Every afternoon, I take your bus from work to the nearest Skytrain station. Total time I spend on your particular bus is usually somewhere between 15-20 minutes. You an older, sorta grumpy-lookin’ guy, and I feel like maybe, in your twilight years with Translink, you’ve forgotten the point of wearing your jacket.
Drive the bus. Keep us safe. Get as many people home as quickly as possible.
Today, you kinda screwed up.
In you fifth round of your fave song to sing on speaker-phone-aoke, namely “Move to the back of the bus,” you thought you’d make a point, and hold us all up by turning the bus OFF until we crushed into the last six feet at the back. I’ve seen you do this before – last week, you turned off the bus so a little old lady would stop eating from a tiny bag of Cheerios, and once you admonished someone that they could kill somone with a nut allergy (they had a bite of a granola bar).
Today it kinda backfired though, huh?
When the bus wouldn’t start again? Yeah?
Sorta…. Looked like a bit of a schmuck, didn’t you? Mmm?
You could have pulled it out of the bag though, by acting at least a little sheepish about turning off your bus mid-route in order to embarass folks into gettin’ friendly at the back of the ol’ number 25, but no, you acted like it just suddenly died, with no help from you.
So everyone piled off the bus, and the next 25 picked up maybe 20 of the 70-ish of us. I wasn’t one of them, and started walking to the next stop to wait.
I gotta say, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see you go sailing past the next stop with exactly eight people on your magically-working-again bus.
Thanks for not stopping.
Tomorrow I’m wearing mittens made of peanutbutter, and we’ll who shuts off what first.
