Public transportation hates me
Yes, I am a dumb American. Put a double-decker bus in front of me and you will see this for yourself.
At first, when I would sit on top I would scream every time a car or person would come near the bus. They look closer than they actually are. The British are used to living on a small island where everything is much closer together. Bus drivers can negotiate remarkably small spaces without fatalities. British people do not scream when they perform these amazing feats.
Bus drivers usually don’t stop at night unless someone sticks their hand out. I found this out after a bus passed us and we had to wait an extra half an hour in the cold for the right bus to come again. During this time, a drunken man came up to us. I thought this conversation might be the last I ever heard:
Crazy Drunk Man: Where are you going?
Remembering my safety advice, I say nothing and look away.
Emily or Sarah (near-death experiences make my memory hazy): We’re not sure, sir.
Crazy Drunk Man: Are you going to outer space?
Emily or Sarah: No, sir.
Crazy Drunk Man: Are you going to leave this planet?
At this point, I am convinced that he means he is going to kill us and send us to heaven. I frantically look for escape routes while thinking “you can’t outrun a gun!” and wondering which one of us he will kill first.
Emily or Sarah: No, we’re just going to stay here.
The drunk ambles off. I make the mistake of voicing my fears and am ridiculed and reminded that guns are very rare in England. This is a relief, because I could have totally taken that man in a knife fight.
Bus drivers also don’t stop during the day at unpopular stops without being flagged down. Waving does not work. In order not to seem too pushy, Jason, Emily and I all waved at the bus driver in front of Price Busters. Smirking, the bus driver waved back and drove on past. He definitely knew what we were doing. An old man came and told us not to wave at the bus, but to stick our hands straight out. This seemed nice, until we heard him laughingly relating the story to his friend. The English are a cruel race.
At first, when I would sit on top I would scream every time a car or person would come near the bus. They look closer than they actually are. The British are used to living on a small island where everything is much closer together. Bus drivers can negotiate remarkably small spaces without fatalities. British people do not scream when they perform these amazing feats.
Bus drivers usually don’t stop at night unless someone sticks their hand out. I found this out after a bus passed us and we had to wait an extra half an hour in the cold for the right bus to come again. During this time, a drunken man came up to us. I thought this conversation might be the last I ever heard:
Crazy Drunk Man: Where are you going?
Remembering my safety advice, I say nothing and look away.
Emily or Sarah (near-death experiences make my memory hazy): We’re not sure, sir.
Crazy Drunk Man: Are you going to outer space?
Emily or Sarah: No, sir.
Crazy Drunk Man: Are you going to leave this planet?
At this point, I am convinced that he means he is going to kill us and send us to heaven. I frantically look for escape routes while thinking “you can’t outrun a gun!” and wondering which one of us he will kill first.
Emily or Sarah: No, we’re just going to stay here.
The drunk ambles off. I make the mistake of voicing my fears and am ridiculed and reminded that guns are very rare in England. This is a relief, because I could have totally taken that man in a knife fight.
Bus drivers also don’t stop during the day at unpopular stops without being flagged down. Waving does not work. In order not to seem too pushy, Jason, Emily and I all waved at the bus driver in front of Price Busters. Smirking, the bus driver waved back and drove on past. He definitely knew what we were doing. An old man came and told us not to wave at the bus, but to stick our hands straight out. This seemed nice, until we heard him laughingly relating the story to his friend. The English are a cruel race.