So here I am, I have finished university for another year, and finally I have stuck with a course. I should add here that over my first two years of my tertiary education I have changed my course seven times, but over all this change one thing has stayed the same, one thing never changes. The bus.
Some people are bus people others aren’t, personally I am a bus guy, I like the bus, I am a bus-liker. Its not really for the transportation thing, and the whole “skyrocketing fuel price debacle, not that isn’t a factor as I am a poor struggling uni student with to much time on my hands, and now that you are reading this, it probably means you have too much time on your hands, or you’re my friend/ acquaintance/ guy I begged to read this collection of pages I like to refer to as a book, mainly for the reason that it makes me feel big! Anyway I have strayed, as usual, with the plethora of ideas racing through my head. I am a bus rider for the pure entertainment, we go to the movies to see action and comedy, but it seems everything you ever need is right in front of your eyes, oh and did I mention that the fuel prices are astronomically high at the moment, someone should really do something about that, come on Johnny come on come on.
I decided on this topic as I was sitting on the bus, riding with copious amounts of school children. I realised that it is actually an interesting topic.
It brought me back to the days in 2002 where my friend Lisel and I would sit on the 106 to and from Perth city predicting where people would sit on the bus. We had these, and I apologise Lisel, horrid conversations where we would talk really loud and annoyingly, it was great, I loved it. Now I realise that those conversations are the ones that I will bitch about in this collection of pages and random thoughts, the children I have grown to know and hate, I shed a tear.
I think I have this connection with the bus driver, and we have common grounds, I am a pizza delivery boy. There is this little thing that we don’t speak about. This brings me to my first point; it begins (please note the use of the colon, oh yeah, I’m cool I know my grammar and such). When I drive my tiny red ‘speed machine’, otherwise known as a 1992 Daihatsu Charade on my deliveries I drive nicely, I drive not to run people of the road, unlike… the bus driver. Even when I am on my deliveries the bus seems to think that he has the absolute right to be able to cut me off, go through red lights and cause near crashes, what nerve!
I would like to point out here that I am a big fan of the bus driver, I like them, except when they decide my 80c fare isn’t enough to get me to the 130c location, but we will get to that later. Well I will get to it, you probably haven’t got to this point, and if you have you must have a very high tolerance for what I call ‘dickheadism’ which is, my writing in a nutshell.
My first little bitch session is to do with the pull out, I hate the pull out. The council or government of what ever body is in charge of the roads and crap, no better word to describe them. These people are obviously sitting in their offices, wearing their Giotto suits and their obsession by Calvin Klein, driving around in their leather seated ‘small dick’ cars, which have never ever ridden a bus in their lives. But of course they haven’t, they are involved in the political system, barstards. Ok, whatever, the council, I stray, I am like that poor dog walking around Freo that people always feel sorry for, but decide to not do anything about it but walk that little bit further away from it so they don’t get bitten and catch small pox. I apologise, I did it again, I have zero coherence, I am incoherent. Blah blah blah.
The council, they dot these strategically placed bus stops all around the place thinking that it doesn’t make a difference if it is at Stock rd or 37 metres up from good old Stocky, oh but it does, it does. Their little ‘throwing darts and the map’ technique wont fool me, I am an unfoolable, I can’t be fooled. Ha ha ha, I laugh loudly. Anyway…
So these little men in their little cubicles put their little bus stops in their little locations, not thinking at all about the topography of the road, let alone (and here it comes) the psychology of the bus driver. I think that these people have to realise that they are dealing with people on power trips, these bus drivers know they are the biggest thing on the road, they can simply just crush anything they want. Me, I have a little bitch car that struggles to go over 40km per hour ands dimensions are 1 metre by 1 metre, although there was this one time that we fit 9 people in it, wow, isn’t life great, I know ill sleep easy tonight, sigh, I’m so lonely.
So these bus drivers right, all high and mighty on their power trips, being all-powerful and mighty… and high, did I mention high? Ah! These bus drivers drive around with their kill machines, knowing that they can take anyone on, and win. And these stupid council workers in their stupid cubicles decide to put their stupid ROAD ISLANDS right outside the bus stops. So when these high and mighty bus drivers decide to pull out in front of me so when I decide to keep overtaking so I don’t lose my 60km to go to 13km I hit a big ass island just ripe to smash the shit out of my bitch mobile, and I cant take on the bus, how can I take on a bus, I cant, I am not a bus-taker-on-er. So here I go, I lose my 60 to go to 13, losing like 47 or so of my speed just because some bus driver decides he is better than me, well I’ll tell you what, I’m going to get a job and save up, and I’m not going to buy some fancy-pants small dick Porsche or whatever, I am going to buy some sort of tractor, bigger than any bus, then, and only then will I win my battle for supremacy on the roads vs. the bus driver.
I always ride the bus and dream of talking to the beautiful person on it. Everybody knows who the beautiful person is on the bus, it is obvious. I try to think that I am the beautiful person on a bus, but I am probably not, oh dear. I don’t care, I know I’m pretty, I’m a pretty boy, I’m a pretty boy…. Oh god I’m digging myself in deep now, shit hey.
Anyway, the beautiful people, you see them everywhere, in the street, in the city, not in Red Dot. But it is somehow different on the bus, they have no escape, if you chat to them or sit near them they cant get away. It’s the perfect plot to talk to beautiful people that you don’t know and really want to know.
See I feel that I am a kinda confident person who gets along with a lot of people, but still, I cannot initiate a conversation on the bus. It just doesn’t seem to be the most social place, I like the bus for entertainment. See, and I will ruin a later discussion here, I will always sit as close as I can to the pretty people, but not next to them due to the fact that I may seem like a crazy stalker guy, not that I’m not, so just mail your address, places you ‘hang out’, and times that you will be home to:
The Guy in the Scary Black Long Trench coat
PO box 69 (oh yeah what a great number)
Perth 6000.
Expect a visit within two weeks of reception of your address; it will be fun for all the family. Anyway, the beautiful people, god I love them, I have realised that the majority of my friends are beautiful, and I am (of course), so I get along with pretty people better, we just seem to flock together, oh we are all perfect. Oh god I’m bad at this story writing thing, it just seems to be turning into a collection of my thoughts because I really can’t keep a coherent plot running.
Every time I am at the bus stop I scope out the scene, I’m not a pervert, I just like to look is all, and touch, you have beautiful eyes; can I touch them? I always wish they would sit near me, or at least catch the same bus as me. There seems to be something about the 155 that seems to not have the same ‘talent’ as other bus’s I have caught.
I am yet to initiate a conversation with a beautiful person. Hopefully I can do that some day. Well it is new years, so on top of turning into a vegetarian for a month, losing weight, eating better and doing more exercise I will also have to put ‘ talk to the hottie on the bus,’ oh how it will be a good year.
So I see these hotties and I think, what would they do if I talked to them, but still I don’t have the confidence to ‘spark up’ a conversation, I somehow think that I am not as good as them, but I am dammit, I am! I now realise that beautiful people are the same as everybody else, well not all beautiful people, but the nice ones that you would actually want to talk to. I suppose the point of this horrid little section is that everyone should talk to everyone on the bus. I know I said that it shouldn’t be a social sphere, but merely a great place for the comedic talent that I call ‘weirdo’s.’ I think that everyone should talk, chat chat chat. Because good things can come out of it; all good things.
The loudies are my enemies, worse than 28 Days themselves, and that’s stooping quite low.
Well everyone knows a loudie, the guy who has to be at least 56 decibels louder than everyone else, and must be the centre of attention, I slip in and out of this phase, I must make you aware, I am sometimes a dickhead that needs a lot of attention, and if you spite me, oh, oh you will make me angry and stuff… god I’m crap.
Well well well, I go to uni, yeah, I actually got in, yes I’m amazed to, thanks, you probably cant tell by my writing and ‘punctuation.’ So I ride the bus to uni every day, which the times coincide with school starting and finishing, so I get a lot of loud ‘peeps.’
There is one thing I love about these loud people more than anything in the world; it is when their friends leave them, and then they are lonely and can’t be loud, but if you look at them you can tell, you can tell that all they want is to do is talk to someone, and not just talk but yell at. But everyone else on the bus hates them for being so god awful and annoying for the last 15 minutes so they are not going to respond, and they don’t. Plus if they do want to talk back to them, they can see that everyone else on the bus is fed up with them so they don’t want to become one of them… it’s a fine line. But then you have to realise, that if you do make a fool of yourself on the bus no-one is going to remember you because you are on the bus, who cares… but I care I care… and I remember, so don’t cross me.
