Buses – reasons to love them
Why on earth would anyone love buses, you may ask. Very few people in the world love buses. In my previous post I said I hate buses. Now I’m saying I love buses. This love, though, is more like a guilty pleasure; I love to hate buses.
My reasons are simple, comprising a bit of Schadenfreude, and being nosy.
Disclaimer: Do not mistake this for saying I like buses themselves, I don’t. I’d much rather drive somewhere than suffer the great humanitarian injustice of having to sit in a mobile waiting room.
Buses are an excuse to grumble
See previous post.
Buses mean you can avoid tedious roads
Yes, sometimes driving can be a bit tedious. If you’re ever in Preston, drive from the roundabout at the north of the city (the roundabout which gives you the choice of choosing the M55, M6 or A6) and into the city. It’s a 30mph road. Fair enough, there are lots of houses, but it’s incredibly dull and tedious. It’s straight, so there’s not even a corner to entertain you. There’s a few traffic lights to break it up, but that’s it.
So, bus drivers can suffer the misery of a dull road while you suffer the misery of a wailing toddler whose neglectful, jewelry and sportswear-ridden mother LOLs at a text from her 28th boyfriend of the week (I’m not laughing out loud, you soulless bint).
Buses present a wide spectrum of society
Yes, buses allow you to see a whole variety of people. Sometimes they’re normal people, but sometimes they’re quite interesting. Sometimes you can find so much about them (yes, I know, you shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations, but, when your attention can be taken away from the dandruff-filled mullet of the bloke in front, it’s a good idea). I shall provide some examples.
Bus journey example one
On this journey I learnt about two men. One was probably in his 40s, the other in his 70s. I shall give them fictional names to ease the storytelling. Man in his 40s shall hereby be referred to as Jeremiah. Man in his 70s shall hereby be referred to as Eugene.
Jeremiah
It turns out that Jeremiah had been a naughty man. He had been to see his girlfriend, and he’d had a bit to drink, and they’d had a bit of an argument. But you won’t believe this… naughty Jeremiah decided to drive home. But don’t worry, the British legal system thrust its gargantuan foot right into his once-proud balls.
While driving home, Jeremiah was caught by the police. Jeremiah claimed that it was just a random check. Funny that, isn’t it, that the police “randomly” pulled over a bloke who was drink-driving when he “was driving fine, like. Not dangerous or owt.” Yes, Jeremiah, what a coincidence. What a shame that the police are successfully taking drink-drivers off the road.
Eugene
Jeremiah told his story to Eugene. Now, Eugene was a cheeky old fellow. He had a girlfriend down South. And I found out he had a Rover 75. He was really proud of his Rover 75. He said it was really good on the motorway. He said that he bought it cheap from some local garage. He seemed proud of his Rover 75, and also the fact he had a girlfriend at the age of…well, probably 75.
Bus journey example two
There were two characters worth mentioning on this journey. We shall call them Augustus and Percy.
Augustus
Augustus got on the bus first. He was wearing a big, bright yellow fluorescent coat. Now, to be fair, he wasn’t completely there in his head. As he counted out his money for the bus driver, he kept repeating: “Corporation Street”.
He sat down in front of me. Then, out of his pocket, he brandished his handkerchief. It wasn’t a very nice handkerchief. It was a bit dark in places. I think Augustus had recently had a nose bleed.
Augustus then proceeded to blow and pick his nose until he deemed that the bloody stains had decreased in size enough to warrant him returning the handkerchief to his right pocket. For the rest of the bus journey, Augustus’s head frequently darted from left to right, but not by much – I’d guess no more than a 15 degree angle.
Percy
Next, Percy got on the bus. I remember when I was a child, I used to read about Percy the Park Keeper. This was not Percy the Park Keeper, though. This was Percy the Drug User (I assumed he was on drugs).
When the bus driver opened the 
door, Percy leapt onto the bus. He was happy to be here.
From his pocket, he wielded his bus pass in his right hand, which he then thrust towards the partition separating the bus driver from the bus passengers. Oh yes, Percy was enthusiastic about bus travel. Even more enthusiastic than Augustus and myself… put together!
After the bus driver accepted that Percy was allowed to travel with me, Augustus and a handful of others, Percy set about getting to his seat. He then energetically lunged towards his nearest vertical bar (those upright poles that are there for people to cling onto when walking through the bus).
From there he swung, like a gold-medal-winning gymnastic orangutan, to the next upright bar, and then to the next, and then to the one after that.
But, there was only one pole left before he reached the one behind my seat (facing forwards, I was on the left side of the bus). Percy extended his left arm, grabbed the pole in front of me to the right, and swung around. Out of caution and fear, I ducked out of the potential collision course. I awaited the arrival of an impact, but I’d done enough to avoid Lancashire’s own whirling dervish.
In an expected change of tactics, Percy remained clung on to the pole he had grasped in his left hand, and swung around and dropped into a seat, behind and left of my own.
After that, Percy listened to some music. Very loudly. But I wasn’t too annoyed – I was unhurt, that was all that mattered while Percy was on board.
Conclusion
So there we have it, the reasons that make travelling on a bus less horrific. If you have any other reasons why you think I should like buses, please leave a comment.
Peter Adams Journalism 