Friday, 8 October 2010

Public Transport

A very warm, sleepy sort of bus.
I spent most of it trying to work out who smelt - was it the oldish bloke infront of me, or the youngish lad behind? You know when you just can't qwuite work out where it is coming from - a wiff of sweat and general dirt. At one point I started to wonder if it was ME. Did I stink? Was I skanky?

Once he got off I was relieved to find it was the oldish bloke. Not me.

Then a woman sitting near the front decided to yell into her hands free mobile - three people who had almost nodded off completely nearly fell off their seats in shock. But we all knew she would 'be at your 'ouse in 'alf an 'our, orrite?' Marginally better than people who decide we all want to hear their arguments on their phones, at top volume, interspersed with as many swear words as they can think of.

Bloke behind me on the way back sniffed. Constantly. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
Sniff sniff sniff. Sniff. I womanfully fought the urge to turn round and knock him out with my cabbage.

Pubic transport. Innit.

1 comment:

Freyalyn said...

And then the powers-that-be wonder why we all avoid PT if at all possible. I used to take two trains and a bus to work every day, there and back. And the bus was through Harehills.... Now I drive - half the time and less stress. Wonder why? (Remember the horror of sitting on a damp bus seat and wondering what is was damp with.)