On the occasions when my bus exhibits this careless behaviour, I almost panic. An empathy-motivated panic for the standing-still passengers that might be hoping to be picked up by my bus, which on these occasions, may fail to do its job (i.e. pick up standing-still passengers) for its failure to slow down and check out the behind-the-blind-spot caused by the standing-still-doing-its-job-bus for would be passengers of this ride. On these occasions, from my perch I crane my neck and peer out into the dusky light to see if my fears are justified. I look for stranded victims. I don't know why I do this. There is nothing I could do to help. I have no rope to throw.
Generally, there is no need.
I quietly reprimand myself for my lack of confidence in my trusted bus, which is in the capable hands of a trusted driver.
He knows what he's doing. He's a professional.
Yesterday I learned that not all buses can be trusted. Not all bus drivers are professionals.
I exited a busy station at evening rush hour. Scores and hordes and masses of commuters rushing in, and rushing out, and rushing past. A seasoned commuter, I knew my moves and made them to cue:
Oyster Card in right hand pocket.
At the turnstile, the Oyster card whipped out and swiped.
The mechanical doors beep open. I cross through.
Exit the station. Not a break in my stride.
The bus will come from the left.
I will need to look to the right then to the left to cross the high street to get to the standing-still place where the bus will collect me.
I knew my routine. I executed it flawlessly.
A bus, not mine, stopped at the stop to do its job -- i.e. pick up passengers. At that very moment, my bus was coming up from behind. It slowed. I reached my hand into my right-hand pocket from which my Oyster card would need to be produced. I strutted toward my bus, which was still slowing behind the standing-still bus. The standing-still bus, having completed its duty of picking up standing-still passengers, started to move on. Just as it started to move, my bus veered carelessly around it to pass.
What? What? What? I'm right here! God damn it!
I did a little inelegant traipse down the pavement, my arms gesticulating in incomprehensible ways.
What the? What the fuck?
There were four of us, stranded victims, all in shock.
On the bus home (the next one to come by) I ranted and raved inside my head and wondered how I could extract