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On the 99

Two of our members, Aileen Cook and Craig A Mudie, commute between Dundee and St Andrews. Here are two different takes on their daily journeys.


Fellow Travellers

I yawn as I take my place in the queue, just as the bus pulls up to the stance, a sigh of air as the pneumatic doors swing open. Gone are the rattles and belches of diesel fumes now that the new ‘eco-safe’ electric buses have taken over, but at least the rattles and belches of the drivers remain.

It’s a Monday, so those of us who haven’t joined the brave new world of the prepaid smart card have weekly tickets to buy, slowing the boarding process. As the drizzle slides down the back of my neck, I once again ponder passing on my suggestion for a two queue system – one for those of us who just need to swipe, and another for those still fiddling about with cash. But I never will, of course.

As I inch towards the doors, the rhythmic beeping of card against sensor is only occasionally broken by the odd ‘one to Leuchars ‘ or ‘student return to St Andrews.’ Then I reach the front, swipe my pass and nod wordless to the driver, then take my seat.

And it is my seat. Third from the front on the driver’s side. I’ve sat here almost every morning for more than ten years. I know exactly how to position myself to avoid being blinded by the sunshine as we brow the ridge down to St Michaels or to get fresh air without the draft if someone opens the window. It’s also the seat with the emergency exit, and I take the trade off of extra space for the burden of responsibility should we take a tumble off the bridge and into the Tay. It has paid off so far.

The others also have their own seats. Comfortable, safe spots that they occupy each morning, almost an extension of their warm beds that help ease the painful transition from sleep to the world of wakefulness.

But today this comfort is despoiled. A group of Spanish students has inveigled their way onto the bus, too bright, too chatty, too alive for us regulars. As we pass through the Fife countryside the usual tranquillity is punctured by rapid machine gun bursts of laughter every minute or two, shattering the unspoken covenant of the bus passengers. So of course I do the only thing that can possibly be done in the face of such brazen provocation; I sigh quietly and tut inwardly while staring intently at my phone. It has no effect.

Craig A Mudie

99-bus

99

One day I’ll rush the driver’s cab
And wrench the wheel away,
And knock him through the open door
And lead the bus astray.

My fellow fares will have to like
Or lump it, I’m afraid.
Their aggravating habits are
The cause of this charade.

The man who uses f-ing words
When blander ones will do;
The girl with daisies in her hair
Who pushes in the queue.

The woman with a collie dog
Too highly strung to walk.
The teenage boys who sniff and fart
And rile us with their talk.

The men who spread their legs and hope
You’ll think their manhood’s vast.
And when you ask them to move up
They look at you aghast.

One day I’ll rush the driver’s cab
And wrench the wheel away.
Then race at ninety miles an hour
And dump them in the Tay.

Aileen Cook
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