The wheels on the bus go round and round…Posted: September 8, 2010
The number 11, in numerology, is a “master number”—I like the sound of it already. Apparently, the number 11 “represents rare and exceptional energy originating from outside mundane reality”. Other interesting things about 11 (I’m beginning to feel like the Count from Sesame Street, btw) is that it is the smallest positive integer (not a iota) requiring three syllables, is the atomic number of sodium and Apollo 11 was the first manned spacecraft to land on the moon.
Ok, all of that was a ridiculously long-winded way of introducing you to the deeply influential number 11 in my life, the bus I take to/from work each day.
My bus, ah my bus, the things that have occurred there, they almost defy description.
Last week, we had overwhelming-smell-of-grapefruit man and the schoolboy with the spiky ginger mullet…did I mention he was fiercely ginger? Are his parents blind? A few months ago we had the hair stroking druggies and the mother that slapped her toddle (horrible woman). In August, in possibly my most treasured No.11 memory, the whole bus got involved (except me, I was too busy screaming inside my head) in advising two tourists where they should get off the bus in order to get to their hotel…they were all wrong. All. Of. Them. Except the falling-over drunk homeless dude who smelled of wee. He was speaking such sense (through the slurring) and knew exactly where they needed to go…did they listen to him? Ahahaaa, no.
Yesterday there was Psycho Baby who couldn’t make up its mind whether to scream in tears or laugh joyously. The combination was rather ominous. Today, there was me. My lovely new cord dress. Up around my ladybits. The bus driver smiled oh so welcomingly, which should have tipped me off immediately, tbh, and then I sauntered to my seat…twas only as I sat down and felt an unusual draft that I realised. Noooooooooooooooo! Instant mortification…
So it’s trousers for me tomorrow, I think I’ll leave bus-related hijinks to others from now on…