One Man’s Commute
My journey begins at the bus stop located at the bottom of my road. I stand idly in the bitter cold and wait patiently for my ride into town. This morning however has found me without the “correct change” as I board the X63 with plastic ten pound note waving in hand. I am met with a bitter scowl and confusion, as the man behind the glass scratches his head and shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, beads of sweat spill from his pores and trickle down his cheeks.
“ANT YER GOT ANYFIN SMORLER?!” Flecks of spit lash against the busman’s window. “I have not sir, I apologise from the bottom of my heart.” I feel his pain, knowing how difficult it is for a small business such as First to provide their drivers with sufficient change floats.
After falling to my knees and begging for forgiveness I am finally awarded my gold coinage and board the bus a grateful man. The journey to town is pleasant, I am serenaded by a duet of cellular phones from two hooded gentlemen both emitting a rather floral, some might say herbaceous fragrance. I bop my head, get down with the beats and enjoy my trip to town.
Upon arrival at Bradford Interchange I head to the Y stand in order to catch the X6 “fast bus” straight to Leeds. I arrive at the stand and my bus is there and waiting for me. “Glorious” I whisper to myself, rubbing my hands together gleefully. The bus driver unfortunately does not see me and closes his doors inches from my face before setting off on his journey.
I return inside to lick my wounds. The electronic timetable tells me ten minutes but I’d be a sucker to believe that mechanical menace. I watch and wait as the Metro minutes make a mockery of time as we know it. The gradually growing queue now snakes around the bus station, hundreds of disgruntled customers crying out for blood.
Finally a beacon of hope, the X6 pulls in to the stand in all its glory. The passenger-esque python lunges forward and we board the bus. I count my blessings as I secure a seat towards the back. The glory is short lived however as a woman with an odour somewhere between Morrisons fish counter and the inside of a guitar, sits beside me.
I watch helplessly as both the upstairs and downstairs seating area rapidly fill up. More and more AND MORE AND MORE people board the bus, flooding down the isle. An ocean of desperate faces; a tidal wave of pain. I gaze on in pure horror as men, women and children, desperate to board, push further and further back CRUSHING the morning commuters to the back of the bus. “ARR CAN YA DU THIS DRAVUR?! ETTI FARV PIPPLE! THUS ETTI FARV PIPPLE STOOD UP, YA DEMON!” A two dimensional pensioner howls in agony, plastered to the backseat of the bus.
The driver abides and the doors finally close as the bus leaves the station. The agonising groans subside and the angry old man at the back regains some shape. I glance out at the faces we leave behind, spotting an exceptionally distraught university student, I shake my head. “Ah heck kid, you’d have never made it out alive.” I whisper through the glass, she stares back with a look of utter confusion. I take a deep drag from my vape pen and picture myself as a detective in an old noir flick. I breathe a cloud of vapour out into the sardine tin I now found myself in, fish woman to the right playing her part to perfection.
Tension builds as we slowly approach the next stop.
“Please God no…”
I hear a voice behind me whisper.
Hushed panic spreads like wildfire among the condensed crowd of commuters. I press my face to the glass confirming my fears. Hundreds of transport-thirsty hooligans flood the pavement, spilling out on to the road. I spy a giant of a man wearing a helmet forged from the bus tickets of a time since passed, holding an uprooted bus stop pole like a spear to the sky.
“Don’t worry everyone, there’s always room for more!” The bus driver cackles pulling in towards the army of hoodlums.
It’s now or never. I lunge from my seat into the crowded isle, clambering over the piles of people, and like crowd surfing at a Cliff Richard concert, I’m carried forth towards my destiny.
“He is the one.”
A bald, American man whispers from somewhere outside of my periphery. But I have only one thing on my mind. The bus grinds to a halt as I’m lowered down towards the front end of the bus.
“Excuse me driver, I think this is your stop.” I deliver an outstanding roundhouse kick through the busman’s window shattering it into a cloud of dust which rains down like a glassy shower of death upon the dastardly villain. With one hand I evict him from his seat and throw him down on to the isle below me, my minions drag him kicking and screaming, back into the shadows.
Fists begin to hammer down on to the bus doors and windows and I know I haven’t much time. I leap into the driver’s seat and land with a feeling of belonging, I was finally home, sat on my rightful throne.
A gap opens in the crowd revealing Ticket Helmet, his bus stop pole cocked above his head, glistening in the early morning sun. I rev my engine and put the pedal to the metal. I mow down the sorry fools that question my authority. I show no mercy, for I am… The bus driver.
The crowd begin to part like like The Red Sea, leaving the path clear to Ticket Helmet. Our eyes lock only for a moment and in that moment, a part of me understands him. Ticket Helmet launches his spear with the wrath of 300 oppressed souls but his helmet is stifling, it narrows his vision. And he must see far. His bus burden is heavy. It throws him off balance. And his target is far away.
The spear implodes the window in front of me, I instinctively hold up my hand in a futile act of defence as my day rider is ripped from my fingers and driven through the seat behind me. Narrowly avoiding death, I look back to the road as Ticket Helmet explodes against the front of the bus, his helmet bursting into a thousand tiny butterflies that flutter away into the sky above.
I watch through the red tint of the front window as the crowd gradually lessens and I begin to see trees again and traffic and even a group of schoolchildren, playfully laughing at the side of the road.
I smile as a ray of sunlight creeps in through the side window and I look to the future with certainty, the certainty that comes with an efficient bus service. One where the average joe and regular rita can arrive on time every day. One that will break your notes but not your heart. And at the helm of the X6 I will be a bastion of public transport, a road warrior, a true leader of the people.