Years ago....
...back when i was on the young side of having a driving licence, I was forced to use Greater Manchesters public transport in order to get to and from work.

As I'm sure you can imagine, commuting was not my favourite time of day. It normally meant either having to deal with snotty, obnoxious school children in the morning or old people seemingly with limited time on this mortal coil, who had clearly just escaped from the local "Mental, but not mental enough to be locked up" hospital. Y'know the kind, conversations with themselves, random shouting, a complete lack of local knowledge meaning they'd argue with the poor driver for dropping them off 38 stops beyond their proposed destination. Urgh.

I used to scowl at people in cars, sitting there in their warmth with their radios on, not a care in the world. Bastards.

Anyway, one day I get on the bus home to be confronted with a near empty bus. It was, in terms of my life at the time, bliss. I waved my weekly pass at the driver and went and sat in down in one of the many many empty seats.

Then it happened. When the bus rolled up to the next stop, HE got on the bus. I could see quite clearly that not all of his dogs were barking. He was dressed in an outfit that showed less co-ordination that the results of Stevie Wonder dressing himself. He also had that vacant look about him, oh, and a tatty Asda bag with god knows what in it, possibly crack...or poo, who knows. Anyway, in spite of the bus being near empty, he sits right in front of me and faces the window tightly, like an excited child might while in the back of dad's Mondeo on the way to Blackpool. This worried me from the off, but then it started; his conversation. Via the reflections in the window, he was chatting to me, or at least to my reflection. Incoherant babble mostly, i obviously did my best to avoid making eye contact, but inavariably it kept happening, which seemed to anger the chap more.

The though had entered my head to move, but then if i did that he's have no reflection to talk to, which might upseAAAAARRRGGGHGHH GARB FNER RAGGGHHHH NOOOO ARRRGGHHH...

What the fuck? He just bloody flipped, seemingly very angry with my reflection, which now looked like the face of a vegetarien in a slaughter house. I litterally froze with fear as this chap went nuclear within 3 feet of my young, so-far undamaged face. By this point it dawned on me that my reflection was only playing a small role in his fantasy, as it was his own reflection which was bearing the brunt of the abuse.

I saw my chance to escape the already about to stop bus, so i did just that. I ran down the middle of the bus, arms flailing like a madman. I breifly remember the drivers face, who i had left to deal with his 'passenger', it wasn't good.

I leapt from the bus and then ran the rest of the way home, and then i locked my door and spent the next hour tentatively peeking through the curtains, y'know, just in case.

I made my mum take me in for the rest of the week, and after that I walked as often as the weather would let me.

God, reading that back it, makes me realise how much I love my car.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Thu 29 May 2008, 16:05, 1 reply)

It's true
Everyone else is mad. I like my car because I hate other people.
( gareth_alien will be human again at, Fri 30 May 2008, 10:44, closed)