I had to run for the bus this morning.
Not because I was late for it, because that would make too much sense and this is, after all, me so nothing is ever straight forward.
No, I had to run for the bus because I was early for it.
I know. It doesn’t make much sense to me either, and I was there at the time when this happened.
I left the house later than I’d really wanted to this morning, due to a combination of being terribly disorganised and suffering some difficulties in locating a dark pair of trousers hung amongst other dark items on the back of a door in a darkened room. So I was expecting to miss the bus and to have to walk to the train station. And then as I got to the end of the road, more traffic than I have ever seen in my entire life was going up and down the road preventing me from crossing. So I was even more convinced that I would miss the bus.
But I soldiered on. I walked along Oak Road, past the house with the car sticker of Taylor Swift, and further past the house with the car sticker that asks me, in capitals, to not forget about Madeline. I got to the main road, opposite the bus stop, waited for a break in traffic and crossed over. It was, considering how badly the morning had started, one of the first mornings which didn’t see me stranded in the centre of the road variously bricking myself as people want to go in and out of Tesco’s car park – a move with puts me, in my precarious position, in mortal danger.
So I made it to the bus stop.
And I looked at the high-tech digital display board which shows me how long it will be before the next bus.
It should have said that a 229 was due in a minute, or maybe two. Or not shown a 229 at all, indicating that I had missed it – as expected – and could walk to the station while muttering a variety of swear words under my breath.
Instead it proclaimed that my bus – the bus that the high-tech digital display board tracks – was 14 minutes away from the bus stop.
Too late for me to catch my train, that’s for sure.
What to do? I can’t risk hanging on for 14 minutes on the off-chance it comes. I can’t even really wait more than a minute or two before I would be pushing it for walking, even if I do walk along the desolate, dark, cycle paths as if I am being chased by wolves (albeit quite sedentary ones). Fourteen minutes were a long time to wait for a bus which should really be here in a couple of minutes at most.
So I had to set off walking.
Which I did.
And then the bus came.
So I had to run back for it.
Which I’m not sure anyone else has done, ever.
But I am sure made me look like a complete tit.