You swipe your oyster, you pay your fare or you nip on the back without paying. You walk on upstairs because that’s where you sit. Always. It’s cooler and quieter and just simply easier. But you’re there at rush-hour. It’s four o’clock. The school rush-hour. And so almost every seat is taken. In every double seat, sits at least one passenger. Obviously you won’t get a window seat because you don’t want to climb over anyone. This gets rid of about a quarter of the unreasonable idiots who have taken those seats. So as your standing there, mind whirring over where to sit, what goes through your mind? You have to choose between the hippy woman who hasn’t washed for weeks, the woman with a baby or the girl with the baby. Or of course there’s the one playing loud music, the one who’s convinced everyone else wants to hear their phone call. Or you opt to sit next to a guy. There’s the old guy who looks harmless enough but will spend hours getting out his seat. Or the youngster who will bore you endless with his ‘talk’. Or the middle-aged one, who has a paper, and another, and a blackberry, and a phone and you know that’s all going to fall apart. Or the ‘cool-kid’ who will spend your whole journey eyeing you up. So then you look behind you, to the front, where the kids sit. You think you could sit there, but maybe that would look weird?
But you’ve got to remember they’re not the only ones on the bus. You are too.
And as you cluttered up the stairs with your school bags, they all turned to stare at this noisy stranger and what did they see? You. A scruffy school kid, who’s wet because you were made to stand in the rain. Whose tights are ripped, giving you the look of a young prostitute. Whose jumper is hanging on by a thread.
Maybe, they’re a little scared of you. After all, kids run the streets round here.
They see a kid whose bag is going to bang against most people because you’re too inconsiderate to possibly think about other people, that much, right?