I think I should start yoga
Dear Mr. bus driver,
I'm awfully sorry I don't know your name, but I think you may recognise yourself as we go along. Do stop me if I get anything at all wrong.
I'm the girl from the bus stop at centrum. You were driving the 522, and it was at the bus stop, oh, around 18.22 or so? Yes, I know there were two of you, but I'm really talking about the second one. Second bus, second driver.
As I ran up to the first 522, puffing and red-faced from the arctic temperatures and the fact that I had run at all (something I take care to avoid doing usually, especially with heavy bags and on snow-covered pavements) the driver there showed me that there was another 522 bus right behind. As he was pulling away from the stop, trying to forge into the dense traffic that was a bumper to bumper for as far as the eye could see, I followed his hint, and ran back to the next bus, YOUR bus. I think you should know who you are by now.
I can see you're very proud of your bus, with its fancy illuminated lettering and clean new lines. It's obviously quite new, and maybe you are too. That may explain your bizarre behaviour. It was half empty (probably because it was directly behind another 522) and I thanked my good fortune. I really needed to sit down. I had had a long stressful day and I had to get back as quickly as possible to feed the dogs I'm looking after this week. As I ran up to your front door and showed you I wanted to get on, (and this is where you may need to correct me as I may have misunderstood) you seemed to shake your head.
Huh.
Admittedly you were about 47cm away from the stop and you had already closed the doors. Maybe at bus-driver-school they tell you that once the doors are shut that's it! No turning back! No soft-hearted wussiness opening the door to frozen puffing girls. Maybe. Or maybe the power of being mighty bus driver man just went to your head. Maybe. Or maybe, and this is the theory I'm tempted to go with, you haven't quite got the hang of the button that opens the doors.
I'm quite sure the button exists, and the new buses seem to be all bright! and colourful! so I imagine you know where it is on the dashboard thing, but for some reason you really didn't want to push it. You stared ahead, moved the bus forward a centimetre, and ignored me.
You may have noticed my mouth opening and closing in astonishment, although you were doing your best to look straight ahead and not at the increasingly frustrated and wild eyed girl who started walking along with you, demonstrating the stupidity of being able to walk next to a bus stuck in a traffic jam NEXT TO THE STOP with a driver who REFUSES to open the doors.
Ignoring me was probably wise, as it turns out, or the fizzing hatred sparks that started shooting out towards you may have caused your stupid little goatee to catch fire, one hair at a time. If you had looked at me I may have been egged on by your smirk to smash my hand through your frosty glass door, rip off the steering wheel and crash it over your head. If I had caught one glimpse of your bald shiny head looking my way, I may have taken out my lunch fork from my bag and walked around the entire outside of the bus, sticking it in each tyre. Hard.
As it happens, I just turned around, swore under my breath and raced you. You may not realise, but the next metro stop is two bus stops away and you were in a jam and the metro came just as I got to the platform. The fact that I came out the wrong side of the road, in time to see your bastard bus pulling merrily away, does not take away from the fact that you were VERY close to having an out-of-breath foreigner shouting obscenities at you in stuttering Polish. I know some choice Polish words my friend. Be warned.
Next time, open the pierdolony door.
I'm awfully sorry I don't know your name, but I think you may recognise yourself as we go along. Do stop me if I get anything at all wrong.
I'm the girl from the bus stop at centrum. You were driving the 522, and it was at the bus stop, oh, around 18.22 or so? Yes, I know there were two of you, but I'm really talking about the second one. Second bus, second driver.
As I ran up to the first 522, puffing and red-faced from the arctic temperatures and the fact that I had run at all (something I take care to avoid doing usually, especially with heavy bags and on snow-covered pavements) the driver there showed me that there was another 522 bus right behind. As he was pulling away from the stop, trying to forge into the dense traffic that was a bumper to bumper for as far as the eye could see, I followed his hint, and ran back to the next bus, YOUR bus. I think you should know who you are by now.
I can see you're very proud of your bus, with its fancy illuminated lettering and clean new lines. It's obviously quite new, and maybe you are too. That may explain your bizarre behaviour. It was half empty (probably because it was directly behind another 522) and I thanked my good fortune. I really needed to sit down. I had had a long stressful day and I had to get back as quickly as possible to feed the dogs I'm looking after this week. As I ran up to your front door and showed you I wanted to get on, (and this is where you may need to correct me as I may have misunderstood) you seemed to shake your head.
Huh.
Admittedly you were about 47cm away from the stop and you had already closed the doors. Maybe at bus-driver-school they tell you that once the doors are shut that's it! No turning back! No soft-hearted wussiness opening the door to frozen puffing girls. Maybe. Or maybe the power of being mighty bus driver man just went to your head. Maybe. Or maybe, and this is the theory I'm tempted to go with, you haven't quite got the hang of the button that opens the doors.
I'm quite sure the button exists, and the new buses seem to be all bright! and colourful! so I imagine you know where it is on the dashboard thing, but for some reason you really didn't want to push it. You stared ahead, moved the bus forward a centimetre, and ignored me.
You may have noticed my mouth opening and closing in astonishment, although you were doing your best to look straight ahead and not at the increasingly frustrated and wild eyed girl who started walking along with you, demonstrating the stupidity of being able to walk next to a bus stuck in a traffic jam NEXT TO THE STOP with a driver who REFUSES to open the doors.
Ignoring me was probably wise, as it turns out, or the fizzing hatred sparks that started shooting out towards you may have caused your stupid little goatee to catch fire, one hair at a time. If you had looked at me I may have been egged on by your smirk to smash my hand through your frosty glass door, rip off the steering wheel and crash it over your head. If I had caught one glimpse of your bald shiny head looking my way, I may have taken out my lunch fork from my bag and walked around the entire outside of the bus, sticking it in each tyre. Hard.
As it happens, I just turned around, swore under my breath and raced you. You may not realise, but the next metro stop is two bus stops away and you were in a jam and the metro came just as I got to the platform. The fact that I came out the wrong side of the road, in time to see your bastard bus pulling merrily away, does not take away from the fact that you were VERY close to having an out-of-breath foreigner shouting obscenities at you in stuttering Polish. I know some choice Polish words my friend. Be warned.
Next time, open the pierdolony door.
Labels: frustration, Polish
posted by Becca | 7:27 pm
4 Comments:
LOL !
Right, Becca, haven't been to Poland for few years now, but still remember similar events. Hope it doesn't happen everyday.
top postage - thumbs up!
" open the pierdolony door."
Whole stament in Polish:
"Otwórz te pierdolone drzwi!"
Or, more demanding:
"Otwieraj..
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