First Time on the Bus
Mishaps on the 676.
Most people have been on a bus at least once before. For most people, it’s their everyday transport to and fro their destination. Yes, everyone except me. I’m not lying. I’ve never really stepped on a bus; hey I’m even more familiar with planes than buses. It’s not that I can’t access a bus, no, there’s lots of bus stops that are lined everywhere in my neighbourhood. Being me, I prefer cars. Yes, cars. I don’t really like public transport, cars are comfortable and it’s just me sitting there soaking in the solitude that surrounds me. But as they always say; there’s always a first time for something.
I’m sat underneath the bus shelter, shivering as I wait for the big two-decker bus to come rolling down Groote Road. See what I mean? When I drive my car, there’s no waiting for anything or anyone for that matter. I suddenly am aware of a presence, towering over me. I look up. A young man is stood up, his clothes dishevelled and his face looking worn and haggard. I gasp as I notice a scar on his jaw and look away. He edges towards me. I nearly gagged. He reeked of stale sweat and dirty underwear. I sat there for a few moments trying to ignore this obnoxious man. But I couldn’t. I sprang up from the bus shelter’s seat, as if I had electrocuted myself. The man raised a half-shaven eyebrow, his face looking forlorn. My heart sank. I felt sorry for the guy. Probably having a bad day, I thought. Not wanting to be rude to the man, I gestured towards the seat.
“Would you like to sit on this seat?” I nodded towards the empty seat.
“Yeah mate my feet’s aching, obviously!” The man rudely answered.
He grunted and jumped on the seat. A thank you would be nice! I wanted to scream, but I’m not the one to cause trouble.
Checking my iPhone, I sighed. Five more minutes, and then I’d be rolling on the bus. Let me tell you them five minutes were the most boring five minutes in my whole life. I was so thankful when an unfamiliar vehicle (the bus) came rolling the road. Its wheels screeched to a halt, and I flinched. I so needed to get used to this. The bus’s number was firmly planted on the head of the bus in bright green. It was 676. I grinned. It was the right bus. I yanked my first bus pass out of my back pocket. I unzipped my Converse tailored purse and poured two pounds and ten pence onto my palm. Putting back my purse in my shoulder bag, I waited in the queue for the bus. The line took for ages, and I sighed and huffed several times earning me glares from the people in the line. Finally my turn came, and I smiled cheerfully at the bus driver.
“Can I have a day rider please?”
“Yeah sure, that’ll will be two pounds and ten, young lady.”
I handed my money to the bus driver, and waited as the receipt slowly appeared from the machine. I took it and thanked him.
I walked up the bus on the bottom decker and took a seat in the middle row. I plonked my bag down on the seat next to me, clearly stating that no one under any circumstance was to sit next to me. I sat back and looked out of the window. I sighed with relief. I had managed to get on a bus for the first time. I smiled and laid back.
Suddenly the bus doors jolted open. I jerked my head to see who was making such a rowdy noise. Five teenage boys hopped onto the bus, laughing loudly. I narrowed my eyes; some people couldn’t even laugh... They walked down right to the back of the bus, which were unfortunately two seats behind me. Just as I thought, they’d be no more noise, loud music erupted the silence. The blond teen with the black beanie on was bobbing his head to the music. I gritted my teeth. I knew coming on the bus was a bad idea. I repeat a bad idea! All of them decide that belting out in song is okay for the passengers. They think everyone likes their taste in music.
I shot a worried look to the bus driver. I feel sorry for the poor bloke, having to deal with immature teenagers like these boys. Deciding to concentrate on something else, I whipped out my iPhone and started to play Subway Surfers. I was so engrossed in the game I didn’t realise two other passengers had boarded the bus. I examined the new passengers. They didn’t even react to how much noise the teens were making. Was everyone having trouble hearing today? I rolled my eyes.
I glanced out of the window, and noticed we were passing Lotus Green and a local high school. I noticed a street sign. I narrowed my eyes to read the street sign. Olly Avenue glared back at me in big, black bold letters. My insides jumped with joy. The next stop had my name on it. My insides squelched. I just realised a problem. A huge dilemma. I don’t really know when to press the stop button. What if the stop button isn’t working or it makes a huge noise? Do I press it after or before my stop? I wondered. My brain began to have a debate. I decided the most logical answer.
I pressed the stop button.
The bus began to get out of control. Well when I mean it began to get out of control, I’m exaggerating. I’m not used to loud noises in my car, except for the odd drone of an aircraft passing through the sky. So when a loud ping sounded, I jumped back. I thought something was happening to the bus. I looked around. No nothing was happening. No debris falling of the ceiling. No volcanoes erupting, no water bursting out of the sides of the bus. Last time I checked the bus was fine and in place.
Yeah, you might be thinking, what a weirdo I am? But let me tell you, this is the first time I’ve been on a bus. I was always driven by my dad to school by his car. Never went on the bus because it was full of annoying kids and immature seniors. When I went to Uni, my latest Christmas present was a Red Volvo, shiny and untouched.
Anyway, I got of my seat, earning smirks and dirty looks from the passengers. I frowned. What did I do? I groaned and mentally slapped myself. Yep. My actions were obvious. I had literally been checking if something was happening to the bus. I remember lifting my head to the ceiling several times, and bending down under the bus seats.
I walked to the front of the bus, as the bus neared to my stop. The bus doors flung open, nearly giving me a heart attack. I smiled shakily at the bus driver, and finally stepped off the bus.
Phew! That was unnerving. I walked past the bus and turned left into a familiar street. I reached a tall, four storied house, with a hint of vintage walls and a massive roof. I smiled. This was my house. When I opened my front door, I mentally decided that I will never board a bus again. Mark my words. The bus is never for me.