The best way to deal with a crying woman is to run away. The bus teaches you everything there is to know about life. While I’m not content to doddle in the pool of stereotypes, men are hardly well-equipped to deal with crying women. So when a woman sobs her heart out on the bus, fumbling for a solution in a head now rendered empty of thought will get you nowhere. Thus the bus has taught me a valuable life lesson. In that particular situation, there’s nothing you can do as a flabby, useless husk of a man.
This isn’t cruel or cowardly, of course, but a fact of the spiritual palaces of public transit. Buses are like intricate tapestries of human life torn apart by catnip kittens of curiosity. There are very few differences between a Buddhist temple and the bus, you know, although no offence to any Buddhists reading…
Only now do I see the humble bus as a church of human endeavour. It is more than a boring A to B as you stumble to work each morn, content with clapped-out old buses littered with trash and the tutting vestiges of the few who remain outraged by the vapers and the doobie enthusiasts. The bus is where you learn what life is. Who you are. And what you’re capable of.
For example, I, a man with the lofty combo of heart AND lung problems, learnt on the bus that I am incapable of shouting at people who repeatedly vape in my face. And that I’m more than happy to endure hours of coughing and chest pains rather than get into an argument. This tells me that I am both a pushover and a wuss, but that’s not news to me…
Surrender to No-One
Whether you love the bus or hate it, it connects us. Often in anger. Sometimes in joy. Like when it breaks down and we have a jolly old singsong. More often than not, we have to wait a long time for the bus. Especially here in Britain where our bus services operate on a schedule best described as ‘it’ll turn up when it feels like it’.
It doesn’t matter if you’re tired. Or if you’re in a hurry. Or if you just want to get home from work. The weather could be biblical. ‘Drowned rat’ springs to mind. All you want is the goddamn bus to show up. On time. And hey! It never does.
Unless the weather is a beautiful 25 and you don’t mind having a jolly long time tanning yourself. Then the bus is early. Always early. But a single drop of snow? Then it’s 30 minutes late. If you’re lucky. In Britain, companies pull buses out of service if they’re more than 20 minutes late. And they usually come once an hour. So you can see why buses upset people.
And that’s before we get to the bus shelters. Many in Britain littered with glass after some ‘yuff smashed the shelter to pieces the previous night. Many scribbled with graffiti, often ‘A loves B’ or ‘C is a swear word’. And sometimes offensive political messages. Such as, ‘I actually quite like the Tories’.
That’s if you can find a shelter. Many stops are without shelter. If you’re lucky, there might be a tree. But it will dump several gallons of water on your head when you’re least expecting it…
I am impatient! I want to move. I want the warmth of the bus, for God’s sake! That’s if you’re lucky. Most buses in Britain don’t have air-con. And so no heater. And due to ongoing Covid regulations, they have to have their windows open. Does this sound like hell to you? Nah. Hell is much worse. Like Stevenage.
How can this be spiritual? The urge to kill everyone rising inside you. You surrender. You learn to live in the moment. And you learn patience. Yes, I have wet underpants. But you have no control in this situation. And humans LOVE having control.
There is only so much solitaire you can play on your phone. And only so many stones you can kick. So you fashion games in your head. Like making up a play involving the gaggle of pigeons in front of you. If you’re alone at the stop, you can add voices to your fun.
“You want the seed? You want this seed! YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SEED!”
If you’re lucky, there might be a dead one on the road as other pigeons watch on. You can then fashion a pigeons eulogy and that wastes lots of time.
“Sniff, before Steve was a mushy pile of goo, he was my best friend. I remember the time we went to Paris where we experimented sexually…”
I Hope for Nothing
Waiting teaches you a lot of important life lessons. And a lot about your imagination. You don’t know what will happen when it comes to the bus. It teaches you hope. Buses have schedules. But they don’t stick to them. And if you’re running even a teensy bit late, you need to get your jog on.
