my fiancee was not only cheating on me, but lied to me about being in hospital in a coma

How does that work? Did she tell you she was in a coma when she wasn't? Surely you must have suspected?

Symptomless, presumably.

Also, Artemis, now you'll have learnt never, never go on the circle or district lines, or any of the other subsurface ones. They're frightfully "ghetto".

[Pseudopath]

Banbury...two old women...bathed in Old Spice...Kwik Save...hunchbacked...breathing problem...smelt like an abandoned sewer

Heh, heh! That's my town! And that's what living next door to Europe's largest coffee factory does for you.

By the way, we don't have a Kwik Save, so I'd imagine they procured their olfactory delights from an altogether different class of boutique, such as BodyCare, Matalan or Somerfield.

I take it you won't be visiting again.

[imitationleather]

Horrible story about getting beaten up.

Owch, that's pretty nasty indeed. Fortunately I've never had anything like that happen to me (yet) but I can sort of imagine just how terrible it must have been. Not that me imagining it gets anywhere close to the reality of it happening, of course...

[Darrell]

The one that comes after "yesterday".

[Cerys]

^ Ooh, bleak!

[Lee]

The one that comes after "yesterday".

Awww...

[Cack Hen]

The day I found, or rather, was accidentally exposed to, a photograph of my father in a homosexual act, quite a hardcore one at that.

And no, I'm not joking.

[Artemis]

Ouch! Yeah, I would have thought it obvious that this thread wasn't designed to compete with really genuinely tragic days like the death of a loved one or something, so no offense meant.