Had to catch the college bus to work and back yesterday. It was a bit of a nightmare, firstly I had to run out into the road like a lunatic just to flag it down. The driver asked me what I thought I was doing. Heh... I thought it was kinda obvious. He wasn't best pleased. I couldn't help it though, I had no idea what I was looking for or anything. They're unmarked coaches, no signage whatsoever, you see, so you just have to gamble. I don't have a clue what I would have done if I'd stopped the wrong coach. Heh... that would've made a pretty interesting blog. When it comes to buses and all things remotely bus-like I'm pretty inexperienced... (incidentally it's with great pride I write that today, at the age of 24, I made my first ever unaccompanied bus journey on a proper bus. Mum will be pleased, I must tell her.) Anyway, there were already two proper Arriva buses filling the whole of the stop when the coach appeared on the horizon. I knew it was going to be difficult, so I started waving frantically at an early stage. Maybe the driver was a little confused by it. He didn't seem to be slowing down much. So I had to combine the frantic waving with a little jump into the road. Luckily he stopped and I clawed at the door like an idiot for about 10 seconds like I was getting into a Ford Fiesta or something. I don't know what I was thinking. When I did finally manage to get on board I made another error in choosing to sit within speaking distance of the driver. I won't be doing that again in a hurry. There must be an unmarked zone or something, no wonder I missed it. Now I've got a theory on this... and I think it only really applies to coaches, and it's that there's this variable zone near the driver, and anybody who dares to sit within this zone has to engage in conversation with the driver. Thankfully it was a typical conversation from my perspective and I dealt with it in the usual way... he asked a couple of questions, I gave a couple of very poor monosyllabic answers and then it died out.
I decided not to catch the bus home. I came out of the main entrance of the college to find a massive crowd of students throwing snowballs around. Only they weren't snowballs. They were big fuck off lumps of ice. There must've been well over a hundred of them and everywhere you looked there were huge balls of congealed snow raining down. It wasn't that funny... maybe it's just a sign of my ageing but I couldn't help feeling how dangerous it was and all that. One girl took a hit right on the face. This ball came down from a great height and smacked her in the side of the head. She hit the ground but immediately got back up and laughed nervously with her friends. It clearly hurt her, maybe I shouldn't have thrown it.
Ha. I didn't throw it, that was a joke.
After ten minutes of wandering around and trying to dodge the ice missiles whilst simultaneously projecting the image that I was absolutely not shit-scared of being floored by a snowball in front of the students, I decided that I couldn't be bothered with this shit and went back inside the building. Before I did I noticed a member of staff from the sports department had appeared with the absurd idea that he could calm the students down and stop all the madness simply by catching or punching as many of the snowballs out of the sky as he possibly could. I watched him stroll through the crowd thrusting his arm into the air and turning each ball into a slushy shadow of its former self. It was a pretty magnificent display. Heroic.