By the time you arrive at the bus stop, you’re looking dishevelled. You’re out of breath. Your legs are tingling. Your hair is a mess. You’re as red as a prune. Your mouth is so dry you can’t find the words to thank the driver for staying put. You sit down. As smug as anything. And the bus doesn’t move.
Oh crap! It was on time! I ran for nothing!
Yet nothing can take away from you that feeling of hope. That sense of hope as you ran and ran. Stay put, stay put, stay put! Please don’t pull away! And sometimes it does. But sometimes it doesn’t. It doesn’t really matter. You don’t know what is going to happen. By the time that bus has turned up, you’ve gone through a gamut of emotions but most important of all: hope.
Even if the bus drives away, there is no better feeling than hope. And no more crushing feeling than despair knowing you’ve just missed it and you have an hour’s wait in a shady neighbourhood for the next one to turn up. That’s a life lesson right there.
Hope for everything, want for nothing, expect disaster…
Curiosity Titillated the Kitten
So you’ve made the bus? Cool beans. What kind of bus passenger are you? Headphones on, head down, phone games galore? What about the nonchalant carefree prick flicking through TikTok vids without headphones on? Are you the sneaky vaper? Or are you like me? No headphones. No reading material. No phone shenanigans. Just a nice bus ride looking out the window at the world going by. And of course, the world inside the bus…
‘Oh, I’m not the type of person who judges others!’ You claim. ‘Oh, I don’t believe in labels’. You say. Really? REALLY? You do though, don’t you?
Everyone who gets on your bus, you make a judgment. And that tells you a lot about who you are. Here is a selection of my observations. Just last week, a young man next to me rolling a joint. Not unusual to see on a British bus. Sigh. Well, that man is a criminal, a pathetic loser who contributes nothing to society and whose benefits I have fork out for…
Oh, look at those teenage girls playing their music loudly on the bus. Tsk, tsk. Awful people. No respect for anyone. Did that elderly man shout at those kids for sitting in the elderly seat? God, he’s not very nice. Is that man wearing shorts in winter? Gordon Bennett, he must be as hard as nails. Ooh, watch out. A big, bald man covered in tattoos is sitting next to me. Oh no, he must be a gangster. I’m going to die! ARRRGH!
Am I wrong to make those assumptions? And what do they say about me? We’re all the same. We all love and hate. Most of us are just about getting by. We don’t think about our judgments. The bus teaches humility. It titillates our curiosity.
As time goes by, the bus teaches us to look at other people through other lenses. That man might be wearing shorts because he has no clean trousers. Those girls playing their music loud might not know what misophonia is and how upsetting their behaviour is for me. And that man rolling a joint, like all people who use drugs… no, I stand by that.
My labels of others have taught me a lot about who I am. And hey, I know they’re doing the same to me. And they’re probably right. I do look like a virgin after all…
It’s Nothing Personal
The bus teaches you everything there is to know about life because you’re surrounded by it. That’s the best thing about being on the bus. And the worst. These people teach you a lot and that can be rewarding. It can also be annoying.
People can shout at you. People can push in front of you. I’ve seen attacks on the bus. And I’ve seen young girls propositioned by much older men. All the people who do these things do not know you. It’s so easy to find offence within yourself. Take a few years ago for example.
The bus was full. The only seat left was a seat designated for the elderly at the front. So I sat in it. I would move if an elderly person got on. And when I sat in that seat, an elderly woman opposite me tutted and an angry look fell across her face. She turned to her friend, nodded in my direction and said to her friend:
“Tut, typical young’un. No respect for the elderly. Absolutely shameful that.”
This actually happened. ’Oh no’, I thought. I’m an awful, awful person. But I’m not. This rudeness is not about you. It’s about them. That’s what the bus teaches you. This rudeness is their issue, their anxieties, that they are imposing on other people. The bus gives you a thicker skin.
On the bus, people surround us. We come in all shapes and sizes, all personalities and traits, and that’s okay. The bus lets you know who you should be. And why it’s important not to cower to others. Words can never hurt me.
Unlike sticks and stones, which very much can…
Oh, It Is Personal?