I hate loud people, I hate them, especially when they talk to me, don’t talk to me unless you are cool. I need and starve for intelligent conversation, no oh my god oh my god, I’m 15 and I’m soooooo cool… YOU’RE NOT, grow the fuck up!
But of course, I’m a nice guy, yes believe it or not; I am actually nice in some sort of way. I cant just reject a conversation, I cant just have someone say hello to me and reject them. I learnt from those mistakes where by I was walking in Fremantle one day past the ‘Kodak guy’ (for those who don’t know this guy, or by the off chance that these pages are so popular that they have travelled to the other side of the world; the Kodak guy is this homeless man who sits outside Kodak. I think he has that yelling disease, terrets or something, come on editor, help me out) and I entered his territory, BIG MISTAKE! So I have passed by him, I hear this little ‘hello’ I expect it is the Kodak guy but I have already passed him so it can’t be aimed at me. So I continue on my merry way, skipping along licking my big lollypop and walking my pet lamb, you know, being all innocent and such (when in reality I was dressed in my Fubu puffer jacket and my silver shiny voosh-voosh pants trying to sell the DVD player I just stole from Harvey Norman, wink wink nudge nudge you know what I mean). I decide to turn around to see who he was saying hi to, and he is there, the scary man, pointing at me and yelling obscenities at me. If only I had said hello back I might have made a new friend. Because yes indeed you can make new friends on the bus.
This is the section I was originally going to write and be all cool and such, but now I cant, I have to tell the real story, not the over-emphasised ideology that are called ‘Michael’s stories.’ Ok ok ok, I now admit it, my stories are slightly more exciting than the actual event, but hey, that’s just me, if I didn’t do this I would be more boring than I already am, and really I cant afford to sink any lower.
My meeting people on the bus story. Before this I have really only had minimal confrontation with people on the bus, with the last recognisable story emanating from some guy asking me if he could have my phone, which I responded with ‘no’ and he continued to say, ‘oh, ok.’ That was it, oh what a boring bus life I had lived until that day… who hoo! Another story I could tell people, but how could I make it better…. Hmmm, I suppose I could add in some knives and finish in a big fight scene that results in me picking up the bus, bending it in half and throwing it off a bridge. Oh yeah!
Anyway, my bus story, Rodiyah Rodiyah, forgive me for spreading this. So I’m sitting at the bus stop, and I’m doing the usual, sitting there and laughing at people that I think look funny, because of course they look funny, coz really they are catching the bus in Freo, you cant expect more can you? Then this beauty strolls into me vision, with a certain glow emanating around her, an angel (brownie points ahoy), I think we catch eyes, smile and continue on our merry way, both of course still skipping, walking our lambs and licking our lolly pops. I should add that I have just come from sanity in Freo where I visit my friends there, LONG LIVE THE MUSIC MASTERS AT SANITY FREMANTLE, and I had just purchased my favourite DVD in the world, John Safran vs. God. I have to add here that this guy is a televised genius, my god.
Anyway back to ‘my girl story’. So I get on my favourite bus in the world, the 155, and she follows, I must state this now that she was walking behind me, and sat behind me, I didn’t sit near her, she sat near me. Anyway, I’m on my way home from uni, firstly I take out my Johnny Safran DVD to see if she watched to show also, coz I know I would build up the courage to talk to someone if they worshiped the same God as me, john, this didn’t seem to work, so I decide to whip out my law work, I think that it was more for show than for actually doing work, I don’t know what happened, I think I just wanted to show off that I was a law student, I don’t know, I think I was trying to show off that I did law to this girl. What was coming over me. Then, it happened, I heard a ‘beautiful melodic voice’ angelic even, you better be reading this Rodiyah, saying ‘wow, do you do law?’ it seemed that my little plot to show off my law skills had gone noticed, hurrur for everything. We start to chat, I think we seem to hit it off. I am talking along, then I realise that my stop is coming up, what do I do? Do I leave this conversation here and say farewell, or do I keep on going. I resist and I don’t push the button, I couldn’t, this girl was beautiful. She is one of those people of the opposite sex that you always want to talk to on the bus, or any public transport, but you think, ‘hey, I cant talk to them, I cant, I’m to scared, they are way better than me.’
She was the pretty girl on the bus, and she was talking to me, everything was happy and dandy. We both get off at garden city and walk around there for a while, just strolling. She then decides that she would walk home, me, being the proper gentleman joins her, mainly coz I didn’t really want to leave her at this point. So we walk home, our conversation continues, with its awkward moments like when she popped the question ‘are you gay?’ ok, that was a hit back, but hey, she’s still good. So I walk her home, when I leave her I think, should I ask her for her number? Should I? She says bye, I say bye, we stare into each other’s eyes (I could be making this bit up, but hey it makes me sound like a better guy, you know all sensitive and new age and such), the byes continue, and then we both turn and walk away. Spend the entire walk back to me house regretting not getting the number. All I had racing through my mind was ‘why didn’t I ask her for her number? Why?’ I had nothing to lose by asking.
In part of our conversation she told me she was just finishing year 12 and the subjects that she did. I had even contemplated going to those exams to find her, but then shrugged it off because I just realised how stalkerish that would be. I arrive home, I sit, I sit, I sit. Nothing; why didn’t I ask for the number?
Anyway, a week goes by, I catch the same bus same day same time hoping that she would be there, no luck. God this might make me sound a bit weird, but she was an awesome girl!
So two or three weeks go by and I don’t see her, oh well… then one day I go into uni with some friends to do exam prep, you know, at a coffee shop so we look all cool and lawyerish, when really we are 4 19 year olds trying to look as cool as we can in a harsh world). I go to catch the bus home and who is sitting there, it is Rodiyah. Ta da! Her bus comes, I ask her if I can grab her number, she says yes, hurrur, and then she suddenly starts to forget her number. Oh oh, I take this as a bad sign, is she having second thoughts, is she thinking, I don’t want this ugly loser freak having my number. So I give her mine.
She calls me on her number to save it in her phone or something, I get a weird call, it starts from there. We organise a date (oh how I hate this word) and we head off to Benny’s Bar in Fremantle for dinner, we hit it off again and I end up staying the night at her place, good times were shared by all.
At this point I really didn’t want a relationship, I don’t like them, but that soon changed, I really liked this girl.
We end up spending a lot of time together, good times, fun fun. Now we are girlfriend/ boyfriend and we joke about it. Wow, hows about that for a meeting story, that’s one for the grandkids that I hope don’t come for another 43 odd years.
Rodiyah, if you are reading this, you are great, I really like you! Oh and if you want to sit with me one day and watch John Safran vs. God with me, please ask.
Pressing the button is an important part of the bus ride, otherwise how are you supposed to get of the darn thing, it will just keep going til the end of the line, probably leaving you further away from your destination that you were before. There are two different ways to stop the bus whilst riding; there is the black strip and the little red button. In Perth they are currently weaning out all the old buses that had the black strip and red button, to have just the red button. I hate the red button. The ideology of the button is horrible, its crap crap crap. I talked to my friends about the button vs. strip debacle, and they like the button, what losers, they are of my friend membership list, I’m talking about you… Jessyca! Anyway the button is this nasty little one inch by one inch red block of plastic, the strip however is this never-ending black rubber band that goes up and down the bus and can be accessed where ever you are, unlike the awful button that is small and tiny and located every 1.5 metres along the bars of the bus.
I also look at hygiene a lot, I feel that the button is so small, everyone’s fingers are touching that one spot, and I don’t know where those nasty little fingers have been, you dirty dirty youth of today. But the strip however is great, it is so long that the chances are severely decreased that you will touch the same inch that everyone else has touched. There is nothing wrong with it, but somehow, for some shit house reason, Mercedes and TransPerth, decide to scrap the black strip, they only have buttons now, I hate the buttons. Buttons suck ass. I urge you to not use the buttons, not buttons, no buttons. My one love about catching the bus now is when I see the crickedy old bus rattling down the street towards me, and I know I will have the pleasure of touching that black strip of goodness, and even if I’m not in a striping mood I can always touch that button (that’s if I want to stoop that low).
The button pressing also has another side to it, when you do it. I have this fear on the bus, I feel that the bus driver will forget to stop when I press the button, and I will be left walking al the way home, and we cant have that. So I always press the button half way to my stop from the last stop. Always half way, that’s if some other asrehole hasn’t always pressed the button, taking away from my strip touching glory. There are a lot of different button presser categories.
