Too Much, Magic Bus
This morning the bus turned up full this morning. Not a gripping opening sentence, but this is a cool entry, so bear with me. Commuting is boring, but I have to set the scene. If I could lay down some beats, I would, but that’s not me.
I get to work in the morning on a big orange tourbus coach thing which thunders down the 3 lane motorway into town. It’s not the double decker busses that spring to mind when you think of London, packed with men in bowler hats, plucky chimney sweeps saying “Gawd bless ya, me love” and teddy bears in dressed as beefeaters.
No, it’s pretty much your regular crowd of Josephs (f. -ines) trying to get to work. So this morning they were one seat short, so I asked the driver “What do we do now?” They looked for a volunteer to get off, so I put myself forward. I’d worked over the weekend because of the Pope thing, anyway, so I was owed time.
He said he would call another coach (as in “bus”, as opposed to “lifestyle”). I said there was no need, and they could call me a taxi, but they insisted on “getting their customer to work to honour their commitment as a value provider of….” - to be honest I switched off at that point. 90 per cent of customer services these days seems to be hot air.
So to cut a long story short, I came into work this morning as the only passenger on a 41 seater brand new megabus. It was way cool and I sat next to the driver, just talking about life and stuff. I had to supress the urge to run up and down the aisle going WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!, turning all the lights on and off as the bus rolled in to London.
If would have been fun to stand at the back and run up to the front as we passed lorries so I could keep eye contact with the driver, just to wierd them out.
Being the only person on a train is just scary. Having a big bus to yourself: cool as.