A little short "story" that formed in my head whilst on the bus this morning.
Every day when I get on my morning bus to work the same lingering thought occurs to me, "how has it come to this?". Although not intended as a rhetorical question, the mere fact I ask it every day infers that it quite possibly is one. Of course, when trying to answer my mind gets interrupted by far more pressing concerns. Take now for example, a screaming toddler, face screwed up like a wart is being ignored by all and sundry. Why is nothing being done? Her mother is far too enchanted in the conversation she is having with the young man sitting next to her to care. Like the mother, I am unsure as to whether this man is the girl's father, but child and man do have matching earrings, so I decide that he probably is.
My mind wanders again as the screaming is infected by another sound, namely the bus creaking like machine gun fire. As the bus goes faster the noise levels increase and I'm left wondering why no-one else seems even vaguely concerned? To an untrained ear it sounds like the bus is about to evaporate into nothing but the used condom under my seat. Alas, I remember I am a well seasoned bus veteran and this is but the norm, there is no danger here. And what's this? A cease fire. The noise has vacated, the bus has come to a complete standstill. But why? It appears the driver has decided to reward himself for being seven minutes behind schedule by stopping and having an impromptu cigarette. Obviously a union man. Although everyone is rather peeved off, we all decide, undemocratically, to suffer in silence. Even the toddler has given her lungs a rest.
A few moments pass until we are off once more. I see my stop on the horizon and ready my trigger finger. Bell pressing is a neglected art and each player must mentally prepare oneself. Too early and the driver will forget to stop, too late and you're through the windshield. "Buzz". Am I too early? It seems not, we're slowing down. Success! I thank the bus driver for getting me to my destination ten minutes late and head on into work.
On entry, I see my boss exiting his office, staring down at his watch like a public school headmaster. Perhaps it's broken? No such luck. He beckons me into his office in much the same way he did yesterday, where he told me it was the third time that week I had been late. "Quite an achievement considering it's only Tuesday" I'd said. He didn't find it remotely amusing on the outside but perhaps he was laughing subconsciously? It didn't appear so then and it certainly doesn't appear so now. As I enter into his replica death star, I can't help but think to myself; If only I was still on that bus.
