Bus - Blog Posts
All aboard the friendship bus!
Don’t you two do anything.
Also OMG Mack! John Ratzenberger! YOU EXIST AGAIN!
Road trip squad animated!
Me on the bus: ...
Stranger's cat in a carriage: ...
Me: *slowly blinks*
Cat: *slowly blinks back*
Me: *happy* :]
Something interesting just happened, I'm on the bus home and in the middle of the trip we pulled into the depot, turns out it was to switch buses. For context, I'm wheelchair bound and the bus we were initially on was old and couldn't be lowered, the absolute Chad of a driver switched entire buses just so I could have a safe experience getting off of said bus, probably the best experience I've ever had.
helvete by solguden & mannen was my inspiration for this one
Train and Bus ❤️🔥
Contemporary art.
RAWconcrete is about a young boy traveling through space and time across the universe, a game featuring innovative combat mechanics (Transmutator Gun), photo-realistic graphics, realistic animations and audio, and above all, a very interesting story.
Types of People in Buses and Bus stops
1. If you’re a girl, you’ll almost certainly encounter a woman who insists on talking to you, for forty minutes, about the rising price of vegetables. This woman can be found at bus stops, and if you happen to be there at the right (or wrong, depending on how you look at it) time, you might even find her with her pack, all complaining about the bane of their existence: onion sellers.
2. For the guys: if you are at a bus stop, and you don’t look like a wild teenager, you’ll probably get sucked into an argument concerning politics. Before you know it, you’re listening, with growing despair, to an inane conversation about BJP vs Congress, finally culminating with the decision that, of the two of them, Aam Admi Party is the best. Go figure.
3. Most of the time, especially in the evening when people are returning from work, you’ll always find yourself a spectator to an epic showdown between The Kanjoos Lazy Conductor and The Frustrated Auntie. It will start off on a small scale, and gradually build up to a competition on who has the most lung power. It always starts because Frustrated Auntie will give a 10 rupee note for an 8 rupee ticket, and Kanjoos-Lazy doesn’t want to go through the trouble of giving the two rupees back. From there it will escalate to an all-out brawl, with the remaining passengers either cheering for their preferred side, or joining in because “those idiots blocked my way and now I missed my stop.”
4. Without fail, you always encounter a bunch of teenagers who start having a serious conversation in hushed tones about someone else’s personal problems. These problems usually involve either a girl whose boyfriend dumped her and how “she totally deserved it because her boyfriend should be my boyfriend” or it will be about a distant relative and the gossip concerning him/her or it will be about “ohmygodohmygodVarunDhawanissohot!” So before you leave the bus, you’re completely caught up on the latest Bollywood gossip and you know all about the drinking problems of someone’s jiju.
Simple, yet original.
There’s a new long-distance travel option on the horizon: a double-decker bus with pods for sleeping. It’s called, simply, Cabin. And it’s an overnight service — like a red-eye — designed for people who love going places, but hate being in transit.
Day 2 - Verso Scicli
On the bus
La ruta.
Liege wach in der Nacht, frag mich was du gerade machst,
Was du fühlst, wies dir geht, denk mir: "Ist es schon zu spät,
Dir zu schreiben, mitzuteilen, ich würde gerne bei dir sein,
Meine Sachen zu packen und In den nächsten Bus zu steigen?".
and if the oppenheimer busssssss
crashes into usssss
Die letzte Sitzreihe im Bus hinten ist das Unpraktischste nach den mega schmalen Mittelgängen in manchen Bussen.
Ich war heute komplett gestresst auf den Weg nach Hause, weil ich zusätzlich noch meine Gesetzestexte nach Hause schleppen musste und dann ist dieser Bus voll.
Ich war schon mental am Ende, weil ich das Gleichgewicht von einem Stück Toastbrot habe, jedoch ein Lichtblick.
Letzte Reihe links, zwei freie Plätze aber natürlich guckt mich schon jeder blöd an, da niemand von den Leute wahrscheinlich jemand etwas tragen gesehen hat. Weitergehend kämpfe ich mich seitwärts durch den Mittelbereich nach hinten.
Ich stehe vor dieser letzten Reihe will mich hinpflanzen, jedoch ist der kack Boden so komisch mit einer Stufe gemacht, dass ich wie ein nasser Kartoffelsack halb in den Sitz fliege.
-30 min später-
Mit einen spitzen Plan, wie ich mich aus dem Sitz erhebe, meinen Rucksack und meine Tasche hochbekomme ohne das diese Stufe mir zum Verhängnis wird, stehe ich auf.
Rucksack passt.
Aufstehen passt.
Ich will diese Scheißtasche nehmen, die aber durch die 2 Oschis an Gesetzen gefühlt 30 Kilo wiegt hoch heben und komm ins schwanken.
Sonst alles klar. Häng mir die Tasche um die Schulter. Zu breit. Mittlerweile hab ich auch schon ein Publikum von 2 Interessierten.
Ich trage diese Tasche zum Mittelgang mit der Grazie eines betrunkenen Elefanten. Offiziell war ich ab da auch allein Entertainer für den ganzen hinteren Bereich.
Jedenfalls hab ich es schlussendlich mit ein bisschen quetschen geschafft.
