No names...
Think of this section as a place where you can retire from the pains of your life, and instead simply relax and read those of somebody else's.
Empty threats
Empty threats are perhaps the most regular form of speech on the bus, and not from it's pupil passenger, bit from the driver of the archaic vehicle. Virtually every passenger has been 'banned' perhaps 20 times at least, and virtually every passenger has been told they will be visiting the head teacher's office the next day, almost every day. We cannot forget, however, that threats cannot possibly be carried out whilst the bus is in it's 'motion' (if the grinding sound the axels make really does result in movement). So, what's the solution? Perhaps almost obviously, it is to stop the bus approximately very 10 minutes to issue a stream of hollow threats and then precede to continue to drive the metal crate- this results in a massively longer bus journey, and irritated passengers less-willing to conform to the rules, an even longer bus journey, and irritated passengers less-willing to conform to the rules, and an even longer bus journey, and irritated passengers less-willing to conform to the rules. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, until the bus journey reaches such a length that most of its occupants are owed a pension (about 85 years of age in the UK).
Older Posts
Perhaps the worst feature of the school bus has to be the people (and no, not in the sense that we just don't like them generally, although they do regularly disappoint us). No. It is perhaps more because of the fact that as you veer erratically around an absurdly tight corner anyone who is standing up is tossed with considerable force into the sitters (some of whom are, perfectly factually, very small first years). Then as you recover from the violent tossing you have to endur the reproachful glares of the first years who you collapsed onto. The shame is intolerable.
What comes next however is slightly worse, you are then whirled around by the centarfugal force and your face is vivaciously smacked into an iron pole - next your nose is spewing out blood, you fall because of shock, you thwack your head on the flimsy floor, red liquid is streaming from your skull and...
We offer our deepest apologies (although we don't actually feel that way) for the shocking exaggeration of our colleague, who has now been, removed...
The overwhelming joy that fills you as you step off the bus knowing that it will be one whole week until you have to set foot in the God-forsaken vehicle again.
This memory is providing such belated happiness that the post will end here.
The bus pass, you would think is a perfectly reasonable system of determining whether or not someone can come on the bus, a valid system of security you might say! The system begins to get rather over the top however, when 2 passes are required (with the second naturally costing £90/$148, but we shall save that for another day). The whole thing does begin to sound ridiculous though, when you consider that the passengers have the same driver every day, there and back,and have done for several months, yet still have to present a pass every journey (failure to do so will result in being charged the £3.00/ $4.85 for a journey) But there is st................................................................................................
We offer our deepest apologies for the above paragraph which we believe was a rant with unsubstantiated evidence for the ranter to be justified in doing so. However we would like you to pay your respects, as the culprit has recently had the most horrible of 'accidents' involving 42 metres and several randomly paced spikes.
You would hope perhaps, that the rubbish in this world is consigned to bins, and not as it appears to be the case a bus. The entire flimsy floor of the vehicle is swathed (oh, lovely word) in empty crisp wrappers and fragments of the crisps that used to inhabit them. As you walk to your dust drenched seat all around you there are the the aggregating snaps and crackles (no pops though) of the plastic wrappers that roll along the floor. And, if you are particularly luck, one might just try to suffocate you as it swoops up into your face as a sudden gust of wind bellows in through one of the numerous holes in the tin can on wheels.
With the conditions of the bus in a state bordering on intervention from human rights groups, you would expect that prices are at least very low- perhaps that would almost compensate for the horrible travelling experience. But NO! Instead prices are extortionate, and I do mean extortionate. £3.00/ $4.85 for a single. So, as young and excited children venture into the world of formal qualifications, one of the most important parts of their life, they are ruthlessly scammed by a company with seemingly no conscience. But, I suppose there has to be some sympathy here, the owner of the company may only have been able to afford one hot tub, but now he can afford 4, and a country mansion-which, as we all know, is a basic human right.
If the overwhelming amount of bitterness in this post was too much please call the "I've been saddened by a miserable git helpline" on 0800444444444444444444444444 (as much as we would like it to, this line sadly does not exist).
For those humans who have the gift, and curse, of being tall, buses are an example of a curse. You walk on to the bus, lost in your own thoughts, and your eyes peacefully search for a seat. Then. THWAK (what a lovely onomatopoeia). Your rather highly situated head jars into the cold ceiling of the vehicle. But it gets worse, when you move to sit down you find that your legs are seemingly crushed in the impossibly small gaps between seats, the remainder of your journey is spent in what can only be described as intense pain.
Corners are a problem in almost any car ( apart from a Rolls-Royce ) however on the on the bus they seem, particularly amplified. With one minor turn all of the passengers are thrown violently onto the windows and walls of the bus, feeling as though they may have internal bleeding. Then this is only made worse by the rectifying turn, passengers are then again hurtled into the other side of the bus, their faces making contact with the cold flimsy glass. The whole bus wall appears to wobble, creaking slightly. With battered body parts and emotions scarred, passengers then turn to sit back down upon the grimey, bone hard 'seats'.
We've established that the school bus is far from safe, but have we yet banished the myth of reliability, well that shall be done! Imagine the following: you're sitting in the bus after a long hard day, your head sleepily lulls forward, and then you become a little curious. Is the air becoming less transparent? what's that strange smell? Ah yes, smoke. SMOKE! You turn, and see that a thin layer of smoke is seeping between the backs seats, is there a fire? But no, it's ok, the engine is just massively overheating. Does the bus stop to let the engine cool, no, not really. Finally it's your stop, you cautiously peer into the drivers can only to see that EVERY warning light is glaring, blinking, and flashing.
How wonderful it is to feel safe...
I'll be sharing with you now, a classic story of trampling from the depths of the bus (I.e the crazed 3:45 rush for a seat). The 'seat rush' is very much like a heard of angry, and I mean angry, bulls charging into a small, innocent child. Picture a seething crowd of school children, viciously twirling their bags around like swords in the midst of some epic battle, then they clump together and attempt to defy the universe itself by cramming a 5 meter wide crowd, through a 1 meter wide door. As you can probably guess, it goes far from we'll... Typically, one eager child attempts to be first in the bus, and typically the edge out to the front of the crowd, feeling pleased with that achievement, only to find they are forced to the ground under the pressure of the crowd, forgotten in the mad rush, and ground into the floor, like hammer to nail. Ooh my, that was a lovely simily
I'd really like to share to you the story of the pear. Although this may not sound, particularly exciting it is an epic saga of somebody's hair getting covered in fruit juice.
Imagine a food fight, now imagine one with health restrictions so that only pieces of your five a day can be thrown. I believe this paints an accurate picture.
So fruit was being thrown, a lot of fruit, a really seriously big amount of fruit (it really was a lot). Eventually fruit will end up being thrown towards the direction of an innocent bystander trying to fascinate themselves with the pavement, when it does this it explodes so violently, that the bystander's hair is instantly showered with healthy sticky things, The other alternative however, is that the fruit just smashes into the back of your head and makes you feel as though you've been hit by a misshapen baseball.
I like to think of the school bus as a mobile wrestling ring, filled with many an 'eager competitor'. The trick to survival (and I do mean survival) is to scurry away to a far away seat and absorb yourself with the wondrous craftsmanship of the pavement.
