Bus Crash TV
Bristol buses are like the London tubes. No-one dares make eye contact. As a result of this, I do like to be amused on the bus, as I am from time to time.
As I get on the bus near town, and can get virtually any that passes by the stop, I can pick and choose my numbers (although more often than not they are chosen for me by the lottery that is the Bristol traffic rush hour). Today I took the number 77 towards Henbury. Number 77 has considerably less fume-emitting, tracksuit-wearing education-dodgers on than the number 76 to Southmead or 70-something to Cribbs, so I picked the bonus ball today.
I gave my fare to the friendly-faced Italian driver, who was so relaxed he was almost asleep at the wheel, and sat down next to a woman who was texting on the oldest Nokia phone I'd seen since 1998.
When we stopped by the ex-swimming baths, a rather red looking woman stomped onto the bus, obviously furious. "Why weren't you here at 5.30?!" she demanded. I can't be exactly sure, as the driver was a little way away from me, but I think he mumbled something along the lines of "Eh?" I felt the glimmer of a smile on my face, which grew when I noticed there was a woman behind the irate one with hair that looked like it hadn't been washed (full stop) and the beginnings of a moustache with which Freddy Mercury would have been proud. Moustached woman was gawping like a kid in a Sunny Delight factory. Irate woman started to swear. "I got here at 5-p***ing-10 and you're supposed to be every twenty minutes, and I'm bl**dy fed up with it!!!" she screamed.
As Italian driver obviously couldn't hide the fact that he couldn't give a damn if he tried, Irate Woman and The Gawper sat down, together, in front of me.
Irate Woman took a book from her bag and gradually became engrossed in it, despite the fact that Gawper had begun whittling on to her only miliseconds after they'd sat down. I deduced that they must work together. Irate looked up from her book and interrupted Gawper's diatribe at one point to state (unnecessarily loudly), "I hate this p***ing bus!!!"
Fair enough, you want to shout at a driver because you need to vent your anger at the ridiculously appalling public transport system we are subjected to in this country, but for Christ's sake, don't then sit down and read (I tell no lie) the Posh Spice biography! Who is going to take you seriously?
As I get on the bus near town, and can get virtually any that passes by the stop, I can pick and choose my numbers (although more often than not they are chosen for me by the lottery that is the Bristol traffic rush hour). Today I took the number 77 towards Henbury. Number 77 has considerably less fume-emitting, tracksuit-wearing education-dodgers on than the number 76 to Southmead or 70-something to Cribbs, so I picked the bonus ball today.
I gave my fare to the friendly-faced Italian driver, who was so relaxed he was almost asleep at the wheel, and sat down next to a woman who was texting on the oldest Nokia phone I'd seen since 1998.
When we stopped by the ex-swimming baths, a rather red looking woman stomped onto the bus, obviously furious. "Why weren't you here at 5.30?!" she demanded. I can't be exactly sure, as the driver was a little way away from me, but I think he mumbled something along the lines of "Eh?" I felt the glimmer of a smile on my face, which grew when I noticed there was a woman behind the irate one with hair that looked like it hadn't been washed (full stop) and the beginnings of a moustache with which Freddy Mercury would have been proud. Moustached woman was gawping like a kid in a Sunny Delight factory. Irate woman started to swear. "I got here at 5-p***ing-10 and you're supposed to be every twenty minutes, and I'm bl**dy fed up with it!!!" she screamed.
As Italian driver obviously couldn't hide the fact that he couldn't give a damn if he tried, Irate Woman and The Gawper sat down, together, in front of me.
Irate Woman took a book from her bag and gradually became engrossed in it, despite the fact that Gawper had begun whittling on to her only miliseconds after they'd sat down. I deduced that they must work together. Irate looked up from her book and interrupted Gawper's diatribe at one point to state (unnecessarily loudly), "I hate this p***ing bus!!!"
Fair enough, you want to shout at a driver because you need to vent your anger at the ridiculously appalling public transport system we are subjected to in this country, but for Christ's sake, don't then sit down and read (I tell no lie) the Posh Spice biography! Who is going to take you seriously?
posted by Wired Awake @ 10:02 AM
1 Comments:
At 10:41 AM,
Ultra Toast Mosha God said…
Ha ha ha!!!!
Brilliant.
This is why I sacked off the bus for cycling into work. It's also why I write to the evening post every few weeks.
Post a Comment
<< Home