Of course, there are times you should take things personally. While it’s important to ignore bastards on the bus who are riling you up, there is a point at which you need to say something. If someone is being harassed, you should help. If someone is vaping, you should stop them. If someone is rude to you in an unacceptable way, you should do something about it.
There is a fine line between standing up for what’s right and letting things go. Some fights are not worth it. Others are. I remember one bus driver shouting at an elderly passenger who wanted the bus but didn’t put out his hand. I don’t know why the driver was so angry. But he screamed at the elderly man. And so many people on the bus got up and gave the driver a piece of their minds.
And I remember that time a young girl got a phone call. And started crying. A lot. I was not going near that. Not because I didn’t want to, but because when people are in distress and I turn up to help, just the mere sight of me often makes things worse.
“Oh no, it’s the worst day of my life!” “Never fear, Alan is here!” “OH GOD, IT JUST GOT WORSE!”
Beauty, Beauty Everywhere
Buses are not beautiful. Trust me on that. Where I live, in Teesside in the North East of England, there are two main bus companies. Stagecoach and Arriva. They don’t cross paths. They hate each other. So I get Stagecoach. And because this is a poor area and they’re only here for a profit, the buses are appalling. All decades old. Collapsed suspensions. Engines puffing smoke into the cabin. They run old airport shuttle buses. Which can’t go around corners.
When they do, at more than five miles per hour, the diesel falls out of the engine. And that’s true…
Not to mention the litter everywhere. They bring in cleaners once a month. But they only do a brief sweep with a broom. The buses don’t get a deep clean, seats washed, or walls scrubbed, more than once a year. And I know that because they don’t dry the seats and I recently endured a wet, if fragrant, bottom because of this.
And that’s before we get onto the hefty concoction of smells from overly perfumed schoolgirls, overly strawberry-scented vape nutters, and the overly pungent stench of marijuana. I’ve never touched the stuff but I don’t know why anyone would. Jesus, that stuff smells worse than a giant’s sweaty butt crack.
The bus isn’t pretty. But you learn to see the beauty in life. In life’s darkest corners. Like a butterfly against a grey wall. Yes, my ears are ringing with the loose window next to me rattling around in its frame ready to fall out (bloody Stagecoach). But look at that. There. At the front. A mother playing with her baby, giggling away. Aww.
The bus teaches you that everything is going to be alright. Even if that window falls out and sends a thousand shards of glass into my brain. Even then, I have but just one thing to say:
Everything is bleeh, bleeh, bleeeeh…
Breathe
When all goes wrong in life, remember to breathe. That’s the best thing to do on the bus. Unless you shouldn’t. I’m not sure if there’s such a thing as second-hand weed smoke, but I’m not willing to risk it.
“Al, why are you late for work?” “Boss, dude, do you ever notice how your fingers are like… TOES… but for your hands?”
A Heavenly Holiday for the Busman
The bus teaches you everything there is to know about life. From who you are as a person to how you see others. Everyone sees the bus as a necessity, but I find myself drawn to their spiritual nature.
I understand why you hate the bus. I mean, come on, there are loads of reasons to hate the bus. But I think you’re wrong. They are spiritual palaces, a daily pilgrimage of public transit.
They teach you to surrender to the moment, to find hope, to learn curiosity instead of judgment, to lose control and to find the beauty in everyday life. And they remind you to breathe if it’s safe to do so. The state of Stagecoach’s buses I imagine the plague still lives somewhere onboard…
These are the lessons I have learnt from 520 hours a year on public transit. I can’t believe it’s only now I’ve realised how important these places are as the centre of human life. They are an education of their own.
I used to think the bus was a means to an end, but now I see the truth. It’s taught me more about life than anything else. Like how to produce a guttural cough on command when someone’s getting on the bus to stop them sitting next to you…
“Travelling shouldn’t be just a tour, it should be a tale.”
– Amit Kalantri (mentalist, mind reader, illusionist).
Peace Out :|:
Post DCLV: What has the bus taught you about life, reader?
The Indelible Life of Me 
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