There’s nothing I enjoy more than an unhappy bus driver.
And today, I got my wish.
My driver de jour was unhappy that his route was bumpy and it was hurting his back. He phoned in his complaints to – I assume – someone higher up in the company, and presumably received news which wasn’t to his liking as he signed off with “Well, if it gets too painful I’ll just park up.”
We then proceeded to town in a very stop-start fashion, involving one point where he became irate with two passengers because he was already late – see the stop-start nature of the journey.
It turns out, though, that he had received a phone call later in the journey to say he could swap to a smoother route and he had to meet up with another driver. And every minute wasted was a minute he was not meeting with that driver. So he drove quicker and, arguably, made the journey more bouncy.
We got to town and he just got off and shut the doors on us.
Well, you’d have thought we – the eleven or so people on the bus – were part of a hostage crisis. People starting wailing about wanting to get off, I just muttered rude words under my breath because I was already behind schedule of my journey – see the stop-start nature.
And then a hero emerged. A girl just got up and pressed the door button. And we all got off. Our driver was only swapping with the driver of the bus in front. But he didn’t explain any of that. He just took his sad face and got off the bus.
As did we.
When the new driver got on, I imagine he found the bus empty, with the doors just left open. And no explanation as to where we’d gone. A bit like everyone from Roanoke, just vanishing in the night.
We didn’t leave behind – as a far as I know – the word Croatoan and nothing else. We just scarpered.