I think there are the people who think that it’s cool to press the button, I hate these people. I think I’m coming to the realisation that I really don’t like a lot of the people on the bus, oh dear. Maybe my whole, TALK TO EVERYONE idea might go down the drain, shit hey. But how is it cool to press the button, I have been on the bus where children have actually been racing each other to get the button press, and then chat about it and argue about it until the next stop about who really pressed the button, these people seem to coincide to the same people who are the ‘loudies’ … I don’t like them very much… but I like you reader, oh yes, my humble readers…
There is also what I call the ‘hardcore mother fuckers’ or ‘H to the K moffor fokkorz’ who believe that it is hilarious to press the button over and over and over again and again and again so it angers the rest of the bus. They sit on the back seat of the bus talking about how stoned they were last night and how HK they are. Pressing that button over and over again. I don’t like them. They are not funny, you are not funny, get away from me!
Then there are the old people that don’t even press the button, they just walk to the front of the bus and talk to the driver… WHEN CLEARLY it states in the TransPerth rules ‘do not talk to the driver’… what cant they read. They have been around for the past 60 million years, why don’t they realise that you press the button, they are not just there for aesthetic value, it isn’t so you sit there, mesmerised, by the black strip and the red button, oh how they are so pretty. What are they thinking anyway, that the magical bell just goes off because the young kids of the day have telepathic powers because of all the drugs we are pumping into our systems?
Then there are people like me, which I have already described, the scaredy-cats that want to get off the bus and don’t fully trust the driver.
Then the cool ‘peeps’ that just press the button when ever the fuck they want because they can, they are everything, I envy these people, I want to be cool to, I don’t want to be a scared little child anymore.
Back in the day, in good ole high school, I used to catch the bus to school when my dear old mother was on her long-service holiday thingy-ma-bob. This was great! No, not really. It was actually quite funny. I did debating at the time, I was a debater, oh yeah, ill argue til the cows come home, RA! I remember this one time that I was in an impromptu debate; this is when they give you like 30 minutes to write a 7 minute talk on some random topic that nobody knows anything about, basically it comes down to who is the better liar. Ok ok, back to this story, well none of us really knew anything about our topic, which was ‘Heroin Injecting Rooms,’ we had to do the affirmative side, I was the dreaded first speaker which meant I had no rebuttal and it was just 7 minutes of pure speaking. Anyhow, so I look at my palm cards, which were nicely scribbled in the half hour we were mucking around for, and I had about 2 minutes worth of material. So I start talking, I finish my speech, no bells, holy shit, what do I do? So I flip to my first card again, I repeat my speech, nobody seems to realise that this is happening, I end up reiterating my speech like three times before those glorious bells go off, meaning I have done my time. At the end people were nodding like they thought I had done seven minutes of material, but I didn’t, I’m so tricky, oh god, I must sound like such a geek, but I thought it was funny. Well it was funny dammit! Start laughing! And if your not laughing, you better just stop reading because nothing I say is funny. These pages aren’t comedy, they are deadly serious… deadly! Anyway back to ze bus; we had a debating instructor Mr. McMahon who always would catch the same bus as my. We had two relationships Mr McMahon and I, one was our school/ debating relationship where we would chat and talk and converse and natter and gossip and yak and my synonyms have run out, and our bus relationship, this is the same as the ‘beautiful person on the bus scenario’, he was to scared to talk to me, or he thought that by talking to me he might embarrass me or something. Like I get embarrassed, I embarrass myself too much to get embarrassed, oh god, I’m blushing. Anyway, there was this tension that he wouldn’t even look at me, except for that glance and nod that you give people, god I love the glance and nod.
Funny story about the glance and nod, or as I call it, G and N. As previously stated I have done two years of university, and over these years I have started SEVEN courses, you know, I am just trying to create a broad spectrum of general knowledge for myself so I can sound smarter than I am, but what is intelligence? What is life? What is love? What is beauty? How can evil exist in a world shrouded by the ever-loving, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibelivonent god? I love doing philosophy… I recommend you try some, oh epistemology how I love thee so.
FUCK! G and N, that’s where I was. Over these years of tertiary education I spend one semester at Murdoch University, there I spent a lot of time in the library, because you know, I’m a little nerdy geek boy that no one wants to talk to because I’m so geeky, but really, I’m hip, I’m cool, I’m with it, I got the 4-1-1 and I’m not letting you go out and just jiggy with some boy, I don’t care how dope his ride is. Mamma didn’t raise no fool. Copyright infringement ahoy… but shhh… nobody knows, I made it up all by myself.
At Murdoch I always used to walk by this girl, I knew her from somewhere, I don’t know where, but I knew her… or maybe I just wanted to know her, because she was a very attractive girl, not really, I did know her from somewhere, oh, but she is attractive, god I hope she is reading this, if you are mystery girl, please send a stamped self addressed envelope to (copy paste):
The Guy in the Scary Black Long Trench coat
PO box 69 (oh yeah what a great number)
Perth 6000.
Anyway, every time we would pass I would to the GN and she would GN me back, I saw her probably twice a week, this went for the 13-week semester. By the end we had progressed to full blown hellos. Then, one day, I saw her out of uni, I saw her and the magical and romantic location of garden city, you know the one, the place where you hang out if you are a 12 year old dressed in a short skirt with your padded bra holding nothing but socks, you know, all skanky looking and such. Anyway, she wasn’t, I just thought I should add in that little bitch session, coz every time we are there, there seems to be copious amount of these people, think they are all cool, your not, you loudie-barstards. Anyway, we cross eyes, and nothing, no hello, no GN, no nothing, I got the look away, I got looked away! Our relationship was confined to Murdoch University. How sad I was. Anyway, I don’t even know what I was trying to achieve by this story. Glances at title of the book, I’m guessing its something to do with the bus, and glancing or something, I really like the glance. P.S. back to the story, I changed unis, I went back to Notre Dame, funny story, then I see her at Notre Dame, I think she might be changing to Notre Dame to be with me, we are meant to be together, yes... or not.
Anyway, glancing at people on the bus, I like the glance. It seems like a good introduction to people, none of this, hello, my name is Michael and I do Law crap, head straight to the glance. All anyone needs to know someone is a GN, one glance, one nod, and then the sit near, then the intro; you need this, then you can just jump to the rooting. Not that that is the reason you should talk to people on the bus, you should talk for social interaction and new loving friends; queue the happy string quartet music. I think that this is why I love blueberries so much.
I think that when I leave the bus I have to look as cool as possible, but still be a courteous human being, you know, saying the goodbye. Anyway I think I have to keep up an image on the bus, you know, so people want to talk to me, not just, ‘who’s that loser geek freak that keeps glancing and nodding at me?’
But I admit it, I try to be what people want me to be on the bus. When I’ around friends I can just be myself because they know who I am, I cant trick them. But on the bus I can be whoever I want, these people haven’t seen me before, and they probably wont see me again. Unless you are like me and remembers every face I see. This is a very bad attribute to have because I see people and recognise them, but they don’t recognise me, and I think we are friends, oh dear, I’m so low…
My house is about 100 metres away from MY bus stop, which is great! At present I am sitting at ‘The Stop’ at 12:25, the bus came at 12:23, what a shitter, but still for some absurd reason I sit here surrounded by three blue walls instead of venturing back home. Waiting until the next godsend of the 155 to come.
My Plan: to write for the next 24 minutes, as now it is 29 past, the minutes slowly ticking.
I like the aura of the bus stop, it’s a good happy aura. I don’t like traffic, but when I am here it seems to be bliss to my ears. There are swings in the park behind me, I want to use them so badly but I must keep up my cool guy persona.
This street has a lot of trees on it, which makes it damn near impossible to actually see the bus coming unless it is a good 20 metres from you, so I have to rely on sounds. I am now a fucking professional at picking a bus by the noise it makes, except for those tricky 4WD barstards who try trick me with their bus like noise. I wonder if other people have as much time on their hands as me.
I will sit happily on the bus stop seat, but I feel dirty if my back touches the back wall, it sickens me!
Two buses just passed each other in front of me, this brings me to an odd theory I have created all by my self, that just so happens to correspond to the ideas of the mighty John Safran. It is to do with the secret bus driver wave. Every time a bus passes another they will always signal the other, with their tricky-dicky little wave. I know what they are up to.
