"You never forget how to ride a bike"- Bullshit! I can certainly count myself as an exception to that supposed rule. Hopped on a bike a few years back, after considerable time out of a saddle. My reintroduction to the perils of gravity was almost immediate. I quivered atop the frame, and before you could yelp in distress, I took a heroic pratfall to the concrete. You can always forget. Giggling and guffawing passers-by may not do so quite as easily.
I'd love to leave that on record as the only disturbance in an otherwise faultless history of motion. Much in the same vein, however, it is frequently deemed unlikely for a fellow to forget the basics of swimming. Sure, your technique may desert you over time, but your body seems to recall how to float at least. I wasn't a bad swimmer. A cocked up aural dilemma left me out of the water for a considerable span though. Spain is a hot country. Nobody has overhyped that climate, I can assure you. It could melt the devil. I had little recourse, so I went the pool route to cool down. Again, physics doesn't fuck around. Glug. I sank like a hypothermic DiCaprio.
I took up canoeing in my early teenage days. My brother was quite active in this field (still is), so why not have a crack at that? I approached the jetty without hesitation or trepidation. My craft loomed large (well, loomed medium) before me. How hard can it be? Threw a leg in, then its compadre, and I was in. Sure I rocked a little as the water adjusted to my entry. Glug. Immediate capsize. I scarcely improved beyond that stage.
Planes? A specialist once informed me of the remote possibility that my ear drums could rupture with sudden changes of pressure. Suffice to say, there is occasional excruciating pain in the course of aviation.
Thankfully, in spite of my evident limitations with regards to getting around, I have public transport to fall back on. No problems there. You'd like to fucking think so anyway....
The crux of this post came to me after I boarded a bus a couple of days ago. I wandered upstairs and took the only seat I could spot free at a cursory glance (nobody trusts the guy who stares too long for seating options). Those seats at the very front can be awkward for a spindly limbed dude such as myself. I swung a leg in, then the other. Glug. Immediate capsize....OK, no. That would display a true propensity for chaos. I did, however, accidentally kick the poor fella opposite me. Profuse apology entirely through sign language. That awkward shuffling and flailing of arms, hands and fingers that we all do when listening to music or feeling unable to converse regularly. He waved me away. I'd merely brushed him. Still, it did get me thinking of previous bus follies.
I've long held a theory that bus drivers are evil bastards. I recall an occasion when a lady of advancing years climbed aboard her chariot of the people, smiling pleasantly, dillied when she should have dallied and her leather glove was caught in the close door. It removed itself from her hand as she swung toward the floor in a frankly elegant swoop. I was standing at the top of the aisle as this transpired. Several around me reacted as you'd expect. Some dove to her aid. Others made that feeble gesture whereby they put out their arms to catch a woman well beyond their reach, without ever moving their feet in order to approach their stricken target. A cursory gesture. If you know me, you'll know I was too busy snapping my spine, such was the speed with which I double over in laughter. Alright, so maybe I just smiled, but that was my only reflex at the time. I know that driver was fully aware of his actions. We were kindred spirits at that moment. And surely we've all considered the likelihood that these wheel-men for a getaway that never threatens to excite have come up with many novel ways to amuse themselves in the course of the journey. Surely you've spotted that they seem to stop for imaginary obstacles whenever a particularly sickly soul stands to attention. I will some day prove that they slam the brakes for these phantom stops purely for their own amusement. A wager among colleagues to see who can throw a passenger the farthest. I've been a victim. I found a twisted humour in my own demise.
I was cutting it close to ring the bell for my stop. All in the pursuit of achieving a semblance of perceived casualness. Forcing myself to recline in repose at a seemingly comfortable angle, while secretly fretting at the proximity of my point of disembarking. Can't stand the eager kids. Relax, your turn to depart shall come. Still, I try to make clear my non-plussed feeling on such matters to an audience of my own imagining. I skipped, for all intents and purposes frolicked, down the stairs, when the vehicle halted without warning. That weasel knew! My peripheral world slowed as I banked forward toward the bottom of the steps. There's no pretty way to peel your face off the floor after a swan-dive like that. Reflexively, I threw out my right hand to keep upright against the wall. My left would have kept me standing. Ol' righty merely glided past the partition as my face and torso rammed with loud impact into it. I'd kept my feet, but left a permanent shadow on that wall. Fellow commuters attempted to hide their sniggers behind their hands. I'm sure some arms shot out instinctively to catch me from many helpless feet away. At least, I hope they did. I reacted in the only fitting manner. I grinned, tipped my hat and bowed as I disembarked. You win this round, Mr Bus Driverman.
