Thursday, March 23, 2006

Who , me?

My heart started beating faster. I tried to deny it. But there he was, sat at the back of the bus smoking. Oh, why had I been so foolish as to suppose that I would be the one, that I could be the one, to move over to him and ask him if he would kindly put it out? Excuses came flooding in, thick and fast: ‘I suppose I can’t really smell much, it’s not like it’s going to make my clothes stink from that far away…. I’m sat quite near the front, and some windows are open… It would seem pedantic to make the journey all the way to the back of the bus just to ask him to not smoke, perhaps if I was sitting closer… I don’t think he’s on his own, I’d probably be stared down before I even got to him, perhaps if he was on his own… he looks pretty aggressive, what if he’d had a bad day and my polite request pushed him over the edge? It could get messy… Perhaps it would be wise to start with a smaller less aggressive looking person and work up from there… he’ll have finished it soon anyway…’

And so my internal monologue continued, until he finished his cigarette. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d come up with some pretty good excuses, I thought, which proved useful when, 15 minutes later, a second person lit up.


Blogger Martin said...

I love all your comments on the minutae of bus journeys! Stagecoach should make you an embassador!

10:18 am  

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