Now I remember faces petty damn well, because I’m a freak like that. And the drivers who drive my busses (namely the 881 and the 155) are without fail always different, so its not like they just memorise which people are who and wave accordingly, they don’t just associate people with the routes they drive, but, every time, without fail, they will do their secret little wave to each other. I plan to go home and ring jolly ole TransPerth to ask how many drivers there are on the roads, every bus driver cant possibly know them all.
You might be sitting there reading this codswallop thinking, “Michael, you short-sighted vol, its just done out of courtesy, they are just nice people!” well to you people, shut up, where’s you manners then?
I don’t see another car driver and wave to them! If I see another little red ‘Speed-Machine’ like my 1992 Daihatsu Charade TS Auto, I don’t wave to them! Even if I see another pizza delivery boy (or girl), or any delivery person for that matter, I don’t wave to them! The fact is, they don’t know who they are waving to! It’s a big secret, it’s a secret society, and I want to be involved, I feel so left out!
I plan to ask the bus driver in T minus 10 minutes when I board his vessel, and see what he says about these allegations, if he says anything suspicious I will put them down to my own theory! These bus drivers have their own secret society, like those freemasons. If you don’t know who freemasons are then they are a secret society religion full of secret handshakes, secret customs and secret meetings.
I propose to you that the bus people, the bus-folk have one of these societies, I will get to the bottom of it.
Two girls just walked past my stop (notice that this stop is my stop, I own this mother fucker), the laughed at me, laughing at the guy writing at the bus stop, well they wont be laughing when, there is nothing left to laugh about… forget it.
Sorry for that rude interruption, back to this society *SECRET SOCIETY IN DEPTH*
The last couple of minutes of bus waiting, like any other type of waiting, is a really horrid experience. I’m always looking to my phone to check the time, I’m getting nervous about the looming bus ride and I’m always on the lookout looking and listening for it to come. Its excruciating! God dammit I wish this bus would come, 4 minutes to go…
…
…
I see the bus in the far away distance, but alas, its stuck at one of those timed stops, for now, waiting… waiting… waiting… I put away my pad and pen for now.
Ok ok ok, so I chickened out, this time, on asking the driver about his secret society. I don’t really think he was in the mood, he didn’t even respond to my hello, what a fucker! God I love air-conditioned comfort.
There are two guys sitting behind me on this journey, I don’t like them! They are talking about religion. Now, I’m not saying that I’m full bottle in this area, but I did do TH101 at Notre Dame, good old theology, so I know more than these guys. I find people irritating that talk about thins that they obviously know nothing about for the purpose of sounding smart. But you must remember I have done 7 courses, so I have a board spectrum of general knowledge! But to theology, im not a religious person, and I had a lot of tiffs with my ‘born again Christian’ tutor! *TUTORIAL STORIES*
I want to turn around and educate them about the realities of life, the universe, god and theology! But then again, I’m to scared of confrontation on the bus, its kinda daunting, what is so daunting about the bus? I don’t know how I am going to draw myself to be able to conduct my interviews. She’ll be Jake.
I think I’m obsessed into listening into other peoples conversations on the bus. Its great hearing about others lives, and plus it gives me a story that I can exaggerate when I tell my friends. Like that time I turned around and smite the guys behind me and bewildered them with my vast array of knowledge into faith and such. Then they knelt before me praising me as the chosen one, their messiah. *MONTY PYTHON QUOTE – LIFE OF BRIAN – HAMMER*
Copyright infringement again, ai ai ai, I’m so sued! I’m getting good at this ‘leaching of others ideas’ thing.
Im not putting on my cool persona this bus ride.
Serial skanks.
Ok, so I didn’t write about this the first time I saw them coz I thought it would be a bit boring for the readers of today, you know, those pesky kids who only want sex, drugs and rock and roll; lousy meddling children! Any way I will recap to the best of my memory my first encounter of the ‘serial skanks.’ Now, when Rodiyah and I first met it was in a nice way, a happy nice meeting, none of this ‘serial skank’ rubbish.
Ok ok ok, so I found this bus ride really funny, it was a prime example of the loud people that want to sho off how cool they are. These are opposed to me, who just puts on the cool persona, which is what I was in on this fine day.
So, I’m sitting there, looking all coolio in my ‘hip-hop’ and ‘sik-wicked’ fashion attire; oh yeah, who wouldn’t want to be me right now? So I am sitting there listening to these kiddylings jabber on about how they root and do drugs and get drunk and are so ‘wicked-awesome.’ I must mention that they did declare that they were in year 9, so the lack of puberty and really really really squeaky voices really dismiss most of their ‘lets go root’ ideologies. So it was a guy and a girl, who, from what I listened into were best friends and will be forever and ever and ever. The funniest thing I listened into on in this little conversation was the little guy telling the girl that he got really high once by getting incense, crushing it up, and smoking it through a pipe. I think he was claiming he did opium or something because of it. I had to try to contain my laughter. So anyway, his little friend who is a girl, NOT A GIRLFRIEND, gets of the bus so he is left all by himself for a little while. This is where the ‘serial skanks’ step in, so ‘serial skanks’ start talking to him, obviously intrigued and seduced by the incense smoking, pre-pubescent rooting, antics of the little year 9. Oh, and the skanks are also in year 9 from what I heard. So they are talking, blah blah blah, basically they were flirting in that little ‘I’m in year 9 and I like girls’ kinda way. Pretty cool I think. So anyway, if he was half the man he claimed to be he would be like me, ‘the pied piped of love,’ and wouldn’t care what he had on that afternoon coz he could go with ‘serial skanks’ for a quickie.
So the skank-a-holics ask, ‘so what are you doing now?’ in the whole ‘wanna come along with us’ sorta way. And he says, in an entirely nervous ‘a girl is talking to me’ kinda way, ‘I’m going home.’ So they say, ‘why don’t you come along with us?’ and he say, in an entirely idiotic way ‘but I’m going home.’ And they say, ‘but do you want to come along with us to Garden City’, you know, flickering of the eyebrows, ‘I wanna hold your ha-a-a-a-a-nd’ Beatles manner. And still, either by him being stupid, or homosexual, or not interested, or stupid, or gay, or whatever. He says, ‘but I’m going home now, I’m not going to Garden City’ and he gets off the bus with me, at my stop, as they hang out the window yelling, ‘I hope we see you soon’ ‘bye baby’ blowing kisses and such. Oh, what a horrific show of emotion.
See I thought this was hilarious, funny, amusing, comical, and hilarious.
I just thought after all this talk of how much of a man he was, he would have either get the picture and go along with the little skanks, or at least, ANYTHING!!! But no, he was a stupid little kid that was trying to talk himself up on the bus. Maybe he was like me and he changed his persona on the bus, but he just couldn’t stay in character.
Anyway, to my story with the ‘serial skanks.’ So I decide to go see Rodiyah in Freo where she works, as I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, tear, and what happens, the ‘serial skanks’ enter, and they sit behind me.
I should point out now that I was in ultra alternative cool mood persona. I have recently bought a harmonica coz they are the coolest instrument in the world and I bring it along everywhere with me in the hope that someday I might get good of it. So I’m sitting on the bus fiddling with my harmonica, looking all altero-cool and they come and sit behind me. I recognised them coz I thought the young mans last effort was crap. So I’m sitting there, making silent but recognisable harp music, and I feel this little thing on the back of my neck, it was them! They were stroking a flower on the back of my neck, who does that? A ‘serial skank’ that’s who!!! God I hate them!!! So they start talking to me blah blah blah, may I remind you that they are in year 9! Skank-o year 9’s! so they start flirting with me, and I am rather non-responsive as I have no respect for skanks, I mean sluts are ok, but skanks, NO WAY! So they ask me how old I am, and I say 19, knowing that they are probably like 14 max, which is a pretty big leap to be picking up people on the bus. And they say, ‘wow I thought you were older, like in your middle 20’s’. This is where I go what the fuck, in my mind of course, why are little children trying to chat up old men on the bus, what’s with the youth of today, with their sex, drugs and rock and roll.
So I continue the conversation in the least reactive manner possible whilst not being rude, coz I’m not a rude person, and if you think I am, shut up! You barstard!
Then they ask what I’m doing now, you know the ‘want to hang out with us’ kinda question. And I say ‘I’M GOING TO GO SEE MY GIRLFRIEND’ and they say, ‘yeah whatever, so what you doin’ totally disregarding the blatant fact, that I have a girlfriend, they then ask what I’m doing after that. It is here where I become totally unapproachable and stop the conversation, what little skanks! Ah! I hate people like that!