Oh I've embarrassed myself in some form or another in most locations, locales and legends. Yet buses have a particular hold over my beaten ego, for one reason, and one reason only.
"Nice phone man, I've got one just like it". Bollocks!
Times were different then. I was a fresh-faced college student on his way to class (a truly rare occurrence), with a head of messily spiked hair, a red cheeked face left entirely clean-shaven by nature alone, and a Munster rugby jersey adorning my upper body. Yes, times were distinctly different (the fuck was I thinking!?). The new friend who had just taken up residence, and struck up conversation, beside me had taken the seat immediately to my left, on an almost deserted single decker due to terminate in Drimnagh. My paranoia told me this was unusual. Fuck it. He sounds rough, he looks rough, but no point in profiling the git. He's just a little weird. Doesn't mean he's going to mug me. Still, if he asks for a hug, I'm going to set ground-rules.
Times were different then. I was a fresh-faced college student on his way to class (a truly rare occurrence), with a head of messily spiked hair, a red cheeked face left entirely clean-shaven by nature alone, and a Munster rugby jersey adorning my upper body. Yes, times were distinctly different (the fuck was I thinking!?). The new friend who had just taken up residence, and struck up conversation, beside me had taken the seat immediately to my left, on an almost deserted single decker due to terminate in Drimnagh. My paranoia told me this was unusual. Fuck it. He sounds rough, he looks rough, but no point in profiling the git. He's just a little weird. Doesn't mean he's going to mug me. Still, if he asks for a hug, I'm going to set ground-rules.
New friend: "Where ya from?"
Blog hero: "Lucan. You?"
New friend: "Know Pete? Pete Reilly? Nah? How about John Kelly?"
Blog hero: "Nah, don't think so. Don't sound familiar anyway."
New friend: "Yeah that phone of yours, can I've a look at it?"
Alright, so I'm not an idiot. At this stage, my suspicions had hardened to a concrete degree. This was going south.
Blog hero: "Nah, man, if that's alright".
New friend: "It's a nice phone. I'm always thinkin someone's gonna nick mine. That's why I carry a knife....more of a meat cleaver, with me".
He pointed at his crotch at this point. I don't anticipate any occasion where that doesn't set alarm bells ringing for me on a bus. Or in a dark alley. Anywhere strange male crotches are likely to roam.
New friend: "See my mates at the front there? They'd probably shank ya to get that phone. Can I've a look?".
I handed the phone over pretty quickly to the man with meat cleaving genitals. Dishearteningly quickly to be fair. I hadn't seen the knife, but I trusted him. He seemed like a pretty straight shooting kinda guy. We were mates now. If you can't trust newly acquired bus amigos with sharp groins, then who can you trust?
Friend?: "Where you gettin off anyway?"
Blog hero: "What's it matter?"
Friend?: "Gimme a call later, I'll meet ya down the road and I'll sell it back to ya for €80. Fuck it, you're a nice guy, call it €50."
At this moment, a new low was breached.
Single mother: "Ah ya don't do that on a bus. Not to someone like him. Look at him! On O'Connell Street, fair enough, but not on the bus. I know you!"
Friend?: "No ya don't!"
They argued amongst themselves for a while, as I tried to tell her it was alright. She didn't need to get involved. I'd handle it. I was also talking to the kindly Romanian guy in front who was asking if I had the phone insured. Nice help there, man. My would-be-assailant stood to get off. I grabbed him and threw him back to the chair. Satisfying crunch of bone against plastic.
Blog hero: "Give, Me. The. FUCKING! Phone. Now."
Friend?: "Don't do that again. I'll sell it to ya later. If my mates see this, they'll shank ya."
Blog hero: "I need the numbers on that phone. At least give me the sim card."
Weirdly, as some sign of comradery and good faith, he did. I still have it in fact. Kinda defeated his planned purpose of having me call him to arrange a meet later. Now, I would never be able to call him up to arrange a pint or other mately pursuits. He hopped off alongside me at college.
Friend?: "What'll I do with the phone so?"
Blog hero: "Shove it up your fucking arse, man!"
Friend?: "The fuck was tha....!?"
I was a brave bastard now that I was walking away into familiar confines, surrounded by witnesses. I walked to class. Cancelled. Ah for fux ache!
That was the end of a fleeting friendship. He had me at "hello".
Maybe, he had me at "shank". Him and his invisible crotch weapon.
