The day of six buses
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Every so often, fate is more forthcoming with the creek than with the paddle. Monday morning was a perfect example. It would have been fun if I enjoyed cold weather, frequent changes of transport and a lack of personal space. I'm not a huge fan of any of those things. And especially not all at once.
Since changing jobs in October, my new journey to work begins much the same as my old one. I get the same bus. The difference is that while I used to get off in the city centre, I now stay on for another fifteen minutes while it takes me almost to the door of my new office on the city's eastern border. When it works, it's wonderfully convenient. And it's worked pretty well up until one very cold morning in December.
On this particular morning, things went spectacularly wrong. About five minutes away from the city centre, the bus 'broke down' with an almighty bang. It was the sort of noise that leaves no real room for doubt and eats optimism for breakfast. The sagging motion as the suspension gave way kicked in with near comic timing. I would have laughed, had my sense of humour not already dived underneath it to avoid the cold.
Most buses on this route are already full by the time they reach the stop at which my bus had broken down. To demonstrate this, the next bus sailed past, already packed tight with commuters. It was a similar story with the next one, albeit that one didn't go to my desired destination anyway.
With three buses squandered and my fingers growing number by the minute, I hoped that bus number four, with just minutes until it was due, would arrive swiftly and be my salvation. It didn't. And when I say it didn't, I mean it didn't arrive at all—swiftly or otherwise. I should have expected this. Bus timetables in Coventry are based more on conjecture than on demonstrable fact.
After waiting in the cold for nearly forty minutes, bus number five came to my rescue. But only just. By this point the bus was so full, only my willingness to compromise on personal space allowed me to get on. At least I was unlikely to fall over; wedged, as I was, between some students and a rather portly gentleman who looked a bit like his suspension could use some attention too. On the bright side, an hour after I'd left home, I was moving again.
But not for very long. This bus wasn't without its ailments either. Apparently the subzero temperatures were causing it to seize up. Upon arriving in the city centre, the driver insisted that everybody vacate the vehicle so he could take it back to the garage. It was with some relief that I noticed another bus was already parked behind us and thankfully the changeover was swift.
Bus number six did get me to work, though I admit a persistent unhealthy hiss from the hydraulics had me worried all the way there. My colleagues found the story more amusing than I did. The journey home, while later than usual, was pleasantly uneventful. If only all my journeys were like that.