Search Results for "bussies"

Hey. Completely out of character, but I got in an argument with a stranger. True. I know you’re all “Shut your face”, but no, I will not. I will keep my face open.

I was on the phone last night on the bus ride home from work, when the guy behind me huffed.

Straight away, I thought: “That’s it. I’ve had it with the huffing. When this fucking call is over, I swear to god.”

Then things got worse.

He has done this before when I’ve been on the phone. He’s a regular on the bus, but not that regular. He had huffed before not sitting next to me, but when he was behind me. We travel on a bus, doing up to sixty on a motorway – so you can imagine it’s a noisy environment.

Now, people have conversations on the bus with fellow commuters, so if I’m talking at the same volume, I give no fucks for people complaining about my being on the phone. I’m down with OTP.

While I continued talking to my friend he stirred aggressively, laughed, huffed again, stirred and said to someone across the aisle: “God. Verbal diarrhoea”.

My call ended shortly after, and I stood up and walked to where he was sitting.

Me: What’s your problem?

Him: What?

Me: What did you mean by “verbal diarrhoea”?

Him: I don’t want to hear your conversation.

Me: I’ll endeavour to keep my conversations quiet, but there’s no need for that. That’s just name calling.

I actually said endeavour.

Him: I’m trying to read a book and you’re inflicting your conversation on me.

Me: I’m not inflicting anything, this is public transport. I respect your privacy, but don’t insult me.

Him: I didn’t. I don’t want to hear your phone call.

Me: You turned around, laughed and said “verbal diarrhoea”. That’s just abusive.

I looked at the person he said it to, who was staring down into his lap. I turned back to this guy.

Him: I don’t have to hear your conversation.

Me: Understood, but don’t point and laugh, either. Let’s have some dignity. Jesus.

Then my stop turned up and I walked to the front of the bus.

Nice.

“Fucking dignity” would have been perfect, but I’m not. Especially not these days. I’ve got so much going on that I can’t begin to explain it all. Physically, emotionally, professionally… Let’s just say this year is living up to the unexpected. Sorry I haven’t posted over the last couple of days. I’ll try to get into more arguments.

But how about that, right? Go me.

But please: have a good weekend.

There’s normally a bit of banter on the bus, a friendly exchange, a shooting of the breeze. In short, the fat gets chewed. Being English, we winge about stuff in a funny way and are self depricating and quippy. This leads to our polite chuckle, which, like standing in queues and apologising, is a national sport. Chuckle gasp has this down, except it is followed by a low scratchy drawing of breath. Low scratchy is something that is low in tone, but has a lot of treble on it. Prince is low scratchy. “I’m gonna talk low scatchy…”

Chucklegasp does it after every polite laugh and he is very polite. But by god is it annoying. It’s like a giggle followed by the sound you make if you try and talk while you are breathing in. “Arhhehehehe… khhhheiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii“

Merciless mobile texters, this strange breed seem obsessed with gossip, the calorific content of Marks and Spencer food and the price of alcohol. They are in their very early 20’s and they dance somewhere in London and they are all lean and have perfect posture.

This woman has, for the last year at least, been reading wedding magazines. She seems – nice. She has a nice name, she looks friendly, she sounds nice. One of the two great things about her are her hands, which are perfect in every way. Not just well maintained, but just great. Not too many veins, but enough definition. Even the way they sit is great.

You know sometimes you look at someone and see one detail and it rocks. Like someone’s neck from the back, or the way they walk. Or eyebrows. This lady’s got the hands. Wonder if she knows it?

The other thing is the vowels she uses when she is talking. These are also perfect. Long, soft and thoughtlessly immaculate, the vowels in her words are like the peach in the melba.

This kindly looking man,early 50’s is always reading something religious. Not just the bible, and never pop-christo paperbacks, but serious theological texts. Like books about the duties of the Church during the Renaissance. Or guides about the current role of the Church of England. He always looks happy and he is always, without fail, sitting at the front of the bus.

Oooh, what if he didn’t exist? The man, I mean, not God.

What if one day I said there were no seats and told the driver and he said “Sit there?” and pointed to the seat he always sits at and he wasn’t there. And when I pointed out that I’d just seen him there and described him, they didn’t know who I was talking about.

And then what if the bus crashed and burst into flames and the only seat that survived, totally intact, was his seat, which I was in.

Far out.

I feel sorry for this guy. He is very quiet, and in the morning he reads the sport pages and talks to anyone as long as it’s about football. I think he works for the Football Association, because he’s got their logo on his bag. In the evening he sometimes drinks from a plastic bottle in a paper bag. It’s probably the place he feels least ashamed of his habit. He has an image to uphold at work, he can’t be home late because his wife will think he has been drinking again, but he is least bothered about feeling humiliated in front of his commuters. Poor bastard.

This man talks loudly, has an impossibly low voice, and comes from Sunderland. (non-Brits: in the North East of England, where there’s a distinct sing-song almost Norse patter to words)

This lady always has a cup of coffee from Tchibo, that wierd shop that sells, like, underwear, shoe racks, waterproofs and chocolate. She cuts hair or a living and is a really nice lady.

He listens to the radio on his mobile phone with the headphones connected. In order to get a clear signal he holds it up at about eye level. Trouble is, after a few minutes he starts drifting off. When he does his arm drops and he regains semi-consciousness. Then he steadies his arm and resumes his radio listening. Then he falls asleep and does a slow convulsion into wakefullness. Repeat ad londinium.

Cockney lady who gets off the bus at Pall Mall, which she calls “Pow Mow”. She is in her early 50’s and/but she always has the latest gadgets. Handheld video players, palmtop computers, video conferencing mobile phones, teeny MP3 players. I asked her about this once, and she said her boyfriend works in IT. Ten years ago this would have been a very uncool thing to admit.