Bus Drivers.

AH BUS DRIVERS. 90% OF THEM ARE FINE, SOME ARE DELIGHTFUL, YET THERES ALWAYS ONE! ONE UTTER PRICK.

WAIT. PLEASE I shout, I had just managed to capture the bus drivers attention as it was about to head off. I jumped on and said thank you while feeling a little out of breath. The bus driver then for whatever reason just looked up at me and greeted me with a look of disgust, mutters some negative words under his foreign breath while shaking his head in frustration. At that moment deep down I wanted to punch him square in the nose and watch it explode with sprays of delightful shades of electric crimson red blood glistening from the winter sun. Or maybe think of the film Fight Club and the scene where Edward Norton (Myself) is sitting comfortably on top of the poor blonde man's chest with his arms pinned down (the bus driver) now gets his face pounded to shit left to right until nearly all of his teeth is removed and gags on his own blood. Haven't seen Fight Club? No. Shame, I reckon you are missing out. Oh and it stars Brad Pitt. Remember you are not a unique and beautiful snowflake and also self improvement is masturbation. Go fuck yourself.

Making less of a scene here though through scenes of violence, even a simple Go Fuck Yourself would have felt good. That is what I should have told the bus driver. Instead I just muttered my anger briefly, sat down slowly and shook my head feeling my blood slowly boil on a medium to high heat. If it was going to piss you off that much BUS DRIVER, why didn't you just fucking drive off and leave me there in the bitter cold, you fucking twat. What lovely thoughts I have. With my blood pressure having now returned to normal on my short journey I eventually leave the bus but not before I stop and turn to him and shake my head with a look of utter disgust first. This is my great comeback, my great reply, my great moment. I admit It felt rather disappointing when being compared to seeing my fist covered in blood. I must add that I have never been in a blood bath fight or even a decent fight to that matter, so maybe that's way it seems more appealing to have physical fights involved in my imagination.

My next meeting with the same bus driver weeks later presented me with another glorious opportunity to act on my first instincts. Picture this, I lay my money down and tell him my journey. A return ticket to Seaview Road please driver I say. He seems a lot happier today it seems.

As I approach Seaview Road I realise I had given the wrong destination. I had meant to say Seaview Avenue instead. An easy mistake. I decide to stay on the bus for another 400 metres. As I press the bell (holding my bag of spanners which I had borrowed from my dad and was in the process of returning) I walk over to the front of the bus only to have the bus drivers head poke out of his bay and look back at me with pure fury in eyes and shouts “you were meant to get off at Seaview Road”

I am about to explain....”this stop costs 40p more, you knew that” he shouts.

I'm sorry I meant to say Seaview Avenue, I will pay the difference I say.

“NO NO I DONT BELIEVE YOU. YOU LIE TO ME, WHY LIE” he screams

We have now reached the destination. I'm shocked by his claims and demand to know his name. He says nothing and shakes his head. I now start to lose my temper. WHATS YOUR FUCKING NAME? I am reporting you for his, I do not deserve to be treated like this. He then stares me in the eyes and says while the bus doors fly open. Do you want to get off the bus? He says.

I know instantly he thinks I will accept his idea that I should just get off at my bus stop. I decline.

I call him a TWAT and return to my seat with my spanners. I stay on the bus crossing through towns and after 30mins (most of that time was me imagining whacking him over the head with my biggest spanner and repeating the action till I taste blood) I reach the final stop in Brighton.

I wait for everyone on the bus to leave the bus until it was just myself and the bastard bus driver. I walk up to him and he begins to shout again. Before he could even finish his first sentence I abrupt in a huge burst of epic anguish NEVER CALL ME A LIER, NEVER. YOU FUCKING RETARDED LITTLE PIG FUCKER. I KNOW YOUR FACE NOW. AND I WILL FUCKING MAKE YOUR LIFE HELL.

The bus driver seems quite shocked and taken back from my sudden force of mouth spitting foams of anger. I step off the bus and shout out FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING TWAT as I walk away and enjoy a spot of shopping.

After my return home I ring the bus company. I explain the events. I complain heavily. The bus driver gets a little warning from his manager and about a month later I am stood at my usual bus stop only to have the same bus driver smile at me while he drives past me with a half full bus. So far he has had the last laugh. We'll see!