City Bus Driver

On a quiet, rainy night, a simple act of kindness spirals into a wild late-night bus ride, where a pram full of shopping, orange juice, and an unexpected community turn a dull shift into a chaotic adventure. A Rainy Night, a Pram Full of Surprises, and a Bus Ride to Remember It was one of those nights. Late, cold, and thoroughly wet. The kind of evening that makes you question your life choices as you’re seated in an empty bus, navigating the high street in eerie silence. Not a soul had boarded yet, and I was running empty. The road ahead glistened under the streetlights, the rain giving it a reflective sheen. It was a picture of desolation, and then, I saw her. Between stops, a figure emerged in the distance, attempting to sprint towards the next bus stop. Sprint might be generous; it was more of a flailing stumble against the rain. One thing was certain: she wasn’t going to make it. I glanced around; not a single car in sight. Doing the decent thing, I slowed down and pulled over jus...

The arrival of Deep Seek has turned the stock market upside down, and as the financial world collapses around me, I’m left wondering if my own investments will survive the chaos. Between frantic passengers discussing the AI war and the growing possibility of overtime, I’m starting to think my job as a bus driver might be the only thing holding together some semblance of normalcy in a world gone mad with tech. The AI Showdown That’s Making Me Rethink My Shift It wasn’t just another day in the world of AI. Deep Seek had arrived, and the financial markets were having an absolute meltdown. Stocks were in freefall, investors were panicking, and somewhere, a hedge fund manager was probably crying into their artisanal oat milk latte. And here I was, behind the wheel of my bus, watching the chaos unfold in real time. From the moment I started my shift, I knew something was off. The usual passenger debates, who should give up their seat, whether the weather app can be trusted, had been replaced...

There's a man at the bus stop, lager in hand, preaching about aliens, lizard people, and moon landing conspiracies to a captivated and increasingly uncomfortable audience. As the self-proclaimed "guru" spins his web of madness, I can't help but wonder, will his "revelations" ever make it onto my bus, or will I be the one to shut him down? Either way, I’m about to witness the most bizarre sermon of the year. A Drunken Preacher, Conspiracy Theories, and the Bus Stop That Became a Pulpit The ‘Conspiracy Guru’ Preacher (With a Can of “Liquid Insight”). I can see him long before I pull up to the stop, a figure that screams self-proclaimed genius.  He’s standing by the lamppost, swaying slightly, with that tell-tale can of lager in hand, as though it’s his personal sceptre of enlightenment. His lips are moving, but it’s more than just the usual chatter. This man is preaching, and whatever he’s saying, I can already tell, it’s not going to be anything short of spec...

I’m pulling up to the stop, my eyes scanning the usual scene. Then I spot her, an elderly lady who looks like she’s about to launch the most covert mission of the century.  She’s sitting there, hunched over with a quiet intensity, completely engrossed in the contents of her handbag. It’s like she’s unravelling the mysteries of the universe, one crumpled receipt at a time. Her hands move with the kind of precision that you only see in people who have rehearsed their movements for years, maybe decades. It’s as though she’s performing a delicate surgery on a handbag, removing each item with such careful deliberation that you’d think she was examining ancient relics. The lipstick is the first to make an appearance. It’s placed delicately, its shiny red surface glinting in the sunlight. No rush, no hesitation. Then the tissues. Folded neatly, placed with mathematical precision, as if the tissue-to-lipstick ratio could determine the fate of the universe. She continues her performance, un...

Today’s events unfolded with all the melodrama of a disaster film, and naturally, I found myself unwittingly cast as the leading man, part heroic, part hapless.  The morning began with an ominous drizzle that seemed to mock my optimism as I trudged into the depot. My opening line to the desk staff? I didn’t get a call to stand down this morning, so here I am, ready to embrace chaos. They chuckled, those cheerful souls, as they handed me my amended duty sheet. The sound of pens scratching against paper could have been the soundtrack to impending doom—a prelude to nature’s tantrum. The drive into work was deceptively mundane, a quiet before the storm that lulled me into thinking this might just be another ordinary day. But as soon as I completed my vehicle checks and embarked on my route, reality smacked me square in the face. The streets were eerily deserted, as though the population had collectively decided to audition for roles as extras in an apocalyptic thriller. My wife had for...

