and the bus driver smiled. I'm not so old yet that this is uncommon, although it seemed an overfamiliar look. This happens too, it seems a thing that comes to pretty girls when they pass thirty, a man who thinks they are half way to your bed because they noticed you. I'm not so desperate yet that they are right. I smiled in return, pleasantly noncommital I have called this particular look, I bought my ticket and went to sit down. I thought nothing more of the bus driver at all. I was feeling very pleased with myself. I had turned up for work on time, scored 42 wpm with 99% accuracy in my first typing test, my suit looked good. My new boss liked me, I liked him too. I had made friends. I was the second oldest on the training course, so I didn't feel too out of place amongst the teens. I was just like everyone else, going home from a hard days work (okay, not so hard, but you get the point) Staring out the window I realised just how much my hands ached. I had just spent my first day at work in an office in years. Soon enough, my short journey ended. I rang the bell to stop the bus and made my way to the doors, ready to go home. "So, how was your first day at work then?" said the bus driver. At which point I realised, I wasn't joking when I said I'd told everyone I met. Let's just say I hurried off the bus. A true story by Shanna :-)

I think that was nice of the bus driver to ask. Sounds like you actually had a very good day. Want to hear my bus story?

Go on then Shanna :-)

I didn't want to hijack your thread. Okay, here's my bus story. I used to ride the bus with a man that made me laugh and laugh. I don't know why but he just amused me each and every ride. I would laugh and he would laugh and we acted like two giddy teenagers on the bus. One of the drivers got the biggest kick out of your high spirits. He said he always looked forward to us riding together because we made the ride so lively (I'm sure we annoyed the heck out of the other riders). This lasted a year, and then my bus friend moved and didn't ride my bus anymore. The driver was very upset because he said he missed the sound of laughter on his bus. I said I couldn't just sit and laugh by myself. That would be a little strange. That's when the embarressment began. From then until he changed routes, he tried to find someone who could make me laugh. He solicited men in his clear, ringing voice on my behalf. He assigned them the task of making me laugh. You can imagine, no one wanted to sit anywhere near me. And I hope you know I was extremely relieved when he changed routes. See. It could have been worse. And I wasn't a giddy teenager. This was last year.

Hijack away, it's nice to see some non poetry stuff. On the subject of buses, we had a man in London who hijacked a bus last summer. At gunpoint he demanded that bus driver should proceed on his normal route. The bus driver protested that he was going that way anyway, making the whole hijacking unnecessary. The hijacking passenger (who later gave himself up to the police) was so sick of the delays and schedule changes to his usual bus route, that he had done all this just to make sure the bus went where it was supposed to go. Shanna :-)

LOL! I guess that proves bus riding doesn't have to be boring. ;) I actually understand how the man felt, but I have become very philosophical about bus delays. When the bus broke down and we were waiting for a replacement, a bus driver (a different one) asked me why I seemed so calm. I told her it was my "oh, well" theory of bus riding. The bus is late? Oh, well. The bus leaves me behind? Oh, well. The bus breaks down. Oh, well. The point being that I can't do anything about it so I might as well just wait for the next one. Oh, well. After that the bus driver called me Miss Oh Well and, when anything happened to delay the trip, she'd turn to me and say, "There's another 'oh, well' for you." I think personal essays are a nice change of pace. :)

Anyone read the most recent statistics about single women over the age of 30 ?

I hope it's an improvement over the one that said a woman is more likely to get killed by a terrorist than get married after a certain age.

Now that I think about it, in this day and age, that statistic has a horrible ring of truth to it.

Actually, it was worded a little nicer than that, but yeah, I guess you COULD put it that way.

That's not really a recent statistic. It came out years ago. Years before 9/11, actually. I have all kinds of comments on stuff like that but the thread has been pleasent so far so I will keep my evil side under control. For the time being.

What recent statistics were they? Shanna :-) Who thinks she's allergic to marriage, but would prefer it to the terrorist option.

True, but its been updated. They were talking about how much worse it is now compared to when they were talking about it 30 years ago.

What dialyn said, but since you are allergic to marriage anyway....:>)

My apologies dialyn! By no means would I intentionally provoke your royal evilness.

I would.....how do I go about that then Dialyn? Sometimes I think this forum could do with a little roughing up. We are in danger of turning into the hippy community of the Renderosity site. Peace man Shanna :-)

Maybe it is the influence of Crescent's flowers? Ask Chuck how to bring out my evil side. I think he has the answer to that question. ;)

As a reformed ex-soldier, I must say, well, theres SOMETHING to be said about hippiness.

I've got another embarrassing bus story by the way....do you want to hear it? Shanna :-)

Sure. I think we can handle it. :)

Okay, it might help if you understand that I come from a very Irish background, although I was born and brought up in England. As a school girl, I used to have to take a train to the city my secondary school was in, then get bus. The bus driver changed routes (as they do) and the new bus driver would not wait for the train to arrive so each morning I would get off the train to see the back of the bus dissappearing over the hill. As a result, I would arrive at school half an hour late each day, my only other option being to arrive two hours early. My parents were contacted by the truancy officer because of my persistent lateness (I didn't mind, it meant I missed needlework) and when my father learned the reason why he phoned the bus company in a rage. Infuriated, as the bus was actually leaving earlier than it was supposed to, he shouted down the pbone at them. The bus returned to its normal time. The bus driver however started to make rather nasty personal comments about me, as he had been reprimanded by his superiors. This time, when my father phoned the bus company, he was truly infuriated. He pointed out to them, in his broad Irish accent that to provoke the irish was not a wise thing to do, that I could be anyone, that my relatives could have contacts who would not take kindly to picking on a young irish girl. As a result, the entire bus company was put on a city wide security alert for about six months in case of terrorist attack. The bus driver was forced to apologise to me in front of my parents. I had to use that same bus, with the same driver for another three years. Embarrassed? I wanted to sink into the ground and die of shame. My dad is an auditor. The only thing he is dangerous with is statistics! Shanna :-0

LOL! Well, statistics can be a lethal weapon in the wrong hands. I'm impressed. I think any bus story I have would be pale by comparison. One thing about it...as embarressing as it was at the time, it has given you one heck of an excellent story to tell now. :)

And to think I was actually starting to suspect you of an affiliation with the IRA. Needlework? Either you are older than you admit(dont shoot), or the school system there is slightly different.:>)

I'm (counting on fingers, a sure sign of age, mentally blocking out how old you really are) 33. I went to a catholic convent school, they still do needle work to this day. They have, however, turned my old boarding house (I boarded for part of my schooling after my parents moved) into a medical research centre, which amuses me every time I see it. Shanna :-)

Actually, I suppose you are doing well to remember all that. I could not tell you what I was doing in those early school years and I am only 32 years 9 months and 15 days old myself(or something like that).

Point of information: Needlework, like Cookery, Woodwork and Metalwork are now all subsumed under the title 'Design and Technology' which is a Foundation Subject within the National Curriculum.

I know, it's like all that year 10 stuff. I'm from the last batch of O'level kids myself. It's still the fourth year to me! I hadn't actually thought of that, but it dates my writing. Thanks for reminding me. Shanna :-)

Dating yourself is not a bad thing if you want to add a sense of time and place to a story that is set, as yours is, in a specific period (happens to be your real life but that applies to fiction too). For your bus tale, it is a charming detail. I couldn't have your experience because we don't have the same educational structure here.