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

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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.


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___ Emily "Em" Foster 

Bus Driver Route 101

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