It was one of those bitterly cold mornings that seemed to cut through every layer of clothing you had on. The kind of chill that gnaws at you and makes your bones ache.  I had an extended layover, so I sat on the bus, not exactly enjoying warmth, but at least sheltered from the cruel bite of the wind outside. The bus was far from toasty, but it was definitely a damn sight warmer than the icy world beyond its doors. As I gazed out at the street, I saw her, a small, elderly woman standing at the bus stop, her face scrunched against the wind. Her coat looked thin, and she gripped the fabric tightly around herself, trying to protect whatever warmth she could salvage. She shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay warm, but the cold was relentless. I glanced at the clock. We still had some time before departure, and there was no way I was letting her stand there in that freezing air for even a second longer. I stepped outside to drop a few discarded items into the bin, and as I did, I lo...

It was one of those mornings when the sky was still brushing the last streaks of dawn, and the bus stop was filled with the usual crowd, sleepy commuters clutching their coffees, checking their watches, and half-heartedly scanning their phones.  But then, out of nowhere, there was a burst of energy from the far end of the pavement. A little girl, no older than eight or nine, skipped toward the bus stop, her backpack bouncing with each excited step. Her face lit up like it was the most magical day of the year, and her lips were moving furiously, though I couldn’t catch the tune at first. She reached the bus door and, without missing a beat, stepped onto the bus with a flourish, launching into song, loud and clear. “She’s the one, she’s the one, who’ll make the whole world... shine!” she belted out, twirling dramatically in the aisle, as though the bus were a stage and she was the star of the show. A burst of colour and joy as this young girl sings her heart out, filling the air with...

Ah, the sweet monotony of a mild, sunny afternoon. The kind of day where the world seems almost too perfect, too peaceful.  Naturally, that’s when the universe decides to hit “shuffle” on its playlist of absurdity. And so it was, as I eased my noble steed to a halt at the pedestrian crossing near the town hall. Someone had pressed the button, halting my progress. Thoughtful, wasn’t it? Yes, truly, humanity’s selfless acts know no bounds. But I digress. My attention was soon drawn to a figure, let’s call him The Man in Question, whose presence screamed, “I bring disruption wherever I tread.” He wasn’t just crossing the street; no, that would be too pedestrian, wouldn’t it? Instead, he launched himself into a live-action game of Frogger, weaving through traffic with all the grace of a wrecking ball at a ballroom. His trajectory? A park bench just ahead, where an unsuspecting couple sat wrapped in the tender cocoon of their own oblivion. The couple, oh, what a pair. She, a rough-aroun...

The importance of layover times on city bus routes. Picture this, it’s a crisp morning in the heart of the city, and the hustle and bustle of commuters fills the streets.  At every terminal, buses pull in and out, but one thing remains constant – every bus, even those seemingly idling at a stop, is running to a carefully orchestrated schedule. These moments of stillness, known as layover times, are the unsung heroes of urban transit, keeping the rhythm of the city on track. For those traveling on city buses, it’s not uncommon to see a bus sitting at a terminal or stop for what feels like an eternity. While some passengers may grumble at the apparent idleness, this pause – far from being wasted – is a crucial part of running a reliable and efficient city service. An empty chair, an absurd clock, and a solitary pigeon—together they capture the surreal nature of time spent in wait, questioning purpose and direction in the quietest of moments. Layovers: The Buffer That Keeps Timetables...

