City Bus Driver

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...

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...

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 ...

First came the fallout, Musk and Trump turned on each other in public. Then a SpaceX rocket exploded, and the media called it a glitch. But on my morning bus route, the passengers see it for what it really was, the opening salvo in a quiet coup against parallel power. The Feud Ignited, Then the Rocket Blew, A Quiet Coup Unfolds on My Bus Route I drive a single-deck bus through the city’s arteries every morning. The same streets, the same stops, the same faces, but lately, something’s changed. The hum of the engine and the rattle of the wheels can’t drown out the murmur swelling in the air. The passengers no longer just talk about football scores or the weather; their conversations pulse with something heavier, a story unfolding before us, right under our noses, masked by spectacle and smoke. It began not with the rocket, but with a rupture in the fragile alliance between two titans of disruption, Elon Musk and Donald Trump. The feud, as raw as it was public, ignited in June 2025, sprea...

It's only May, but the temperature's rising faster than a late-running double-decker on a downhill. Uniform rules say keep the tie on, but sweat says otherwise. This is a tale of shirt-soaked rebellion, heat hallucinations, and the silent hope of a blessed company-wide "tie amnesty." The Great Tie Rebellion There’s hot. There’s “cabin fan blowing lukewarm soup at your face” hot. And then there’s May 2025. The kind of heat that melts the grip off your steering wheel and has you checking the seat fabric to make sure you haven’t fused to it. Now, I love my job. But when the forecast reads like a frying pan’s autobiography and my tie is still choking me like a corporate python, the uniform policy starts to feel a bit... ambitious. According to the Rulebook of Busland™ (page 47, subsection "Neck-Based Formalities"), ties are to be worn until a date so deep into the calendar, the sun will have already bleached the road markings. But the company, bless their cotton...

Despite repeated training, strict policies, and genuine commitment to safety, minor bus incidents persist across the globe. These aren't just lapses in discipline, they’re signs of how complex and high-pressure public transport really is. When people and probability meet in motion, even well-designed systems can falter.  Exploring the Limits of Caution in a Complex, Fast-Moving Environment Across the public transport industry, a great deal of effort is invested in reducing incidents on board buses. From passenger falls on internal platforms to lapses in driving precision, the commitment to safety is clear. Training is frequent, safety messages are repeated, and drivers are consistently reminded to prioritise care over punctuality, especially when it comes to vulnerable passengers. Yet despite this shared emphasis on caution, incidents still happen. Some involve passengers losing balance before reaching a seat. Others may involve momentary lapses in spatial judgement or minor miscal...

A Supreme Court ruling. A laminated headline. And a furious debate over womanhood... on a Thursday morning city bus. When national policy hits the Number X12, guess who gets caught in the crossfire? Spoiler: it’s the one with the steering wheel and no legal training. The Bus Stop Becomes a Battlefield I was three minutes early at the Exchange stop, which, in bus-driver time, is essentially a miracle, schedulers must have made some improvements to the timetable. The clouds were low, the queue was long, and Carol was armed, with a newspaper clipping, laminated and annotated like it was a sacred scroll. “Driver,” she said, climbing aboard like she’d been summoned to Westminster, “are trans women still allowed on this bus? Because the Supreme Court says…” I’m Just the Driver, Not the Department for Defining Women Now, I don’t sit in the Lords, I don’t wear ermine, and I didn’t rewrite the Equality Act over my tea this morning. I drive the bus. That’s all. But Carol had clearly made me the ...