The Busnazi and the Morose Psychopath

I'm not particularly fond of busses at the best of times, but when you're on a tight budget and reluctant to become the 7th owner of a rusty Suzuki called Betty, busses are pretty much your only option at getting around the island.

The real bitch about New Zealand busses is that they happen to be driven by the Busnazi. Every single one of them in fact, for the woman's commandeered every bus I've been on in these last two weeks. If I was the slightest bit paranoid, I'd be compelled to think the woman is stalking me. Every time I board an Intercity Bus, I keep hoping against all hopes that I'd be granted a different busdriver, but to no avail. Each time, I'm greeted by Mrs.Busnazi, white hair tied back in a bun that seems desperate to escape from her ugly head. I swear the woman is the Devil herself.

On our very first encounter, she greeted us through her microphone: "G'day ladies and gents, I'm your busdriver for the day. I shall entertain you with comments about the places we'll be driving through. They are comments I find interesting, if you don't, then tough luck." On our second encounter, an unfortunate unknowing Liverpuddlian attempted to bring a tub of proteinpowder onto the bus and got swiftly tackled to the ground by Mrs.Busnazi. All 90 kilos of him plunged to the floor under her knee. Once he'd surrendered his tub and it had been confined to the hold-all, Mrs.Busnazi defiantly asked if anyone else was planning on smuggling food onto the bus. The group collectively muttered a terrified "no ma'am" before settling down in their respective seats.

Halfway through our third encounter, the bus broke down. We had been warned at the start of the journey that there would be no pee-breaks, but since the bus had been stationary for over half an hour and didn't seem inclined to take off any time soon, I figured the rules would have altered somewhat. I made the mistake of asking Mrs.Busnazi if she knew of a public toilet nearby. She barked: "NO PEE-BREAKS". A person can only take so much, so I replied: "Don't be stupid. We've broken down. My peeing is hardly going to cut into your busy shedule of waiting for a mechanic." She glowered at me and spat: "There are no public toilets nearby anyway." She was right. No restaurants, no cafes, no toilets. But there WAS a carpenter, so I walked up to the guy, flashed him one of my brightest smiles and got access to his Wallhalla.

Back on the bus (a half a liter lighter), Mrs.Busnazi was fuming and tutted loudly at my return. Four fellow travelers had cottoned onto my strategy and made a start at going for their own pee-break when Mrs.Busnazi shouted over the intercom: "NO PEE-BREAKS". I was shocked to see they all quietly sat back down. If there's anything I hate more than people on a power trip, it's pushovers.

Anyway. I stole 7 single-serving packets of sugar from a cafe yesterday and I'm convinced Karma's come back to bite me in the arse over it, because while I'd finally been granted a different busdriver this morning, I ended up wedged between the window and Mr.Morose Psychopath for the entire trip. I knew I was in trouble the minute he walked on: 40-odd years old, undoubtedly still living with his mum. Jam jars for glasses, white socks under unnecessarily short trousers. Jeans with a forward-facing crease ironed-in. You all know the type.

About half-way into the 6 hour drive, Mr.Morose Psychopath asks the driver to stop.

Mr. MP: [panicked] Stop Please!
Busdriver: Why? What's going on?
Mr. MP: [hesitantly] I forgot something.
Busdriver: What?
Mr. MP: [morosely] I forgot something.
Busdriver: Yes mate, but what?
Mr. MP: My bag.
Busdriver: Your bag?
Mr. MP: My boots.
Busdriver: Your bag or your boots?
Mr. MP: [nervous] Erm... boots
Busdriver: Well no point going back now mate.
Mr. MP: [panicked] Maybe I should get off and hitch back.
Busdriver: Where are the boots?
Mr. MP: Somewhere.
Busdriver: I should think so, but where exactly?
Mr. MP: In a room.
Busdriver: Look mate, if you tell me where, I can ring them.
Mr. MP: Maybe I should get off and hitch back.
Busdriver: Nah mate, we'll get them sent on.
Mr. MP: Maybe I should stay on the bus.
Busdriver: Yes mate.

I know EXACLTY what is going on here. Mr.Morose Psychopath was desperately trying to get back to the scene of his latest crime. Psychopaths always do. I watch CSI. Trust me. I know. For the rest of the trip, Mr.Morose Psychopath kept fidgeting and muttering to himself and I ended up pressed up as close to the window as was physically possible. Five minutes before we were sheduled to arrive, Mr.Morose Psychopath as good as gave me a heart attack by suddenly shouting: "I need a taxi!"

Busdriver: What for?
Mr. MP: [panicked] To get to the airport.
Busdriver:"When's your flight?"
Mr. MP: I need the airport.
Busdriver: Have you got a plane ticket?
Mr. MP: No. I need the airport.
Busdriver: No ticket?
Mr. MP: No.
Busdriver: When's your flight?
Mr. MP: [hesitates] 9.30?
Busdriver: Whereto?
Mr. MP: Erm... I don't know.
Busdriver: You don't know?
Mr. MP: [stutters] Nelson

GREAT! Now he's trying to flee the country!!! That should somehow make me feel safer, but it doesn't. The busdriver agreed the guy had acted rather strangely and rang in his description to the local office, just in case.

Busdriving. Hours of fun! And should any of you ever find yourselves bored on a bus and not pre-occupied with a neighbouring psychopath, try to get a front row seat on the bus and every now and then, turn around WHILE yawning. By the time you face forward again, you'll be able to see everyone follow suit in the rearview mirror. Sod's sake, the stuff boredom can make you find entertaining...