City Bus Driver

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...

The Quirks of Commuters: A Hilarious Look at the Characters Waiting for the Bus Stop The Juggler Being a bus driver offers a front-row seat to some of the most perplexing human behaviours you could ever imagine. You’d think the simple act of waiting for public transport would inspire, I don’t know, some reflection on life’s bigger questions—like why the timetable is more of a polite suggestion than an actual schedule—but no. Instead, it seems to coax out the strangest quirks from people. Enter The Juggler , today’s reigning champion of turning waiting for the bus into an Olympic event. Spoiler: he didn’t train for it. The Juggler: Master of Everything (Except Sanity) Here we have The Juggler, an everyday bloke who’s somehow convinced himself that pockets are a conspiracy invented by Big Bag. His approach to life? If it fits in your hand, why not hold five things at once? Today, he’s standing there with his phone, a wallet, a half-eaten sandwich, a reusable water bottle (because, of cou...

The Illusionist: When an Empty Bus Stop Becomes the Stage for a Dark, Magical Twist The Illusionist Ah, the bus stop—usually a dull, lifeless corner of the world, where the only excitement comes from guessing whether that puddle is shallow or secretly a foot deep. But today, dear passengers, something truly twisted unfolds before my very eyes. Enter: The Illusionist. The stop was empty just seconds ago—a void, a black hole of mundanity. Then, in the blink of an eye, out of nowhere, there he stands. You blink once, twice, but no, you're not hallucinating (though I can't speak for the rest of you). He’s there, alright. A man who appears with the precision of a knife slicing through butter, smooth, clean, and oh-so-unsettling. It’s as if reality itself decided to take a breather and let the shadows play their game. One moment, nothing but air—crisp and cold, just like your ex’s heart—and the next? BAM! The Illusionist appears. No sound, no puff of smoke, just a sudden presence tha...

Beam Me Up, Bus Stop: The Trekkie’s Galactic Approach to Public Transit" The Trekkie Picture this: It’s your typical, dreary Wednesday morning, and I’m stationed at my post, the bus driver’s seat—an elevated throne that offers unparalleled views of human quirkiness. My usual crowd of bus stop regulars are here, but today, something extraordinary happens. Enter The Trekkie . Yes, you heard it right. Not just any bus stop dweller, but a full-on, Starfleet-approved Trekkie in his natural habitat. As the bus nears, I spot him standing at the curb, but with a twist. Most folks extend a hand to signal, but not our hero. Oh no. He’s got a PhD in dramatic flair. He raises his hand in a Vulcan salute—spock-tacular, if I may say so myself. It’s a bold statement: “This bus is my ship, and I am its captain.” The salute is delivered with such precision and solemnity, it’s as if he’s performing a ceremonial ritual rather than just hailing public transportation. His attire? Oh, classic. Imagine ...

Stargazer or Space Cadet? Meet ‘The Astronomer’ Who Forgot the Bus Stop’s Not an Observatory! The Astronomer As I, Vincent Roderick, navigated the twilight streets in my metal chariot of chaos—a bus, some call it—I stumbled upon a curious specimen. A creature so consumed by the vast abyss above that he forgot the ground beneath his feet. I call him The Astronomer . There he stood, amongst the mundane mortals, yet clearly not of them. With his face tilted skyward, mouth agape, eyes locked onto some distant cosmic mystery, he was less a man and more a misplaced stargazer. A spacer, you might say. Unbothered by the passing of time or the arrival of his ride, he stared into the void as if he could bend the heavens to his will. I’ve seen all manner of humanity at these stops—zombies glued to their screens, corporate drones lost in thought—but The Astronomer was different. There was something almost endearing about his detachment, as if he was an alien observer sent to study us, only to bec...