So you're standing there in the pouring rain. You're miserable and look like a drowned rat. The sky opened up its fat mouth a few hours ago and doesn't look like it is ever going to close it - the rain is neverending.

You are standing at a bus shelter with no top, just a pole sticking out of the ground that used to have a bus stop sign on it, and a plastic cage with bars and no roof which provides exactly little enough shelter from the wind that you wish it wasn't there at all. You suspect the roof is in the thickets behind you, sheltering a number of hideous creatures just waiting for a chance to reach out and drag you into the mud, kicking and screaming.

Normally, you'd never wish to subject yourself to public transport, but perceptions and standards can be altered by circumstance. Checking your watch, you realise that it has been an hour and a half. You might have walked to your destination in this time - or at least drowned yourself in a puddle to achieve sweet release.

You weigh your options. You could start walking now and possibly get trenchfoot or fall into hole - freefalling to the centre of the earth. Or, you could stay at the bus 'shelter' and feel life mocking you for waiting around for something that's never going to come.

Suddenly, as if carried by numerous beautiful angels, the bus lights glitter into your watery eyed view. Somehow it seems longer than it should, as if the bus were actually a train. No... Not a train. A caravan. A bloody caravan of buses.

You curse out loud and raise your soggy arm out over the road, signalling the driver to stop for you. All three buses pull up and you get to take your pick of the lot.


Thankfully, jobs can be part time, so I get to pick two.