War das mega peinlich weil ich mit diesem Bus immer fahre?
Jo.
Kann ich daran was ändern?
Leider nicht.
The 25 Bus
It was a clear, warm, summer morning. Jim was doubled over at the bus stop catching his breath. His alarm hadn’t gone off—or he had turned it off in his sleep—so to make his bus he had to rush out the door and run all the way. Now he wasn’t sure, had he missed the bus, or was it coming any minute? He took out his phone to check the time, but—shit!—in his hurry he’d left it back at home.
Five and then ten minutes passed, or at least what Jim thought was ten minutes, and still the 25 bus didn’t come round the bend. It’d be another hour before the next one. Might as well go home, Jim thought. Call into work and tell them he’d be late. But just as he was about to leave, the 25 came toddling into view. Jim was relieved for a moment, and then not: There was something wrong with the bus. It was crawling down the road, limping, dragging itself. A broken-down bus wouldn’t get him to work on time, wouldn’t get him anywhere, so before it had even reached his stop Jim had given up on it and was headed back home.
The bus’s engine suddenly roared and it billowed a cloud of black exhaust and lurched forward, jumping the curb, flattening the bus stop sign—the one Jim had just been standing by—and running down the embankment along the highway. After a moment of stunned inaction, Jim followed the bus, running down the embankment muttering, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”, as he went. The bus was still running, the engine still roaring and the exhaust still belching black smoke, but its tires were only spinning in place and digging into the earth now. A fir tree at the bottom of the hill had caught the bus and was holding it in place.
Jim couldn’t see inside the bus, the windows were tinted. He approached several times to try to pry open the doors, but the bus was growling and trembling like a wounded animal, and Jim was scared back. Eventually he did get hands on the door, but he couldn’t pull it open. Water was trickling out of the seams. His hands were left wet, and they smelled, a strange smell, like the ocean, and vinegar, and road kill that’s been left too long and popped.
Unable to do anything to help, Jim stepped back and could only watch. If he’d had his phone then he would’ve called for help, but he didn’t have his phone. Maybe he could flag down a car. He tromped back up the embankment. He looked up and down the street, but there wasn’t a single car. It’d been quite that morning, he recalled. He would’ve noticed if the streets were deserted, wouldn’t he?
Back down the hill, the bus started coughing and choking, and then it shuddered and died. The doors flung open and the water emptied out. The windows, it turned out, weren’t tinted, the bus was just filled with water so murky it looked black— or would a bus full of clean water look just as black? In any event the water that had filled the bus wasn’t clean. Seaweed spilled out with it, and sea stars, driftwood, barnacles… and body parts, human body parts, gooey and partially dissolved. The smell coming out with the water didn’t have the undertones of acidity or brine like the little bit Jim had gotten on his arms. Even from several yards away and up on the sidewalk, Jim started gagging on the smell of death and decomposition almost as soon as the doors were opened.
And still not a car to be seen, until, at last, limping round the bend, came the 25 bus—another 25 bus—with windows tinted black, and water trickling from every seam.
*bus drives up*
Me: büs?
*bus drives off*
Me: :(
“My arm!” he looks in shock
Nandu & Co go on a tour to Camp Cramp
Nandu, in his younger days, used to travel with his friends. On one of his winter trips, he visited Mysore. Mysore is a cool place and in the winter its even cooler (esp. to us southerners). This trip was an overnight trip, Nandu and his friends did some sight-seeing and came back to the lodge they were staying at for the night and started talking and playing cards after dinner.
Nandu had a habit of placing his arm over the chair when holding cards, as the night grew darker, the room became chilled (the room didn’t have any heating as for Mysoreans it was normal, they didn’t think it was cold enough for a heater). Nandu wrapped a shirt around him without removing his hand that was over the chair and continued playing. As it passed midnight, he started dozing off, his hand was still over the chair, sleepily he buttoned his shirt and dozed off right on the chair!
Around 3 at night he half wakes from his slumber, only to realise that one of his arm had gone missing! He tries to get up from his chair, but he can’t! He can’t feel his left arm at all, he tries to move his right hand over his left shoulder trying to see where the arm went and all he found was the empty sleeve of his shirt!
Terrified he starts yelling at his friends that his left arm has disappeared and slowly one by one they wake up. They too try to see what has happened and are shocked to see that his shirt sleeve is empty! They try to get him to move to the bed but even if 2 people tried to lift him, he’s kind of stuck to the chair! Nandu then panicked and began crying that someone stole his arm.
Scared and confused, some of his friends ran down to get the lodge manager for some advice. Then Nandu slowly got the feeling back in his left arm, he realised that as he wrapped and buttoned his shirt before dozing off, he forgot to put his left arm through the sleeve and in that cold night, his hand cramped and he couldn’t feel it!
Realising what had happened, his friends roared with laughter and the panicked manager was annoyed at being woken up at that time, but he couldn’t stay annoyed as he heard the story and went back laughing.
After the trip Nandu & co came back, but his friends never stopped teasing him about this incident for a long, long time.
Here's what a modern jeepney should also look like.
I seen photos of something like these made in Japan & in use in Japan.
Rescuers of the Ministry of Emergency Situations.