Some people are bus people others aren’t, personally I am a bus guy, I like the bus, I am a bus-liker. Its not really for the transportation thing, and the whole “skyrocketing fuel price debacle, not that isn’t a factor as I am a poor struggling uni student with to much time on my hands, and now that you are reading this, it probably means you have too much time on your hands, or you’re my friend/ acquaintance/ guy I begged to read this collection of pages I like to refer to as a book, mainly for the reason that it makes me feel big! Anyway I have strayed, as usual, with the plethora of ideas racing through my head. I am a bus rider for the pure entertainment, we go to the movies to see action and comedy, but it seems everything you ever need is right in front of your eyes, oh and did I mention that the fuel prices are astronomically high at the moment, someone should really do something about that, come on Johnny come on come on.
I decided on this topic as I was sitting on the bus, riding with copious amounts of school children. I realised that it is actually an interesting topic.
It brought me back to the days in 2002 where my friend Lisel and I would sit on the 106 to and from Perth city predicting where people would sit on the bus. We had these, and I apologise Lisel, horrid conversations where we would talk really loud and annoyingly, it was great, I loved it. Now I realise that those conversations are the ones that I will bitch about in this collection of pages and random thoughts, the children I have grown to know and hate, I shed a tear.
I think I have this connection with the bus driver, and we have common grounds, I am a pizza delivery boy. There is this little thing that we don’t speak about. This brings me to my first point; it begins (please note the use of the colon, oh yeah, I’m cool I know my grammar and such). When I drive my tiny red ‘speed machine’, otherwise known as a 1992 Daihatsu Charade on my deliveries I drive nicely, I drive not to run people of the road, unlike… the bus driver. Even when I am on my deliveries the bus seems to think that he has the absolute right to be able to cut me off, go through red lights and cause near crashes, what nerve!
I would like to point out here that I am a big fan of the bus driver, I like them, except when they decide my 80c fare isn’t enough to get me to the 130c location, but we will get to that later. Well I will get to it, you probably haven’t got to this point, and if you have you must have a very high tolerance for what I call ‘dickheadism’ which is, my writing in a nutshell.
My first little bitch session is to do with the pull out, I hate the pull out. The council or government of what ever body is in charge of the roads and crap, no better word to describe them. These people are obviously sitting in their offices, wearing their Giotto suits and their obsession by Calvin Klein, driving around in their leather seated ‘small dick’ cars, which have never ever ridden a bus in their lives. But of course they haven’t, they are involved in the political system, barstards. Ok, whatever, the council, I stray, I am like that poor dog walking around Freo that people always feel sorry for, but decide to not do anything about it but walk that little bit further away from it so they don’t get bitten and catch small pox. I apologise, I did it again, I have zero coherence, I am incoherent. Blah blah blah.
The council, they dot these strategically placed bus stops all around the place thinking that it doesn’t make a difference if it is at Stock rd or 37 metres up from good old Stocky, oh but it does, it does. Their little ‘throwing darts and the map’ technique wont fool me, I am an unfoolable, I can’t be fooled. Ha ha ha, I laugh loudly. Anyway…
So these little men in their little cubicles put their little bus stops in their little locations, not thinking at all about the topography of the road, let alone (and here it comes) the psychology of the bus driver. I think that these people have to realise that they are dealing with people on power trips, these bus drivers know they are the biggest thing on the road, they can simply just crush anything they want. Me, I have a little bitch car that struggles to go over 40km per hour ands dimensions are 1 metre by 1 metre, although there was this one time that we fit 9 people in it, wow, isn’t life great, I know ill sleep easy tonight, sigh, I’m so lonely.
So these bus drivers right, all high and mighty on their power trips, being all-powerful and mighty… and high, did I mention high? Ah! These bus drivers drive around with their kill machines, knowing that they can take anyone on, and win. And these stupid council workers in their stupid cubicles decide to put their stupid ROAD ISLANDS right outside the bus stops. So when these high and mighty bus drivers decide to pull out in front of me so when I decide to keep overtaking so I don’t lose my 60km to go to 13km I hit a big ass island just ripe to smash the shit out of my bitch mobile, and I cant take on the bus, how can I take on a bus, I cant, I am not a bus-taker-on-er. So here I go, I lose my 60 to go to 13, losing like 47 or so of my speed just because some bus driver decides he is better than me, well I’ll tell you what, I’m going to get a job and save up, and I’m not going to buy some fancy-pants small dick Porsche or whatever, I am going to buy some sort of tractor, bigger than any bus, then, and only then will I win my battle for supremacy on the roads vs. the bus driver.
I always ride the bus and dream of talking to the beautiful person on it. Everybody knows who the beautiful person is on the bus, it is obvious. I try to think that I am the beautiful person on a bus, but I am probably not, oh dear. I don’t care, I know I’m pretty, I’m a pretty boy, I’m a pretty boy…. Oh god I’m digging myself in deep now, shit hey.
Anyway, the beautiful people, you see them everywhere, in the street, in the city, not in Red Dot. But it is somehow different on the bus, they have no escape, if you chat to them or sit near them they cant get away. It’s the perfect plot to talk to beautiful people that you don’t know and really want to know.
See I feel that I am a kinda confident person who gets along with a lot of people, but still, I cannot initiate a conversation on the bus. It just doesn’t seem to be the most social place, I like the bus for entertainment. See, and I will ruin a later discussion here, I will always sit as close as I can to the pretty people, but not next to them due to the fact that I may seem like a crazy stalker guy, not that I’m not, so just mail your address, places you ‘hang out’, and times that you will be home to:
The Guy in the Scary Black Long Trench coat
PO box 69 (oh yeah what a great number)
Perth 6000.
Expect a visit within two weeks of reception of your address; it will be fun for all the family. Anyway, the beautiful people, god I love them, I have realised that the majority of my friends are beautiful, and I am (of course), so I get along with pretty people better, we just seem to flock together, oh we are all perfect. Oh god I’m bad at this story writing thing, it just seems to be turning into a collection of my thoughts because I really can’t keep a coherent plot running.
Every time I am at the bus stop I scope out the scene, I’m not a pervert, I just like to look is all, and touch, you have beautiful eyes; can I touch them? I always wish they would sit near me, or at least catch the same bus as me. There seems to be something about the 155 that seems to not have the same ‘talent’ as other bus’s I have caught.
I am yet to initiate a conversation with a beautiful person. Hopefully I can do that some day. Well it is new years, so on top of turning into a vegetarian for a month, losing weight, eating better and doing more exercise I will also have to put ‘ talk to the hottie on the bus,’ oh how it will be a good year.
So I see these hotties and I think, what would they do if I talked to them, but still I don’t have the confidence to ‘spark up’ a conversation, I somehow think that I am not as good as them, but I am dammit, I am! I now realise that beautiful people are the same as everybody else, well not all beautiful people, but the nice ones that you would actually want to talk to. I suppose the point of this horrid little section is that everyone should talk to everyone on the bus. I know I said that it shouldn’t be a social sphere, but merely a great place for the comedic talent that I call ‘weirdo’s.’ I think that everyone should talk, chat chat chat. Because good things can come out of it; all good things.
The loudies are my enemies, worse than 28 Days themselves, and that’s stooping quite low.
Well everyone knows a loudie, the guy who has to be at least 56 decibels louder than everyone else, and must be the centre of attention, I slip in and out of this phase, I must make you aware, I am sometimes a dickhead that needs a lot of attention, and if you spite me, oh, oh you will make me angry and stuff… god I’m crap.
Well well well, I go to uni, yeah, I actually got in, yes I’m amazed to, thanks, you probably cant tell by my writing and ‘punctuation.’ So I ride the bus to uni every day, which the times coincide with school starting and finishing, so I get a lot of loud ‘peeps.’
There is one thing I love about these loud people more than anything in the world; it is when their friends leave them, and then they are lonely and can’t be loud, but if you look at them you can tell, you can tell that all they want is to do is talk to someone, and not just talk but yell at. But everyone else on the bus hates them for being so god awful and annoying for the last 15 minutes so they are not going to respond, and they don’t. Plus if they do want to talk back to them, they can see that everyone else on the bus is fed up with them so they don’t want to become one of them… it’s a fine line. But then you have to realise, that if you do make a fool of yourself on the bus no-one is going to remember you because you are on the bus, who cares… but I care I care… and I remember, so don’t cross me.
