Feb 18, 2019: Rush

I found myself doing a bit of a speed run into town today to run a game for a lovely father-daughter pairing. The booking came in at short notice – probably because I’d planned out my day extensively – and left me with not very long at all to get into town and set up.

But I managed it, because I’m awesome.

Normally when I’m working I set off from home about an hour and a half before the game’s start time. This then gives me enough time to get the bus in, go to the supermarket beforehand if necessary, and get the rooms set up for the teams to play in. Not to mention time to turn on the kettle, leave it to boil, realise it’s not plugged in, plug it in, boil it, forget about the fact I was making a drink, reboil it and make a drink. Possibly the most important part of the whole set-up process.

It does seem excessive – and I know it does – but there have been occasions when I’ve still been waiting for the bus twenty or thirty minutes after leaving, and in those instances it never seems like I’ve left too early. I also like to build in a bit of redundancy for when I’m at work because things use technology and technology can, sometimes, be an absolute git. And you don’t want to be rushing around trying to fix something… a calm approach is much better. Until it really annoys you, anyway, and then fury and violence are the answer.

Today the bus showed up quite swiftly. I didn’t have my usual time because it was very short notice. I’d had the fastest shower and get ready I could possibly manage. You know, one of those that’s at the speed you do it when you get up late and still manage to get into work on time but don’t want to make a habit of it. That sort of speed.

I got on the bus, sat down as was idly looking at things on my phone.

It was only when I looked up and saw a man rushing to the front of the bus that I realised that the bus had taken an entirely wrong route. The rushing man was, of course, leaping into action to inform the driver of this.

I, meanwhile, already aware of time’s swift passage am sitting there thinking, “Well, of course it bloody has. Of course this bus has to be the one to take the wrong route…”

It found somewhere to swing round – clumsily – and went back on to the correct route again. It was only a detour of a minute or two. But then I looked out of the window again, and there were several people at the bus stop that it had missed.

My heart sank a bit.

Because there’s nothing people at bus stops love to do more than talk to the driver about why the bus before hasn’t come, the bus after won’t come, there are birds in the sky, whether there’s life on Mars or why the bus has gone the wrong way.

And it’s considered incredibly rude – I would imagine – to stand in the aisle, towards the back – and shout “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!” at each of the dear, sweet old ladies who are getting on and saying the same things to the driver, and all who appear to NOT HAVE THEIR PASSES READY.

But hey, I got in to work in plenty of time. Not as early as I would have liked or been happy with, but all the time I needed to do the kettle thing.

I even managed to add an extra step where I set it to boil and then unplugged it myself so it wouldn’t boil, thinking that its plug was for one of the battery chargers which has an entirely different-looking plug.