Gemstone
Here for the Journey
I hated the journey to work on the no. 27 bus. It was always full before we got anywhere near town and it was a work of art not to end up sharing the seat with the man with the large newspaper, the woman with all the bags or the letch from the office round the corner from where I worked. The latter was particularly painful as he delighted in moving his leg so that it rubbed up against mine or even worse, pretending to fiddle with change in his pocket and at the same time moving his fingers around my thigh accompanied by a sly grin.
I had got it off to a fine art. The trick was to stand until most seats had someone in them, look around for someone who looked “safe” and make a quick move, elbowing my way down the bus to the target seat and parking my ample rear on the seat. Today, however the “safe seat” was one of those side seats where you have to hold on at every corner so as not to come flying off into the gangway.
When the scruffy middle-aged guy with the stubbly chin got on the bus I didn’t take a lot of notice. My nose wrinkled as he passed with the smell of whiskey and sweat, then I went back to the serious business of actually staying on the seat.
Within minutes of boarding the bus the man, holding on tightly began interacting with the passengers, quoting disjointed bible passages, placing his hand on their heads and blessing them. The man with the large newspaper showed more interest than usual in the daily news and the woman with the bags seemed to find something very interesting in the depths of one of them. The office letch seemed to find the whole thing amusing and actually engaged in conversation with the man.
When he got tired of the letch the man tried again to engage the other passengers, calling on Jesus to save their souls. Finding no-one else willing to talk to him he became very loud and began making comments about the passengers, calling them a bunch of God forsaken snobs. Throughout this performance I kept my head down and thought I had escaped until he slurred,
“Even the fat girl struggling to keep the cheeks of her arse on the long seat over there knows I’m right”.
© July 2008
I had got it off to a fine art. The trick was to stand until most seats had someone in them, look around for someone who looked “safe” and make a quick move, elbowing my way down the bus to the target seat and parking my ample rear on the seat. Today, however the “safe seat” was one of those side seats where you have to hold on at every corner so as not to come flying off into the gangway.
When the scruffy middle-aged guy with the stubbly chin got on the bus I didn’t take a lot of notice. My nose wrinkled as he passed with the smell of whiskey and sweat, then I went back to the serious business of actually staying on the seat.
Within minutes of boarding the bus the man, holding on tightly began interacting with the passengers, quoting disjointed bible passages, placing his hand on their heads and blessing them. The man with the large newspaper showed more interest than usual in the daily news and the woman with the bags seemed to find something very interesting in the depths of one of them. The office letch seemed to find the whole thing amusing and actually engaged in conversation with the man.
When he got tired of the letch the man tried again to engage the other passengers, calling on Jesus to save their souls. Finding no-one else willing to talk to him he became very loud and began making comments about the passengers, calling them a bunch of God forsaken snobs. Throughout this performance I kept my head down and thought I had escaped until he slurred,
“Even the fat girl struggling to keep the cheeks of her arse on the long seat over there knows I’m right”.
© July 2008
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