The Bus Chronicles: Wrong Turn

I was not happy about having to be in work today in the first place (there is a whole other story that I may delve into at some point); however, what happened with my bus this morning just put me into an even worse mood and I cannot wait to get home.

The Women’s Great Scottish Run took place today (it may even still be taking place as I write this and I can see it from the office if I look out of the window). I forgot about this and assumed that I would have my usual, easy journey to work. I didn’t want to be in work but I had settled into the fact that I had to just deal with it and I was up for a chilled bus journey to the office. Needless to say, this did not happen. You know that feeling you get when you’re on a bus and the driver takes a wrong turn? The feeling of confusion and panic, as you watch your destination fade into the distance and behind buildings? The moment that you realise not will you not make it to work on time but you have no idea where you might end up? Has the bus driver lost it and just decided to do whatever the hell he wants? Yeah, those feelings all happen. Sometimes one by one and sometimes all at once, simultaneously. It was not a good feeling.

When I managed to calm my brain down and think rationally (it didn’t take long; it’s surprising how quickly the human brain can cycle through thoughts and emotions), I thought to myself “maybe he’s taking a diversion, I didn’t pay enough attention to see any diversion signs on the road“. I waited and watched the route the driver was taking, paying close attention to any signs that he might end up back on the normal route… nope. That didn’t happen. By the time I realised I wasn’t going anywhere near the office, I was in Govan, at the bus station. The driver saw me in his rear view mirror and beckoned for me to come over. I grabbed my bag and sidled up to the front, asking as I drew nearer “has there been a diversion today, mate?” The driver replied: “Aye mate, it’s the Great Scottish Run, the road along the river has been closed.” Okay. That’s fine. I felt a little better knowing that he wasn’t just having a rebellious moment and throwing caution to the wind. “You can get the next bus going back into town and get off at the squinty bridge.” Right, I had a plan to get back into town and get to work. I got off the bus and called the office, telling them exactly what had happened and that I would be late but I didn’t know exactly how late. This was fine.

I waited for the next bus, which only took a few minutes. As I got on the bus, I showed my ticket to the driver and said: “I need to get off at the squinty bridge, can you let me know when we’re at the right stop, y’know, because of the diversion?“….I got a confused look from this driver and wondered if he maybe wasn’t sure which stop I meant. I went to explain myself further, when he stopped me and made my mood even worse… “It’s alright, buddy, I’m going the normal route. The run doesn’t start ’til half 10.” This should have been a saving grace, at a time when I thought I was going to be late for work and was now going to make it by the skin of my teeth. No. It wasn’t a saving grace in my head. In my head, it was just confirmation that the previous driver had absolutely no need to take the diversion and I should have already been walking up to the front foor of the office and counting down the hours until I could go home… but no. Instead, I had been led on a wild adventure through Glasgow for no bloody reason at all. You can imagine I wasn’t happy.

Since then, I have been laughing about it with my colleagues but the rage is still there somewhere. I just want to go home and chill out with my music and eat food.

Author: Tales of A Bearded Man

I am a mental health blogger, creating content like articles and videos in order to help people cope with things like depression and anxiety. My content is focused mainly around my own struggles and features ways that I personally have managed to cope. I hope that my hints and tips will inspire and help others to lead healthier lives.

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