Bussing it

Sitting on the bus, I feel bored, unexcited by the prospect of getting to my destination. Not because I knew what awaited for me there, but because of the completely uninteresting conversation behind me, that for some reason I cannot be able to drown out.
“I seriously think, after all my deliberation, to go for the green. Yep that’s it, I’m decided, green is my favourite colour. Or is it? I don’t know now, I really do enjoy the calmness of sky blue, but not the bright sky blue, the dull sky blue. I think maybe I’ll have to think on it more. Okay mum. Yeah. No totally, I agree. Yellow makes me cross eyed. Woah, I’m losing you mum, reception is bad around here… ”
I look at my phone, which has perfect reception.
Looking around, I see that the more boring side of the conversation is a middle aged balding man, a perfect example of middle aged and balding. If you were to look at the guy, he was the stereotype for all middle aged and balding guys out there. A little bit chubby, glasses, eyebrows that can be spotted from a distance, tiny pursed lips that he continuously licked to keep moist and of course a small red tie.
He looks at me with what almost looks like nervousness, and looks down at his lap.
I turn back and look out the side of the bus.
Outside at the traffic lights, I can see in the car beside the bus, and what I see intrigues me. There is a little girl, sitting out in her seat, hitting her Barbie like doll against the window. Thump, thump, thump. It’s like she’s trying take revenge on the Barbie for giving her false hopes of the future; meeting a nice boy called Ken, who has a car, a good body and doesn’t abuse her. Or maybe she just likes the feeling of being in control, making her doll do something she has no control over. Only after she bangs it’s against the window so hard that the head pops off, that the little girl stops and cries to the parent in the front seat. Well I guess she will learn restraint, if she doesn’t want the heads to come off people.
The bus pulls away from the lights, leaving the girl and the broken doll behind. Sliding into another stop, an old lady hops on board. She smiles broadly at the driver hidden in the corner, whose only contact with passengers is when they get on the bus and occasionally when they exit via the front door. It must get very old, sitting there. All you see is the fake gratitude and politeness of people, too poor to own a car, yet think they’re too good to ride on public transport.
The old lady sits down right behind the driver, the biggest blind spot for the driver. She wears a bright yellow sundress, that compliments her whitening blonde hair and yellow framed sunglasses. Bright red lipstick, blush, and eye liner are drawn onto her face, making her look like the sort of woman that had a very good time of it when she was much younger. As the bus pulls away from its temporary respite, she pulls on shining white gloves that almost glow through the bus.
I look away from the blinding gloves to observe the atmosphere outside. The sun punches through the array of angry looking clouds overhead, and gliding birds show off by flying around with their wings. Wings are overrated anyway.
It must be close now. Time for to escape from this bus, escape into the world of opportunities, which only appear for the people looking for them. My stop is coming; the driver is grinding down the gears, slowing without actually touching the brakes. Excitement bubbles up for the first time today, finally I will be free on this metal box. Free to breathe the air I want to breathe, not the air conditioned and treated air they force upon you in the bus. I can see the bus stop. It waits patiently for me, as the driver pulls into the buses designated position. I get up quickly, not waiting for the bus to finish its awkward jerking into the space. I leap forward, a smile on my face, waiting for my chance to get out. The hiss of the doors signals the end. I walk past the guy with the surfboard, the middle aged balding chubby man with glasses, the hooker like old lady trying to impersonate the sun, finally the driver, who I give the universal nod of acknowledgement, and step onto the pavement.
Ahh glorious freedom. The sun is brighter; the air clearer and hotter, the white noise made by people walking past is almost painful to hear. i grimace in anguish. I almost wish I didn’t leave my metal box.

Bussing it


Sippy Downs, Australia

  • Artist

Artist's Description

a quick only very slightly exaggerated telling of one of my first bus trips after moving to my new place. really opened my eyes.


travel bus

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