I hate loud people, I hate them, especially when they talk to me, don’t talk to me unless you are cool. I need and starve for intelligent conversation, no oh my god oh my god, I’m 15 and I’m soooooo cool… YOU’RE NOT, grow the fuck up!
But of course, I’m a nice guy, yes believe it or not; I am actually nice in some sort of way. I cant just reject a conversation, I cant just have someone say hello to me and reject them. I learnt from those mistakes where by I was walking in Fremantle one day past the ‘Kodak guy’ (for those who don’t know this guy, or by the off chance that these pages are so popular that they have travelled to the other side of the world; the Kodak guy is this homeless man who sits outside Kodak. I think he has that yelling disease, terrets or something, come on editor, help me out) and I entered his territory, BIG MISTAKE! So I have passed by him, I hear this little ‘hello’ I expect it is the Kodak guy but I have already passed him so it can’t be aimed at me. So I continue on my merry way, skipping along licking my big lollypop and walking my pet lamb, you know, being all innocent and such (when in reality I was dressed in my Fubu puffer jacket and my silver shiny voosh-voosh pants trying to sell the DVD player I just stole from Harvey Norman, wink wink nudge nudge you know what I mean). I decide to turn around to see who he was saying hi to, and he is there, the scary man, pointing at me and yelling obscenities at me. If only I had said hello back I might have made a new friend. Because yes indeed you can make new friends on the bus.
This is the section I was originally going to write and be all cool and such, but now I cant, I have to tell the real story, not the over-emphasised ideology that are called ‘Michael’s stories.’ Ok ok ok, I now admit it, my stories are slightly more exciting than the actual event, but hey, that’s just me, if I didn’t do this I would be more boring than I already am, and really I cant afford to sink any lower.
My meeting people on the bus story. Before this I have really only had minimal confrontation with people on the bus, with the last recognisable story emanating from some guy asking me if he could have my phone, which I responded with ‘no’ and he continued to say, ‘oh, ok.’ That was it, oh what a boring bus life I had lived until that day… who hoo! Another story I could tell people, but how could I make it better…. Hmmm, I suppose I could add in some knives and finish in a big fight scene that results in me picking up the bus, bending it in half and throwing it off a bridge. Oh yeah!
Anyway, my bus story, Rodiyah Rodiyah, forgive me for spreading this. So I’m sitting at the bus stop, and I’m doing the usual, sitting there and laughing at people that I think look funny, because of course they look funny, coz really they are catching the bus in Freo, you cant expect more can you? Then this beauty strolls into me vision, with a certain glow emanating around her, an angel (brownie points ahoy), I think we catch eyes, smile and continue on our merry way, both of course still skipping, walking our lambs and licking our lolly pops. I should add that I have just come from sanity in Freo where I visit my friends there, LONG LIVE THE MUSIC MASTERS AT SANITY FREMANTLE, and I had just purchased my favourite DVD in the world, John Safran vs. God. I have to add here that this guy is a televised genius, my god.
Anyway back to ‘my girl story’. So I get on my favourite bus in the world, the 155, and she follows, I must state this now that she was walking behind me, and sat behind me, I didn’t sit near her, she sat near me. Anyway, I’m on my way home from uni, firstly I take out my Johnny Safran DVD to see if she watched to show also, coz I know I would build up the courage to talk to someone if they worshiped the same God as me, john, this didn’t seem to work, so I decide to whip out my law work, I think that it was more for show than for actually doing work, I don’t know what happened, I think I just wanted to show off that I was a law student, I don’t know, I think I was trying to show off that I did law to this girl. What was coming over me. Then, it happened, I heard a ‘beautiful melodic voice’ angelic even, you better be reading this Rodiyah, saying ‘wow, do you do law?’ it seemed that my little plot to show off my law skills had gone noticed, hurrur for everything. We start to chat, I think we seem to hit it off. I am talking along, then I realise that my stop is coming up, what do I do? Do I leave this conversation here and say farewell, or do I keep on going. I resist and I don’t push the button, I couldn’t, this girl was beautiful. She is one of those people of the opposite sex that you always want to talk to on the bus, or any public transport, but you think, ‘hey, I cant talk to them, I cant, I’m to scared, they are way better than me.’
She was the pretty girl on the bus, and she was talking to me, everything was happy and dandy. We both get off at garden city and walk around there for a while, just strolling. She then decides that she would walk home, me, being the proper gentleman joins her, mainly coz I didn’t really want to leave her at this point. So we walk home, our conversation continues, with its awkward moments like when she popped the question ‘are you gay?’ ok, that was a hit back, but hey, she’s still good. So I walk her home, when I leave her I think, should I ask her for her number? Should I? She says bye, I say bye, we stare into each other’s eyes (I could be making this bit up, but hey it makes me sound like a better guy, you know all sensitive and new age and such), the byes continue, and then we both turn and walk away. Spend the entire walk back to me house regretting not getting the number. All I had racing through my mind was ‘why didn’t I ask her for her number? Why?’ I had nothing to lose by asking.
In part of our conversation she told me she was just finishing year 12 and the subjects that she did. I had even contemplated going to those exams to find her, but then shrugged it off because I just realised how stalkerish that would be. I arrive home, I sit, I sit, I sit. Nothing; why didn’t I ask for the number?
Anyway, a week goes by, I catch the same bus same day same time hoping that she would be there, no luck. God this might make me sound a bit weird, but she was an awesome girl!
So two or three weeks go by and I don’t see her, oh well… then one day I go into uni with some friends to do exam prep, you know, at a coffee shop so we look all cool and lawyerish, when really we are 4 19 year olds trying to look as cool as we can in a harsh world). I go to catch the bus home and who is sitting there, it is Rodiyah. Ta da! Her bus comes, I ask her if I can grab her number, she says yes, hurrur, and then she suddenly starts to forget her number. Oh oh, I take this as a bad sign, is she having second thoughts, is she thinking, I don’t want this ugly loser freak having my number. So I give her mine.
She calls me on her number to save it in her phone or something, I get a weird call, it starts from there. We organise a date (oh how I hate this word) and we head off to Benny’s Bar in Fremantle for dinner, we hit it off again and I end up staying the night at her place, good times were shared by all.
At this point I really didn’t want a relationship, I don’t like them, but that soon changed, I really liked this girl.
We end up spending a lot of time together, good times, fun fun. Now we are girlfriend/ boyfriend and we joke about it. Wow, hows about that for a meeting story, that’s one for the grandkids that I hope don’t come for another 43 odd years.
Rodiyah, if you are reading this, you are great, I really like you! Oh and if you want to sit with me one day and watch John Safran vs. God with me, please ask.
Pressing the button is an important part of the bus ride, otherwise how are you supposed to get of the darn thing, it will just keep going til the end of the line, probably leaving you further away from your destination that you were before. There are two different ways to stop the bus whilst riding; there is the black strip and the little red button. In Perth they are currently weaning out all the old buses that had the black strip and red button, to have just the red button. I hate the red button. The ideology of the button is horrible, its crap crap crap. I talked to my friends about the button vs. strip debacle, and they like the button, what losers, they are of my friend membership list, I’m talking about you… Jessyca! Anyway the button is this nasty little one inch by one inch red block of plastic, the strip however is this never-ending black rubber band that goes up and down the bus and can be accessed where ever you are, unlike the awful button that is small and tiny and located every 1.5 metres along the bars of the bus.
I also look at hygiene a lot, I feel that the button is so small, everyone’s fingers are touching that one spot, and I don’t know where those nasty little fingers have been, you dirty dirty youth of today. But the strip however is great, it is so long that the chances are severely decreased that you will touch the same inch that everyone else has touched. There is nothing wrong with it, but somehow, for some shit house reason, Mercedes and TransPerth, decide to scrap the black strip, they only have buttons now, I hate the buttons. Buttons suck ass. I urge you to not use the buttons, not buttons, no buttons. My one love about catching the bus now is when I see the crickedy old bus rattling down the street towards me, and I know I will have the pleasure of touching that black strip of goodness, and even if I’m not in a striping mood I can always touch that button (that’s if I want to stoop that low).
The button pressing also has another side to it, when you do it. I have this fear on the bus, I feel that the bus driver will forget to stop when I press the button, and I will be left walking al the way home, and we cant have that. So I always press the button half way to my stop from the last stop. Always half way, that’s if some other asrehole hasn’t always pressed the button, taking away from my strip touching glory. There are a lot of different button presser categories.
