Mysterious Bus Rides
Seven a.m. in the morning I was staring in the mirror, while tying my tie, getting the surge of confidence I needed for the awaiting job interview in two hours from then (nine a.m.). My hair was sharp straight and the giant in me was wide-awake. I could feel it in every single pace, and many could have sworn my breath would sway away a couple of cars in the road; all confident.
Moments later, in a taxi park, I spotted an unusually large bus branded YUTONG, with a “Kimironko – City Centre” mark in red. All the seats were already taken, so I had to stand. My reliable height came in handy to secure a grip on some tough, transparent plastic attached to a metal rod upwards. The area inside the brand new bus was sufficiently spacious in the beginning but, on every glance, more people came flooding in. It got to the extreme point where I could no longer see the flat windshield and could barely hear the beeping sound of the electronic payment device on every entry.
Finally, the pilot was satisfied and the engines roared up high. Out of the park we moved, accelerating as time flied past. Onward we hit the road, from road to road across the green city. The radio was tuned to smooth and sound meditation-like songs.
All of a sudden the pilot hit the brake. I forcedly went a meter or so through the standing passengers in front of me and was mechanically stopped by a tough black briefcase which unmercifully ripped the guts out of me. That was not just me; others were kissing windows or hugging the fixed chairs. Everybody seemed to have lost it. A couple of shouts were thrown at the driver, for the account, and his immediate reaction was to turn the volume up to a maximum.
Luckily, we parked at a stop and the automated doors opened, forcing everyone nearby to free their feet from the grind. A number of people surely got out – amen – but (worse) double the number entered.
The rest of the journey was a living hell. Passengers were tightly packed around and it was as if we were in a hot furnace. I’d began sweating; my hair curled around in an obviously messy fashion. I could not even fetch a breath to signal the woman, whose high heels were tearing apart my big toe, to move her foot a single centimetre.
The Almighty saved the scene. I could hear glorious trumpets for we’d magically arrived downtown. All the passengers flooded out to their fastest. But well, I had no magical pill for the confidence with which I had departed home. Either way, I still had an interview to pass. Heaven knows what happened.
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