“excu…me.. sorr.. may I… sorr… please… can I just .. excus …” and you’ve missed your stop. How lovely.
I jump on the bus every morning because I enjoy feeling like a stuffed sardine in a can. It is actually horrendous; the image of a bus pulling up that basically has people wedged in to every breathable corner.
I normally enjoy reading on bus rides, it is somehow(normally) a fantastic way of shortening any journey, but on this particular journey every morning I end up having the book so close to my face that the lines seem to blur.
It makes me want to cry… you must have seen the CCTV footage of train stations in China and as Turkey we must be closing up on them so I’m guessing there will be footage of Turks rampaging off buses very soon. So I just wanted to give you the heads up, a teaser perhaps of what to expect.
So first thing in the morning, you’re half asleep and less tolerant but the thought process of trying to get up on these buses you wake up. So first thing first, you get to the station and even knowing its going to be busy the shock of seeing it yet again amazes you. You sigh and move yourself through the crowd to get to your favorite bit at the stop. The bus reels in and crowds pack around the doors, unlike the tube the doors never in exactly hit the same place twice you just hope it’s your lucky day and doors will stop in front of you.
There are basic survival tips to get off the bus unharmed and this is how it goes. Firstly when you eventually get on the bus you have to position yourself taking into consideration the possibility of emergency brakes, if you don’t you tend to become very close friends with the person facing you as you end in an awkward hug. If you are clever you face someone’s back so when the lovely driver brakes you just end up crashing into the back of someone rather their lips. I’ve seen it happen.
There’s more, a lot more, like…The synchronised turn of the people by the door as the doors open, wondering if that thing briskly touching your backside is the bag of the woman on your left or the hand of the man right (you tend to take a wondering look behind you, if it stops it’s the man, if it continues it’s the woman’s bag), the phone call that everyone on your section of the bus gets to eavesdrop on, the pressure of getting of the bus that starts two stop before you actually have to get off, the bar that has what seems like a hundred hands holding on to it, the thing in your hand that you’re worried about dropping as there is physically no room to man-oeuvre your butt in the right way to bend down and get it, the armpit of the man who hasn’t showered that morning, the human heat that’s added to the heating that the driver for some reason feels is necessary (I think the drivers must constantly feel head heavy with the lack of oxygen), the mother on board with her child that seems to think that the open window will make her child ill but not the germs that others are breathing on them, there are loads and most of them just feel normal.
The journey takes forty-five full minutes my friend, the most commentated forty-five minutes of my regular day.
And to top it off I have to pay a fee to get on… Lovely innit?