I think there are the people who think that it’s cool to press the button, I hate these people. I think I’m coming to the realisation that I really don’t like a lot of the people on the bus, oh dear. Maybe my whole, TALK TO EVERYONE idea might go down the drain, shit hey. But how is it cool to press the button, I have been on the bus where children have actually been racing each other to get the button press, and then chat about it and argue about it until the next stop about who really pressed the button, these people seem to coincide to the same people who are the ‘loudies’ … I don’t like them very much… but I like you reader, oh yes, my humble readers…
There is also what I call the ‘hardcore mother fuckers’ or ‘H to the K moffor fokkorz’ who believe that it is hilarious to press the button over and over and over again and again and again so it angers the rest of the bus. They sit on the back seat of the bus talking about how stoned they were last night and how HK they are. Pressing that button over and over again. I don’t like them. They are not funny, you are not funny, get away from me!
Then there are the old people that don’t even press the button, they just walk to the front of the bus and talk to the driver… WHEN CLEARLY it states in the TransPerth rules ‘do not talk to the driver’… what cant they read. They have been around for the past 60 million years, why don’t they realise that you press the button, they are not just there for aesthetic value, it isn’t so you sit there, mesmerised, by the black strip and the red button, oh how they are so pretty. What are they thinking anyway, that the magical bell just goes off because the young kids of the day have telepathic powers because of all the drugs we are pumping into our systems?
Then there are people like me, which I have already described, the scaredy-cats that want to get off the bus and don’t fully trust the driver.
Then the cool ‘peeps’ that just press the button when ever the fuck they want because they can, they are everything, I envy these people, I want to be cool to, I don’t want to be a scared little child anymore.
Back in the day, in good ole high school, I used to catch the bus to school when my dear old mother was on her long-service holiday thingy-ma-bob. This was great! No, not really. It was actually quite funny. I did debating at the time, I was a debater, oh yeah, ill argue til the cows come home, RA! I remember this one time that I was in an impromptu debate; this is when they give you like 30 minutes to write a 7 minute talk on some random topic that nobody knows anything about, basically it comes down to who is the better liar. Ok ok, back to this story, well none of us really knew anything about our topic, which was ‘Heroin Injecting Rooms,’ we had to do the affirmative side, I was the dreaded first speaker which meant I had no rebuttal and it was just 7 minutes of pure speaking. Anyhow, so I look at my palm cards, which were nicely scribbled in the half hour we were mucking around for, and I had about 2 minutes worth of material. So I start talking, I finish my speech, no bells, holy shit, what do I do? So I flip to my first card again, I repeat my speech, nobody seems to realise that this is happening, I end up reiterating my speech like three times before those glorious bells go off, meaning I have done my time. At the end people were nodding like they thought I had done seven minutes of material, but I didn’t, I’m so tricky, oh god, I must sound like such a geek, but I thought it was funny. Well it was funny dammit! Start laughing! And if your not laughing, you better just stop reading because nothing I say is funny. These pages aren’t comedy, they are deadly serious… deadly! Anyway back to ze bus; we had a debating instructor Mr. McMahon who always would catch the same bus as my. We had two relationships Mr McMahon and I, one was our school/ debating relationship where we would chat and talk and converse and natter and gossip and yak and my synonyms have run out, and our bus relationship, this is the same as the ‘beautiful person on the bus scenario’, he was to scared to talk to me, or he thought that by talking to me he might embarrass me or something. Like I get embarrassed, I embarrass myself too much to get embarrassed, oh god, I’m blushing. Anyway, there was this tension that he wouldn’t even look at me, except for that glance and nod that you give people, god I love the glance and nod.
Funny story about the glance and nod, or as I call it, G and N. As previously stated I have done two years of university, and over these years I have started SEVEN courses, you know, I am just trying to create a broad spectrum of general knowledge for myself so I can sound smarter than I am, but what is intelligence? What is life? What is love? What is beauty? How can evil exist in a world shrouded by the ever-loving, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibelivonent god? I love doing philosophy… I recommend you try some, oh epistemology how I love thee so.
FUCK! G and N, that’s where I was. Over these years of tertiary education I spend one semester at Murdoch University, there I spent a lot of time in the library, because you know, I’m a little nerdy geek boy that no one wants to talk to because I’m so geeky, but really, I’m hip, I’m cool, I’m with it, I got the 4-1-1 and I’m not letting you go out and just jiggy with some boy, I don’t care how dope his ride is. Mamma didn’t raise no fool. Copyright infringement ahoy… but shhh… nobody knows, I made it up all by myself.
At Murdoch I always used to walk by this girl, I knew her from somewhere, I don’t know where, but I knew her… or maybe I just wanted to know her, because she was a very attractive girl, not really, I did know her from somewhere, oh, but she is attractive, god I hope she is reading this, if you are mystery girl, please send a stamped self addressed envelope to (copy paste):
The Guy in the Scary Black Long Trench coat
PO box 69 (oh yeah what a great number)
Perth 6000.
Anyway, every time we would pass I would to the GN and she would GN me back, I saw her probably twice a week, this went for the 13-week semester. By the end we had progressed to full blown hellos. Then, one day, I saw her out of uni, I saw her and the magical and romantic location of garden city, you know the one, the place where you hang out if you are a 12 year old dressed in a short skirt with your padded bra holding nothing but socks, you know, all skanky looking and such. Anyway, she wasn’t, I just thought I should add in that little bitch session, coz every time we are there, there seems to be copious amount of these people, think they are all cool, your not, you loudie-barstards. Anyway, we cross eyes, and nothing, no hello, no GN, no nothing, I got the look away, I got looked away! Our relationship was confined to Murdoch University. How sad I was. Anyway, I don’t even know what I was trying to achieve by this story. Glances at title of the book, I’m guessing its something to do with the bus, and glancing or something, I really like the glance. P.S. back to the story, I changed unis, I went back to Notre Dame, funny story, then I see her at Notre Dame, I think she might be changing to Notre Dame to be with me, we are meant to be together, yes... or not.
Anyway, glancing at people on the bus, I like the glance. It seems like a good introduction to people, none of this, hello, my name is Michael and I do Law crap, head straight to the glance. All anyone needs to know someone is a GN, one glance, one nod, and then the sit near, then the intro; you need this, then you can just jump to the rooting. Not that that is the reason you should talk to people on the bus, you should talk for social interaction and new loving friends; queue the happy string quartet music. I think that this is why I love blueberries so much.
I think that when I leave the bus I have to look as cool as possible, but still be a courteous human being, you know, saying the goodbye. Anyway I think I have to keep up an image on the bus, you know, so people want to talk to me, not just, ‘who’s that loser geek freak that keeps glancing and nodding at me?’
But I admit it, I try to be what people want me to be on the bus. When I’ around friends I can just be myself because they know who I am, I cant trick them. But on the bus I can be whoever I want, these people haven’t seen me before, and they probably wont see me again. Unless you are like me and remembers every face I see. This is a very bad attribute to have because I see people and recognise them, but they don’t recognise me, and I think we are friends, oh dear, I’m so low…
My house is about 100 metres away from MY bus stop, which is great! At present I am sitting at ‘The Stop’ at 12:25, the bus came at 12:23, what a shitter, but still for some absurd reason I sit here surrounded by three blue walls instead of venturing back home. Waiting until the next godsend of the 155 to come.
My Plan: to write for the next 24 minutes, as now it is 29 past, the minutes slowly ticking.
I like the aura of the bus stop, it’s a good happy aura. I don’t like traffic, but when I am here it seems to be bliss to my ears. There are swings in the park behind me, I want to use them so badly but I must keep up my cool guy persona.
This street has a lot of trees on it, which makes it damn near impossible to actually see the bus coming unless it is a good 20 metres from you, so I have to rely on sounds. I am now a fucking professional at picking a bus by the noise it makes, except for those tricky 4WD barstards who try trick me with their bus like noise. I wonder if other people have as much time on their hands as me.
I will sit happily on the bus stop seat, but I feel dirty if my back touches the back wall, it sickens me!
Two buses just passed each other in front of me, this brings me to an odd theory I have created all by my self, that just so happens to correspond to the ideas of the mighty John Safran. It is to do with the secret bus driver wave. Every time a bus passes another they will always signal the other, with their tricky-dicky little wave. I know what they are up to.
