Never Run For The Bus : Memoir

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, ‘Never run for a bus or for that matter a train.’ It’s not cool. It never can be. It doesn’t matter how late you are or what the occasion is, and it can’t be death or dying because who would hop on public transport in an emergency?

Never run for a bus I tell you. It just isn’t right and everyone is staring back at you when you just don’t quite make it. They are all staring at you thinking the same thing, ‘that poor soul.’ They are not even insulting you with a middle-finger gesture, that I could handle, it’s a mark of respect from one to another, but all you get is pity. And the chances are that whatever you are running for, that new boss, or the person interviewing you, is probably in that group on the bus of blank faces, all thinking the same shit.

Never run for a bus I’m telling you. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get up earlier or be on time. Being on time is always fine. There is time to dress. Time to eat breakfast, or drink a coffee at a bus stop, or a train station, and just watch the world pass by. That is a luxury that must be endured every day before heading off to work. No rush. Just a saunter. Relaxed. Cool.

But please please please there is no need for the rasping, panting, that anguished look on your face. That last-minute slap of the hand on the window pane, or even worse you’re mouthing the words but they can’t hear you, and then afterwards while the bus pulls away and you stand there looking at the floor or out into the distance until it slowly dawns on you that everyone at the bus stop is watching you too.

And that silence between the bus leaving, the people around you, just milling, and you staring, is just not worth it. So please please please I’m telling you, never run for a bus. It just isn’t cool. Get up early don’t be a fool.

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