Bloodbus

It was an act of desperation. A couple of dried up junkies knew that my bus left Govan bus station in five minutes and they wanted to be on it. However, with insufficient funds they decided to pester every decent person that was standing around the bus station and urge them to bestow alms.

The man scurried from victim to victim with a sympathy limp and a hard luck story while his spaced out wench meandered somewhere behind. It was delightful to watch people's expression change from their usual out doors 'vacant' face to their 'shit I hope that prick doesn't come anywhere near me' face.

I started the bus engine and put it into gear. Immediately the junkies came wobbling over to the bus. Unfortunately the cab door which separates the driver from passengers had a big gaping hole in it. A security breach if ever there was one, especially with potentially spit-happy junkies on the loose.

Why not just drive away? I hear you ask. Well, all it takes is a single complaint because I didn't pick up passengers, even if it's from some spiteful bastard who has nothing to do with the junkies but just likes to complain about buses and their drivers (and there are many) and that'll be my career on the line. So, with great reluctance, I had to open the door.

The junky man boarded the bus and stuck his cankered face right through the hole in the cab door. "Alright there, big man," he slurred. A common non-threatening greeting in Glasgow.

I leaned away from him so far that my shoulder was now pressed up against the cab window and my hand groped around for the emergency button. Pausing for a moment I noticed that the scoundrel's nose had been broken into a perfect right angle and the gums in his reddened mouth were castellated by four exquisitely decayed teeth. Quite the stud.

"We need to get to Cessnock, mate. Just let us on pal, eh?" said the villain.

Had his head not been poking through my cab door and into my face I would have had no compunction about sending the cheeky stumblebum on his way with a pointed finger and strongly worded chastisement. But after hearing other drivers tell stories around the depot camp fire of junkies spitting blood and brandishing loaded hypos my nerves scattered and all I managed was a feeble "Humph?"

"Come on, mate! I got stabbed and I took a seizure, me and my girlfriend need to get back to the hostel at Cessnock! Pleeeeease! "

"What? You got stabbed? Then you need an ambulance to hospital not a bus to Cessnock," I said.

"Well, erm, it was a while ago..."

The stabbing was obviously his trump card hard luck story and he had used it with some degree of success on the hapless commuters who stood all aglum about the bus station. But after my having found out that the stabbing occurred some time ago the junky could sense that my dwindling sympathy had already put it's jacket on and called a taxi. So he took a more visual approach.

"Look I'll show you where I was stabbed." He lifted up his T shirt, swiveled round and showed the whole bus his spaghettied abdomen. Very impressive the scars were too. Probably even more so when the wounds were fresh, but they were now only scars. They had been sown up and healed quite some time ago. No spurting blood. No yawning gash. The taxi for my sympathy was now sitting outside and pamping the horn.

I just looked at him, and he looked at me.

"He had a seizure too remember!" said his junky wench as though it would blunt my skepticism. I'm afraid not, these bums were already overdrawn at the cash point of human charity. If hard luck was somehow a path to financial leniency then many, many pathetic souls in Glasgow would be millionaires. It was time for me to implement a sadistic bus driver's trick...

Here's how: Cessnock is only five minutes drive away from Govan bus station but my particular route took in almost every other area of Glasgow before going to Cessnock. These junkies were unaware and thought they would be back in their hole shooting up in no time at all. Not tonight.

"Do us a favour, pal!" pleaded the fool.

"Well, as long as you promise to behave yourself," I said.

"Aye! Aye! Cheers, mate! You're one of the good guys!"

Before sitting down the guy flung a filthy hand through the hole in the cab door and said: "Shake!" And shake I did. However, wanting to cut your hand off and throw it in a bucket of disinfectant was worth it, because after ten minutes heading away from Cessnock the guy stumbled down the bus and said: "Driver, where are we going?"

"We're just about to go through the Clyde Tunnel."

"Clyde Tunnel? Well, when do we get to Cessnock?"

"Ooooooooooh! About two hours."

"Two hours! Shit! Fuckin' bastard! Wanker! Fuckin' doughball!"

I put on my innocent who, me? face as I dropped them off howling and snapping on the other side of the Clyde Tunnel. Despite giving them both a transfer ticket, what they didn't know was that the last bus going to Cessnock had gone by in the opposite direction five minutes ago. Oh, dear! For these junkies it was going to be a long, long trek back to their grubby smack parlour. How do I sleep at night? Very soundly, thanks.