Bus Ride Part 2: The Return Trip And The Drinki-Le-Metsi Loser

I curse softly under my breath and scowl at him as he circles the bus. I can’t have another bus breaking down on me in a space of 2 days.

I pray silently for the bus, for the driver and the conductor and their families. They really need my prayers because after my previous experience I had prepared a toolkit of how to deal with transport personnel and it was really nasty staff. The contents were choice phrases, a few French terms, a fight-till-you-drop mentality, sneers, jeers and a thick skin. The whole nine yards and though I was anxious to trial it I felt sorry for the unfortunate person who’d be at the receiving end. I sat by a window whose curtains kept flapping against my face.