Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Every day for the past year I've taken the same 7:10am bus to work. A 30 minute chance to gather myself for the battle ahead. Of course I don't share in this journey alone. There are about 50 other hardy souls who trip the light fantastic with me. Come rain, shine, snow, and ice. 50 condemned souls, each with their unique quirks and traits, which I've come to know and love. First up, there's Buddha. A fitting enough description which requires no further physical discussion. Where Buddha comes from, and where he goes to, is a mystery to most of us. He's always on the bus when it arrives, and always still on it when I get off. Maybe he's just always been there. Buddha lives in the single front seat, next to the driver. Dame Edna sunglasses always in place, headphones plugged into the overhead radio socket. The only sign of life from Buddha comes as we pass the 70kph speed sign, 20 minutes into our journey. At precisely that moment, Buddha removes his headphones and stows them into his jacket pocket. Why , and why then, who could say. Aside for that ritual, it wouldn't take too much to have Buddha declared legally dead. Scalp Scratcher is an interesting character. Well, maybe not so interesting, as he has only one visible trait. Scalp scratching. What impresses me about SS is that, after a 30 minute trip, 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year, there is still no sign of any bleeding. I'm convinced that he must surely have scratched his way down to bone by now. On the positive side, SS usually has a seat all to himself. Not a lot of people choose to sit behind him either. Whatever he's selling, we're not buying. Girlfriend is the unwitting clown of the troupe. GF has possibly discovered the speed dating of the future. Bus dating. The exciting part is to try and predetermine who her next candidate will be. The victim usually tries to fight GF off for a couple of weeks, before resigning himself to his fate and either taking an earlier bus, choosing to walk the 50km to town, or leaving the country. Either way, we never see them again. We only hope that they have found peace somewhere. Chaos Woman is my absolute favourite. My bus route has 6 "pick up" stops. ( I think that's where GF's confusion stems from ) I get on at stop number 3. Chaos Woman must live upstream from me, as some days she is already seated by the time I get on. This, however, is a rarity. Like GF, CW brings the element of chance and excitement into an otherwise dull and dreary early morning. Like being part of a crowd scene role in an Indiana Jones movie. You see, CW doesn't often make it to those early stops. Some days you'll see her in the distance, glasses tilted, hair to the winds. Legging it down the street like Flo Jo. The bus straining at the seams trying to keep pace with her as the approach the bus stop. It's a photo finish, but she makes it. Just. Some days there's no CW. Then the fun begins. Money changing hands over which of the remaining 3 bus stops CW will make it to. We start keeping an eye out for that silver Saab, cornering on 2 wheels. Driven by CW's husband, who is being whipped along from the passenger's seat like a chariot horse in Ben Hur. Some days it's Stop 4, some days the car has collapsed from exhaustion beside Stop 5. Once we pass Stop 5, the game is on. That silver Saab takes on a life of it's on. Like Seabiscuit round the final bend, it slowly draws alongside of the bus. Creeping agonisingly slowly past, it's a race like no other. The first to make it to Stop 6 basks in the glory of victory. There is no second prize. Some days there's no CW. On those days we all pause for a while, and take a moment to give thanks. To give thanks that we are not a witness to the atmosphere inside that silver Saab right now. Somewhere out there there's probably a blog about a perverted, bus riding, peeping tom, Kiwi.