The Man Who Conducted a Heat Survey of My Bus

Some passengers get on, pay their fare and sit down. Others treat the bus like they're viewing a flat to rent. This gentleman managed to turn a five-minute journey into a full-scale investigation into the climate of public transport.

We've had one of those strange hot spells in Edinburgh where the entire city loses its mind.

The folk who spend eleven months of the year complaining about the cold suddenly discover they're allergic to sunshine. Every second person is carrying a fan, every supermarket has sold out of ice lollies, and every bus driver has developed the complexion of a boiled lobster.

Into this tropical paradise steps today's star attraction.

The doors open and on he comes, dressed as if he was heading to a hill walk in the Cairngorms in February. Heavy jacket. Thick trousers. The sort of outfit that says, "I don't trust the weather, even in August."

He looks at me and says,

"Can you wait five seconds while I go upstairs and see how hot it is?"

I nearly asked if he wanted to test the water in the swimming pool while he was at it.

"No bother," I said, "just one tiny detail… you'll need to pay your fare before conducting your scientific experiment."

So he taps on and disappears upstairs like an explorer heading into the Amazon rainforest.

Five seconds later he's back.

"It's too hot up there."

I hadn't even released the handbrake.

"Did you try sitting beside one of the open windows?"

"No."

Away he goes again.

Honestly, he moved with some urgency for a man who appeared to be dressed entirely in upholstery.

Back downstairs.

"Still too hot."

Right.

So now he starts testing the lower deck.

One seat… too hot.

Another seat… too hot.

Window seat… too hot.

A seat two feet away… remarkably, also too hot.

At this point he wasn't choosing a seat. He was conducting an archaeological dig looking for the mythical Cool Bit of the Bus.

I half expected him to pull out a thermometer and start recording temperatures.

"Twenty-seven degrees by the wheelchair bay… fascinating."

The whole time, he's getting more and more agitated.

Sighing.

Pacing.

Muttering.

Looking at me as if I'd personally designed the weather.

I started wondering if he thought there was a secret air-conditioned lounge hidden behind my cab door.

Maybe he expected me to press a button and reveal a refrigerated VIP section.

Eventually, I looked at him and said:

"Can I make a suggestion?"

He looked at me hopefully.

"Take your jacket off."

Silence.

You could almost hear the gears turning.

Then, to my amazement, he slowly removed the jacket.

And underneath?

Another layer.

Of course there was.

This man wasn't dressed for summer. He was dressed in case the North Sea froze over.

Off he goes again.

Another seat inspection.

Another few seconds.

Then suddenly he marches down the stairs, storms off the bus and mutters something about air conditioning, as though I'd failed him in some contractual obligation.

No goodbye.

No cheerio.

No "thanks anyway."

Just gone.

The doors close and off I go, trying desperately not to laugh.

Now here's the best bit.

About half an hour later, I'm coming back the other way and who do I see?

Him.

Halfway up the hill.

Walking.

Oh, dear me.

The man looked like he'd just completed an expedition across the Sahara.

He was absolutely blowing out his backside.

Sweating like a radiator.

Face bright red.

Puffing and panting.

The heavy jacket was back on his arm and he looked hotter than the bus ever did.

I thought to myself:

"You've rejected every seat on my bus because it was too warm… and now you're climbing a hill on foot in thirty-degree heat."

Some people don't want a solution.

They want to be annoyed.

And thank goodness for that.

Because if everyone behaved normally, I'd have absolutely nothing to write about.

___

Meta Description: A passenger rejected every seat on the bus during Edinburgh's heatwave before storming off and walking uphill instead.

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