Skip to main content

Well-Intentioned BBQ Joke Takes a Turn: Bus Banter Blunders - The Tale of the 24 Cans of Lager

By

Bus Banter Blunders

I shouldn’t have said it. I knew it the second the words left my mouth. Why do I always do this?

It was just another day behind the wheel, guiding the bus through the usual chaos. The city felt heavy, like it always does when the sky threatens rain but never quite delivers. I could feel my heart already quickening, the tension threading itself into my thoughts, making everything louder, sharper. But I had to keep going. Drive. Smile. Engage.

And then I saw her—this woman, fragile somehow, but sturdy in the way she handled that trolly. Twenty-four cans of lager. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, just focused on the road. But no, I had to say something. I just had to.

“Planning a barbecue?” I forced a smile, my voice sounding distant even to myself. Maybe she didn’t hear me. Maybe I could just pretend I hadn’t spoken.

But then she turned, eyes so cold they almost stopped my heart. No warmth there. No hint of a smile. Just a wall of ice between us, and I felt it—fear, sudden and irrational, like I’d stepped too close to a cliff’s edge. She said something, mumbled really, about a "liquid lunch."

Her eyes. I can’t forget her eyes.

I wish I could tell you what happened next. Did I say sorry? Did I laugh it off? But my mind was racing, jumping from thought to thought without ever really landing. All I know is that the silence after was louder than anything I’ve ever heard.

I drove on, but I wasn’t really there. The city blurred around me, just noise and light. Why did I say it? Why couldn’t I just let her be?

But I couldn’t take it back. And that’s the worst part. Words once spoken, they hang in the air, twisting and turning, never letting you forget.

To the woman with the 24 cans—I'm sorry. I am. I hope you found whatever peace you were looking for in those cans. I hope... I don’t know what I hope.

And me? I’ll just keep driving, trying to make sense of the fragments left behind, hoping that one day I’ll learn to quiet the noise. Or maybe, I’ll just stop trying to speak. Maybe that’s the answer. Silence.


---


___ Emily "Em" Foster 

Bus Driver Route 101

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Hidden Risk Behind That Extra Shift You’re Asked to Take

By
Once you’ve clocked 9 hours in uniform, even the vending machine starts judging you. It’s not just driving time that drags, it’s everything in between. Here’s why I stick to 39 hours and refuse overtime, no matter the pressure. Introduction I’m three months into a 12-month rethink of my overtime habits. After a steady drip of minor incidents, not enough to make headlines, but enough to make me think twice, I’ve realised piling on extra hours isn’t just about padding the pay packet. It’s about keeping my focus sharp, my sanity intact, and most importantly, everyone on the road safe. I know the desk staff might be throwing me the occasional side-eye, wondering why I’m not jumping at every chance to work overtime. If only money grew on trees, I’d be first in line. But unfortunately, it doesn’t. What does grow (or at least what I’m fiercely guarding) is my peace of mind, and a scrap of sanity after years of long shifts and minimal downtime. I’m at that point in life where I’d rather enjoy ...
Post a Comment
Read more

What Drivers Think When a Bus Crashes Into a River

By
You Don’t Need to Be in the Cab to Feel It: A crash like that echoes through every depot. We weren’t there. But we know the weight of the wheel. I’m not a double deck driver. I wasn’t there. And I won’t claim to know what happened near Eastleigh yesterday, not with investigations still ongoing. But like a lot of us in the seat, I felt that cold drop in my gut. There’s something about seeing one of ours, uniformed, behind the wheel, doing the job, caught in a headline that starts with “crash” and ends with “students injured.” You feel it. Not because you know the full story (you don’t), but because you know the pressure, the road, the weight of that responsibility. Most of us go our whole careers without facing anything like that. We hope to keep it that way. But that doesn’t stop your mind from going there. Doesn't stop you wondering, What would I do? Would I have seen it coming? Could I have changed anything? The truth is, buses are heavy things. We drive them through tight spaces...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Day the Bus Carried a Quiet Medal

By
A mysterious rider boards with a quiet grin and a coin in their pocket. Something’s being celebrated, but not out loud. They boarded like they’d just been knighted at the kitchen sink, fresh-faced, wide-eyed, carrying the kind of quiet victory that doesn’t need an audience but accepts one all the same. Not loud, not showy, just… unmistakably someone who woke up today already proud of themselves. There’s a kind of walk folk do when they’ve already won the day before breakfast. It’s not quite a strut, too self-aware for that, but there’s a bounce to it. Like the pavement’s giving them a round of applause. That’s what boarded this morning. Mid-morning, not quite rush, not quite calm. Buzzing with something invisible but important. They tapped on, grinning at nobody in particular, and made the kind of eye contact that tells you they’ve got good news and absolutely no plans to keep it to themselves. I gave them the usual nod, half polite, half do we know each other? …and they leaned in slig...
Post a Comment
Read more

Archive

Show more