Some days, being a bus driver feels like you’re at the centre of a world where ordinary routines can suddenly shift into moments of quiet alarm. People board with their concerns, their errands, and sometimes their emergencies.  One such moment played out before me not too long ago. A man boarded the bus with his toddler in tow, his expression tense but composed. He chose a seat at the front of the bus and immediately made a phone call. His voice, though controlled, carried a gravity that caught my attention. “Yes, love,” he began, “She’s fine for now. The doctor said it should pass naturally.” It became clear from his measured words that his child had swallowed a coin. The toddler sat quietly, seemingly unaffected, but the weight of what had happened was evident in her father’s tone. The man continued, his voice rising just enough to make sure it carried, as if he didn’t mind who overheard. “I told her not to put things in her mouth,” he said with a sigh. “It was just a moment. She...

Understanding the window of tolerance in bus operations: A guide to the 1-minute, 5-minute, and 7-minute guidelines In the world of public transport, punctuality is key to maintaining passenger satisfaction and operational efficiency. However, due to factors such as traffic conditions, roadworks, and unexpected delays, it’s not always possible for buses to adhere strictly to their published timetables. To address this, a window of tolerance has been introduced, allowing a degree of flexibility in terms of arrival and departure times. The window of tolerance is a time allowance that recognises the inevitable delays operators face, while still aiming to deliver services that are as reliable as possible. This article explains the 1-minute, 5-minute, and 7-minute guidelines, shedding light on their importance and how they work within bus operations. What is the Window of Tolerance? A window set in a clear blue sky The window of tolerance refers to an acceptable range of variation from a bu...

Collared and Cuffed: As I signed on at the desk, braced for a raised eyebrow or two, the desk staff looked me up and down with the precision of a fashion critic.  Inappropriate for the time of year came the verdict, delivered with the tone of someone announcing a public scandal. I could almost hear the imaginary gavel hitting the desk. I explained my predicament honestly, as is my way: my meagre stash of uniform shirts had all met their fate in the washing machine, leaving me no choice but to don the summer polo, a cheerful but seasonally misplaced choice in the depths of winter. My candour didn’t save me. No, it seemed to spur them into action. Suddenly, the room transformed. It was as if I'd stumbled into a gentleman’s outfitter during a clearance sale. Staff buzzed around like personal stylists on commission. Shirts, ties, and jackets were summoned from hidden cupboards and mysterious storerooms, each presented to me with the reverence usually reserved for a bespoke tailor fitti...

Yesterday’s journey: Chaos, calm, and the courage to mediate. It was one of those journeys. You could tell before you even pulled up to the bus stop. There they were, a horde of high school kids, jostling in what could only be described as a rugby scrum masquerading as a queue. I braced myself. They weren’t so much boarding the bus as storming it, a chaotic tide funnelling through the doors with the collective grace of a stampeding herd. Coins clinked, tickets whirred, and the seats filled faster than you could say "last school bell." Thirty seconds into the journey, and the cacophony began. The back of the bus, where the unspoken rules of decorum go to die, erupted in a symphony of shouting, laughter, and the occasional unintelligible battle cry. Nothing particularly untoward, mind you, just the usual end-of-day exuberance that I’d long since learned to tune out. My focus was on the road ahead, navigating the pre-rush hour traffic that was already doing its best impression o...

The Dog's Bollocks: It was one of those dreich Tuesday mornings on the 101 route.  The passengers, commuters staring out the windows, pensioners buried in their papers, and a couple of students with headphones in, were all wrapped up in their own worlds. I was cruising along, the same route as always, when I saw them. Bruce’s unforgettable bus ride to the vet with his laid-back owner. Bruce He was no ordinary dog. A stocky Staffordshire terrier with shoulders like a weightlifter, Bruce strutted along the pavement with an air of reluctant authority. But it wasn’t his build that grabbed everyone’s attention, it was what was swinging beneath him. Bruce’s bawbags were monumental, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in the prize section of a farming show. They swayed with every step, two massive orbs that seemed to defy physics. Bruce himself didn’t look particularly impressed about the spectacle he was causing, but he soldiered on. And then there was his owner. The bloke strolling be...