City Bus Driver

It's only May, but the temperature's rising faster than a late-running double-decker on a downhill. Uniform rules say keep the tie on, but sweat says otherwise. This is a tale of shirt-soaked rebellion, heat hallucinations, and the silent hope of a blessed company-wide "tie amnesty." The Great Tie Rebellion There’s hot. There’s “cabin fan blowing lukewarm soup at your face” hot. And then there’s May 2025. The kind of heat that melts the grip off your steering wheel and has you checking the seat fabric to make sure you haven’t fused to it. Now, I love my job. But when the forecast reads like a frying pan’s autobiography and my tie is still choking me like a corporate python, the uniform policy starts to feel a bit... ambitious. According to the Rulebook of Busland™ (page 47, subsection "Neck-Based Formalities"), ties are to be worn until a date so deep into the calendar, the sun will have already bleached the road markings. But the company, bless their cotton...

Despite repeated training, strict policies, and genuine commitment to safety, minor bus incidents persist across the globe. These aren't just lapses in discipline, they’re signs of how complex and high-pressure public transport really is. When people and probability meet in motion, even well-designed systems can falter.  Exploring the Limits of Caution in a Complex, Fast-Moving Environment Across the public transport industry, a great deal of effort is invested in reducing incidents on board buses. From passenger falls on internal platforms to lapses in driving precision, the commitment to safety is clear. Training is frequent, safety messages are repeated, and drivers are consistently reminded to prioritise care over punctuality, especially when it comes to vulnerable passengers. Yet despite this shared emphasis on caution, incidents still happen. Some involve passengers losing balance before reaching a seat. Others may involve momentary lapses in spatial judgement or minor miscal...

A Supreme Court ruling. A laminated headline. And a furious debate over womanhood... on a Thursday morning city bus. When national policy hits the Number X12, guess who gets caught in the crossfire? Spoiler: it’s the one with the steering wheel and no legal training. The Bus Stop Becomes a Battlefield I was three minutes early at the Exchange stop, which, in bus-driver time, is essentially a miracle, schedulers must have made some improvements to the timetable. The clouds were low, the queue was long, and Carol was armed, with a newspaper clipping, laminated and annotated like it was a sacred scroll. “Driver,” she said, climbing aboard like she’d been summoned to Westminster, “are trans women still allowed on this bus? Because the Supreme Court says…” I’m Just the Driver, Not the Department for Defining Women Now, I don’t sit in the Lords, I don’t wear ermine, and I didn’t rewrite the Equality Act over my tea this morning. I drive the bus. That’s all. But Carol had clearly made me the ...

Forget about Wall Street’s precious VIX, try driving a bus through rush hour and see how real volatility feels. While traders panic over market whispers, I’m out here dodging cyclists, gritting my teeth through green lights that flip amber in an instant, and bracing for a pensioner’s precarious balance on my top step. When it comes to unpredictability, the stock market’s a toddler’s tantrum compared to what happens when you’re behind the wheel. Forget the VIX, Try Driving a Bus Through This Lot They call it the Fear Index. The VIX. Wall Street’s precious little pulse monitor. A gentle flutter in inflation and it faints. A whisper of tariff talk, and it needs a lie down in a dark room with chamomile tea. It's cute, really, watching traders panic because someone mentioned “macroeconomic headwinds” on CNBC. Meanwhile, I’m trying to merge into a roundabout with a school run coming from all directions and a pensioner standing unbraced on my top step, gripping nothing but sheer optimism....

You can be as posh as you like, strut around in designer clothes with your fluffy dog by your side, but the moment you start swinging a bag of dog shit like it’s the latest fashion accessory, you've officially crossed into another level of madness. The Poshest Poo Bag You'll Ever See Alright, listen up, because I’ve just had one of those moments that makes you question everything. You know the kind, where you’re just minding your own business, driving your bus, doing your job, and then something so bloody ridiculous happens you have to remind yourself that you’re not in a sitcom. So, it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, right? The sun’s out, birds are chirping, and the whole world is pretending that everything’s perfect. And what do I get to see through the window of my bus, as I drive down the road like the seasoned professional I am? This woman. This woman who looks like she’s just stepped out of a Cosmopolitan magazine. Full-on, head-to-toe elegance. The kind of woman wh...

When the markets crash, I don’t need Bloomberg to tell me. I see it on the faces at the bus stop. Tariffs go up, and suddenly everyone’s carrying packed lunches and stress. The billionaires aren’t panicking, they’re shopping. Economic Repercussions You can always tell when something’s up in the economy. Before it hits the headlines, it hits the bus. The bloke who used to chat about upgrading his car? Now asking if we’ve got any driver vacancies. The regular who used to buy a coffee for the ride? Cold flask. Same coat. Worn face. The fare dodgers are sneakier. The pensioners quieter. Everyone’s just… a little more tired. And me? I’m still driving the same route, dodging potholes the council can’t afford to fix, thanks to budget cuts brought on by yet another economic shake-up dressed in red, white, and blue. This time, it’s Trump’s tariff circus again. Round two. "America First" they said. More like markets last, small businesses folded, and guess who’s still getting richer? Y...

Fare hikes arrive, Trump announces tariffs, and somewhere in the chaos, a man boards with last year’s change. I break the news with a smirk and a made-up tax. Confusion? Always, comedy? Guaranteed. When Small Change Meets Big Policy Some updates come with posters and emails. Others arrive via a baffled punter clutching three coins and a question mark. There’s something deliciously poetic about fare increases and global politics colliding at the exact moment someone’s rummaging through a lint-filled pocket for exact change. It always starts the same way: a familiar face boards the bus, throws in a few quid, exactly the same as they did in 2022, and expects time to freeze. Then they stand there. Expectantly. Waiting for a beep. A receipt. A miracle. Anything. “Sorry,” I’ll say with a gentle driverly shrug, “there’s been a slight fare adjustment.” Cue the blank look. The "Oh no, not again" furrowed brow. Sometimes the squint, as if the hopper might spit the coins back with an ap...