The Back Of The Bus

Sometimes, my inner monologue is an inner dialogue….and my teenage self makes a petulant, sulky return….

Oh, shit. That’s why I don’t get this bus. It’s always full. It’s the long route. So it brings people in from out of town. Ugh. There’s no seats. I’m not standing! Wait, there is seats. Not sitting next to her, her, definitely not him, him, her, damn it! Gonna have to be him…wait.

There’s a free seat. But it’s at the back of the bus. I can’t sit at the back of the bus! I’m not cool enough!

Ehem? Shut up & sit down.

At the back of the bus?

Sit. Down.

Oh good grief. Why am I sitting here, that granny will definitely kick my head in!

You are SUCH a drama queen. You’ll be fine. It’s a fucking bus seat.

No. It’s not. It’s a teenage status symbol and in the words of Prudie Drummond in the Jane Austen Book Club, “high school’s never over”.

You’re nearly thirty!

I’m not even twenty nine, and this kid is definitely looking at me funny…what the hell is that smell?

…that is a bit wrong.

I’m gonna be sick.

No you’re not. Have some compassion. That man is clearly differently abled, and yet he’s dressed appropriately and on the bus.

And he stinks of Superking Blacks and piss.

Yes and he stinks.

Fucking hell, do I have to…?

Will you behave??!

I’m gonna be sick! He’s minging!

Stop it, you massive whiner.

Oh thank god. Everyone gets off at the city centre.

I cannot believe how childish you are being.

This surprises me. We’ve known each other all my life.

You’re a moron.

Are you KIDDING ME? He’s not getting off the bus?!?! Where could he possibly be going? After this, it’s only the university and the end of the line!

Shut. UP. And stop scowling – you’ll get wrinkles.

I hate the bus, I really, really hate the bus.

Yes, but it’s the best way to get to work. Unless you want to walk?

I’d like to just…not go to work.

Wouldn’t we all? Sadly, not going to happen if you want to keep a roof over your head and food on the table.

Right now, with this lungful of stinky bus air, I care precious little for those things.

You’re twenty-eight, you say?

…yes, I am. Random segue?

No, no. I was just surprised a fully-grown adult could be so contrary.

Oh shut up.

YOU shut up.

YOU shut up.

I’m not engaging with you.



I can breeeeeeathe!

….double moron.

Sweet freeeeeedom for my lungs!

….professional face on, please. Time to go to work.

I can get a coffee, though, right?

No. It’s too expensive to get coff

Don’t care, getting coffee.

I don’t know why I bother.

“Good morning!”

“Morning! How are you?”

“Fine thanks! Busy as usual.”

“I sent you that paperwork yesterday.”

“Great. I’ll get that sorted.”

And *she* stinks and all.


“Appreciate it!”


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