Now I remember faces petty damn well, because I’m a freak like that. And the drivers who drive my busses (namely the 881 and the 155) are without fail always different, so its not like they just memorise which people are who and wave accordingly, they don’t just associate people with the routes they drive, but, every time, without fail, they will do their secret little wave to each other. I plan to go home and ring jolly ole TransPerth to ask how many drivers there are on the roads, every bus driver cant possibly know them all.
You might be sitting there reading this codswallop thinking, “Michael, you short-sighted vol, its just done out of courtesy, they are just nice people!” well to you people, shut up, where’s you manners then?
I don’t see another car driver and wave to them! If I see another little red ‘Speed-Machine’ like my 1992 Daihatsu Charade TS Auto, I don’t wave to them! Even if I see another pizza delivery boy (or girl), or any delivery person for that matter, I don’t wave to them! The fact is, they don’t know who they are waving to! It’s a big secret, it’s a secret society, and I want to be involved, I feel so left out!
I plan to ask the bus driver in T minus 10 minutes when I board his vessel, and see what he says about these allegations, if he says anything suspicious I will put them down to my own theory! These bus drivers have their own secret society, like those freemasons. If you don’t know who freemasons are then they are a secret society religion full of secret handshakes, secret customs and secret meetings.
I propose to you that the bus people, the bus-folk have one of these societies, I will get to the bottom of it.
Two girls just walked past my stop (notice that this stop is my stop, I own this mother fucker), the laughed at me, laughing at the guy writing at the bus stop, well they wont be laughing when, there is nothing left to laugh about… forget it.
Sorry for that rude interruption, back to this society *SECRET SOCIETY IN DEPTH*
The last couple of minutes of bus waiting, like any other type of waiting, is a really horrid experience. I’m always looking to my phone to check the time, I’m getting nervous about the looming bus ride and I’m always on the lookout looking and listening for it to come. Its excruciating! God dammit I wish this bus would come, 4 minutes to go…
…
…
I see the bus in the far away distance, but alas, its stuck at one of those timed stops, for now, waiting… waiting… waiting… I put away my pad and pen for now.
Ok ok ok, so I chickened out, this time, on asking the driver about his secret society. I don’t really think he was in the mood, he didn’t even respond to my hello, what a fucker! God I love air-conditioned comfort.
There are two guys sitting behind me on this journey, I don’t like them! They are talking about religion. Now, I’m not saying that I’m full bottle in this area, but I did do TH101 at Notre Dame, good old theology, so I know more than these guys. I find people irritating that talk about thins that they obviously know nothing about for the purpose of sounding smart. But you must remember I have done 7 courses, so I have a board spectrum of general knowledge! But to theology, im not a religious person, and I had a lot of tiffs with my ‘born again Christian’ tutor! *TUTORIAL STORIES*
I want to turn around and educate them about the realities of life, the universe, god and theology! But then again, I’m to scared of confrontation on the bus, its kinda daunting, what is so daunting about the bus? I don’t know how I am going to draw myself to be able to conduct my interviews. She’ll be Jake.
I think I’m obsessed into listening into other peoples conversations on the bus. Its great hearing about others lives, and plus it gives me a story that I can exaggerate when I tell my friends. Like that time I turned around and smite the guys behind me and bewildered them with my vast array of knowledge into faith and such. Then they knelt before me praising me as the chosen one, their messiah. *MONTY PYTHON QUOTE – LIFE OF BRIAN – HAMMER*
Copyright infringement again, ai ai ai, I’m so sued! I’m getting good at this ‘leaching of others ideas’ thing.
Im not putting on my cool persona this bus ride.
Serial skanks.
Ok, so I didn’t write about this the first time I saw them coz I thought it would be a bit boring for the readers of today, you know, those pesky kids who only want sex, drugs and rock and roll; lousy meddling children! Any way I will recap to the best of my memory my first encounter of the ‘serial skanks.’ Now, when Rodiyah and I first met it was in a nice way, a happy nice meeting, none of this ‘serial skank’ rubbish.
Ok ok ok, so I found this bus ride really funny, it was a prime example of the loud people that want to sho off how cool they are. These are opposed to me, who just puts on the cool persona, which is what I was in on this fine day.
So, I’m sitting there, looking all coolio in my ‘hip-hop’ and ‘sik-wicked’ fashion attire; oh yeah, who wouldn’t want to be me right now? So I am sitting there listening to these kiddylings jabber on about how they root and do drugs and get drunk and are so ‘wicked-awesome.’ I must mention that they did declare that they were in year 9, so the lack of puberty and really really really squeaky voices really dismiss most of their ‘lets go root’ ideologies. So it was a guy and a girl, who, from what I listened into were best friends and will be forever and ever and ever. The funniest thing I listened into on in this little conversation was the little guy telling the girl that he got really high once by getting incense, crushing it up, and smoking it through a pipe. I think he was claiming he did opium or something because of it. I had to try to contain my laughter. So anyway, his little friend who is a girl, NOT A GIRLFRIEND, gets of the bus so he is left all by himself for a little while. This is where the ‘serial skanks’ step in, so ‘serial skanks’ start talking to him, obviously intrigued and seduced by the incense smoking, pre-pubescent rooting, antics of the little year 9. Oh, and the skanks are also in year 9 from what I heard. So they are talking, blah blah blah, basically they were flirting in that little ‘I’m in year 9 and I like girls’ kinda way. Pretty cool I think. So anyway, if he was half the man he claimed to be he would be like me, ‘the pied piped of love,’ and wouldn’t care what he had on that afternoon coz he could go with ‘serial skanks’ for a quickie.
So the skank-a-holics ask, ‘so what are you doing now?’ in the whole ‘wanna come along with us’ sorta way. And he says, in an entirely nervous ‘a girl is talking to me’ kinda way, ‘I’m going home.’ So they say, ‘why don’t you come along with us?’ and he say, in an entirely idiotic way ‘but I’m going home.’ And they say, ‘but do you want to come along with us to Garden City’, you know, flickering of the eyebrows, ‘I wanna hold your ha-a-a-a-a-nd’ Beatles manner. And still, either by him being stupid, or homosexual, or not interested, or stupid, or gay, or whatever. He says, ‘but I’m going home now, I’m not going to Garden City’ and he gets off the bus with me, at my stop, as they hang out the window yelling, ‘I hope we see you soon’ ‘bye baby’ blowing kisses and such. Oh, what a horrific show of emotion.
See I thought this was hilarious, funny, amusing, comical, and hilarious.
I just thought after all this talk of how much of a man he was, he would have either get the picture and go along with the little skanks, or at least, ANYTHING!!! But no, he was a stupid little kid that was trying to talk himself up on the bus. Maybe he was like me and he changed his persona on the bus, but he just couldn’t stay in character.
Anyway, to my story with the ‘serial skanks.’ So I decide to go see Rodiyah in Freo where she works, as I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, tear, and what happens, the ‘serial skanks’ enter, and they sit behind me.
I should point out now that I was in ultra alternative cool mood persona. I have recently bought a harmonica coz they are the coolest instrument in the world and I bring it along everywhere with me in the hope that someday I might get good of it. So I’m sitting on the bus fiddling with my harmonica, looking all altero-cool and they come and sit behind me. I recognised them coz I thought the young mans last effort was crap. So I’m sitting there, making silent but recognisable harp music, and I feel this little thing on the back of my neck, it was them! They were stroking a flower on the back of my neck, who does that? A ‘serial skank’ that’s who!!! God I hate them!!! So they start talking to me blah blah blah, may I remind you that they are in year 9! Skank-o year 9’s! so they start flirting with me, and I am rather non-responsive as I have no respect for skanks, I mean sluts are ok, but skanks, NO WAY! So they ask me how old I am, and I say 19, knowing that they are probably like 14 max, which is a pretty big leap to be picking up people on the bus. And they say, ‘wow I thought you were older, like in your middle 20’s’. This is where I go what the fuck, in my mind of course, why are little children trying to chat up old men on the bus, what’s with the youth of today, with their sex, drugs and rock and roll.
So I continue the conversation in the least reactive manner possible whilst not being rude, coz I’m not a rude person, and if you think I am, shut up! You barstard!
Then they ask what I’m doing now, you know the ‘want to hang out with us’ kinda question. And I say ‘I’M GOING TO GO SEE MY GIRLFRIEND’ and they say, ‘yeah whatever, so what you doin’ totally disregarding the blatant fact, that I have a girlfriend, they then ask what I’m doing after that. It is here where I become totally unapproachable and stop the conversation, what little skanks! Ah! I hate people like that!
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