Bus adventures

As you may have gathered if you have read some of my previous articles, I’ve travelled by bus on a few occasions. And I’ve had one or two adventures while using them.

Did you think those adventures finished there? Don’t be silly!

Shortly after the cat fiasco, (Cats and buses do not mix) I found myself on the bus again. This time with my daughter, Joni, in tow, who at the time was a mere toddler.

She began the journey in her buggy, but after a trip to the local market, where I’d been reliably informed, I’d find fruit and veg cheap and plentiful, she found herself required to walk.

Additionally, I’d been awarded an assistant at the market to help me carry my wares to the bus stop.

The stall holder though pleased with my mass buy, realised immediately that my already laden down buggy could not cope with the weight of the bag of potatoes I’d just purchased from him.

Well, it did weigh 50kg.

Once a bargain hunter, always a bargain hunter…

Anyway, the seller lent me his assistant who very kindly accompanied my daughter, my overflowing buggy, my potatoes and me to the bus shelter and then ran back to his master.

Now, I should maybe inform you at this point, that those men made lifting a 50kg bag of potatoes look like me lifting, say a 2.5kg bag. And at that time I had no real idea of metric as I still lived in the world of pounds and ounces. So waiting there, at the stop, I felt quite chilled and undaunted by what was to come. That is until my carriage pulled up. And I tried to inch forward in the queue.

I could not lift the damn bag. At all.

I dragged at it. Shoved it. And hustled it along, but at that point I knew, I had not a chance in hell of lifting it up the stairs and onto the bus.

So when my turn came, I lifted my child, my buggy, my other shopping then smiled uneasily at the driver and asked him if he could please, oh pretty please be of assistance and lift my potatoes up the steps.

No response.

I repeated my request with as much charm as I could muster. With no effect.

I saw no choice but to become more insistent. So I held my ground and didn’t hand over my money until he agreed to lift the heavy load onto the bus. A shopper has to do, what a shopper has to do.

He finally stood up and heaved the sack, huffing and puffing into his vehicle. Then held his back and groaned as he returned to his seat. I thanked him cautiously and proceeded along the bus to sit with some ladies I’d spotted from my village.

The bus roared along but someone quite quickly interrupted my little chat, and informed me that my potatoes were rolling freely around the aisle.

This led to an undignified scramble from me. Gathering spilt potatoes and replacing them in their torn bag.

Truth be told, the task was pointless. The sack poured out potatoes at a faster rate than I could possibly search and retrieve.

Passengers began to help me in my quest. Passing potatoes. Collecting handfuls of escapees and re-depositing them in their open sack as they departed the vehicle.

After a while of observing the kerfuffle, a neighbour then turned to my daughter and expressed her sympathies to the poor child, on having such an embarrassing mother. Apparently, she had also witnessed the cat incident. 😳

On arrival at our stop, the driver kindly slipped another disc carried our three-quarters filled sack off the bus. Where I abandoned it. Until my then husband could later retrieve the mortifying mass the collection of delicious meal opportunities.


14 thoughts on “Bus adventures”

    1. It’s one of those ‘tell at a party’ story. Where I’m doing the actions and tears are streaming down my face in laughter. Actually, I’m normally laughing more than any of the guests…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.