Buses are evil, evil pieces of pure evil that are driven by evil drivers who have come from evil-town (eh ... hell, that is). I was legging it for a bus earlier, and I KNOW the driver saw me because he was stopped at a green man and I dashed across the road just as his light went green, arms flailing about and generally looking like a complete arse, and because there was no one at the stop and I was a whole ten seconds away, he just drove on right by. So because my bus is a pile of poo, unlike the glorious one-every-five-minutes 46a, I was waiting a good half hour for the next one.
It finally rolls down the road ... closely followed seconds later by another one. Bloody typical. On I hop anyway, disgruntled and grumbling, to discover my rambler card was actually expired.
“Two twenty please, love”.
Yeah yeah. Even more bleedin typically, I have only a two euro coin and a one euro. If you are unfamiliar with how evil Irish buses are, they do not give change. So I am out eighty cent. Hardly going to break the bank I know, but it’s the principal of the matter. That could have bought me a Snickers!
Upstairs I scramble, where there are about five free seats. My first choice would always be another female, but all the free seats happen to be beside men. Hmm. I’m not going down the back because its full of pikeys, so that leaves the really old guy, who I am worried will have that old guy smell, the really (REALLY) fat guy, or the questionable teenager in black listening to music so loud I can hear it from the top of the stairs. I opt for the last one, deciding to turn my own music up blaringly loud to drown him out (bear in mind this whole, intricate decision making process takes place in about ten seconds and you slooooowly make your way down the aisle).
Then the second bus behind me whizzes by, totally empty.
Of course it does.
As the bus approaches Donnybrook Bus Garage, I close my eyes and begin my usual silent prayer that this one isn’t going to pull over and sit there for ten to twenty minutes while we wait for a usually late driver to come and take over, and then for the two of them to have a good auld natter. Obviously, because this is and evil, evil bus, my prayer goes unanswered. The bus pulls in, the engine cuts out, and there is a resounding groan from everyone on board who are all to used this crappy demonstration of evil bus driving.
So after a half hour wait, a ten minute stop over, and a forty minute journey during which I probably destroyed my ear drums, my hour and a quarter trip that could be driven by car in about twenty five minutes comes to an end, and I join everyone else getting off at Stephen’s Green. The bus pulls into the stop behind one of those ridiculous Viking Splash buses, a little bit behind its usual spot because those plucky adventurers are in the way ... when it suddenly LURCHES forward (and I really mean lurch) as the bus/truck/boat hybrid in front moves off, and I went flying.
Like really, flying. I was halfway down the stairs and thumped into the dude in front of me when the bus moved forward (he managed to maintain his own dignity and only stumble a bit), and then fell backwards on my ass onto the steps when it stopped. Now, I have been told on frequent occasions that I have unfortunately not been blessed with good grace, but this was bad even by my standards. I now have a bruised bum, and a bruised ego.
I got the DART home.