The other day, I was travelling on a bus as part of my usual morning commute. It might sound a bit dull, but here’s a surprising amount of action on a sleepy double-decker at 7am.
With the Underground station just the next stop away, we waited in a queue at the traffic lights. I wasn’t in any particular rush, because I always try to leave plenty of time. While I was gazing idly out of the window at nothing in particular, I suddenly heard someone repeatedly pressing the bell, and I glanced up to see a very impatient man.
This guy was jabbing away at the bell as if his life depended on it, like those people who desperately press the button at pedestrian crossings in the hope the man will turn green faster. (Big hint for you people: the lights are usually automated. You’re being conditioned by a lamppost. Just bloody stand still and stop fidgeting.) His hand and arm flashed back and forth through the crowded gangway to assault that button like a woodpecker in its element. He may as well have had ‘MUPPET’ tattooed on his head.
Angry yellow signs on the bus tell you that the doors will only be opened at bus stops. We were far enough back in the queue that we’d barely left the previous stop. The driver shrugged and opened the doors – I suppose I should say they were floodgates, because a horde of people with bad time management and short tempers stampeded off the bus to walk the rest of the way.
As if on cue, after the last person stepped out we were promptly on the move. The driver curtly closed the doors, almost onto the posterior of the departing herd, and we glided smugly past the crowd power-walking towards the station. I briefly clocked the man who’d wanted to get off first – he was stomping with gritted-teeth determination.
We reached the bus stop, and those of us who don’t live at breakneck speed wandered into the station and down to the platform. Again, we waited. This time, there was no choice: you can’t exactly head along the tracks to meet the train in person and wave it a jolly hello. I wouldn’t advise it, anyway.
Our train arrived in due course. It was unusually empty for the time of the morning, and the congregation swarming each door gratefully piled in. The doors closed with a confident swish… and just as the train started to move away from the platform, I saw the first man to get off the bus make it to the bottom of the stairs.
I could’ve danced with glee. As it was, I burst out laughing –and he saw me through the train window. His expression was what I can only describe as “…well, crap.” That, folks, is how far impatience will actually get you.
