Bloodbus

The pale glow of a full moon silvered Drumchapel's hollow streets as daylight faded. Two foxes were ravaging a bin bag near the train station and seemed completely oblivious to my bus as I passed. With hungry vigour, they banqueted on the choicest potato peelings, discarded tin cans and reams of soggy kitchen roll. Must be the new 'landfill' diet.

But with such an eerie Wolf moon hanging ominously in the Eastern sky, I knew it wouldn't be too long before flea bitten vermin of an altogether different kind crossed my path.

At Central Station, about thirty Paisley yokels were waiting to be taken home after a night out in the Big City. Despite all the screaming, yelling, shouting and whooping of the drunks, I was far more concerned with the grubby deadbeat who was slumped against the bus stop with his ass on the ground and his head between his knees.

I am convinced that bus stops in the city centre are home to driver-eating "bus stop trolls", just like bridges in the countryside have goat-eating trolls living beneath them. For these guys, hearing the "skoosh" of a bus handbrake is every bit the dinner gong as the "trip, trap, trip, trap" of goat hooves for their country brethren.

I swung right into the stop but the tranced-out zombo just continued his midnight siesta without even looking up to see what had just missed his head by a pussy's whisker. I prayed he did not want on my bus, because I knew I would have quite a business trying to get him back off again at the terminus.

Having now opened the doors, the squawking Paisley punters avalanched on to the bus in a fearful rumble-tumble of shoes, elbows, spilled change and dropped fries. Usually it would have taken several minutes to have dealt with so many passengers, but I was keen to get away from the stop before the slumber troll woke up, so to Hell with checking tickets!

With most passengers loaded up and singing "Ghostbusters", I was now dealing with stragglers who always come running from nowhere at busy stops. "Just caught you, driver! [wheeze]"

Yes, you did, didn't you? Bastard!

"Gonnae wait on my mate, driver? He's just comin'! Hurry up, Wullie, ya fat bastard!"

Despairingly, the slumber troll looked up, blinked, and tried to focus on the bus.

In the time it took for Wullie The Fat Bastard to arrive, another three punters had turned up and the slumber troll had shakily pulled himself to his feet like a new born foal questing for it's mothers udder. He just stood there, staring at my bus as I closed the doors and pulled out into the middle of Union Street.

"HEY!" shouted the slumber troll. Too late, buddy! I'm history!

But I wasn't history. Saturday night traffic always chokes Union street to a standstill, and as I sat in a queue of silly ned-mobiles with big exhausts, I saw the slumber troll shambling down the middle of the road towards my bus. Shit! I began pleading with the traffic lights: "Please change! Please change! Please, please, please change! FUCKING CHANGE!"

[BANG, BANG, BANG] went the slumber troll at my door. "Let me in!"

Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!

[BANG, BANG, BANG] "Open the door!" said slumber troll.

"I think somebody wants on, driver!" shouted a passenger. No! Really?

Unfortunately, there were a couple of company inspectors watching nearby, and knowing that drivers get 'booked' if they don't give fare paying passengers the benefit of the doubt, I felt compelled to open the doors. Damn them!

The slumber troll staggered on to the bus and, quite unexpectedly, began speaking very quietly, almost a whisper "I was standing there..."

"Pardon?" I said, craning me neck forward to hear him better.

"I said, I was standing there..."

"Yes?"

"I was standing there like a FUCKIN' PRICK!"

Ouch! He was so sudden and pointed with his PRICK! that it almost had my eye out. The evil bastard drew me in with his quiet talk, but all the time I was unwittingly turning the handle of the Jack In The Box. Instead of having a happy clown pop out, all I got was a terrifying slumber troll potty mouth.

Although many passengers whooped and cheered at his outburst, his foul words were lost on me now that I observed him up close. His head was a large knubby monkey-nut with googly eyes that bulged outwards like the bell-end of a roll-on deodorant stick. Being completely toothless, his face lacked any real structure and was free to ripple, surge, pulse and throb like a dog panicking under a duvet.

Most disturbing of all was the way the tip of his hooked nose was able to reach the end of his long, pointy chin. I reckon there was hard enough contact between the two to enable him to make finger snapping noises with just his face. If you were a waiter and he came in to your restaurant, you'd think he wanted attention every two minutes because of all the finger snapping noises coming from his table, when in actual fact, all he'd be doing was chewing his food. [munch] [SNAP] [munch] [SNAP]

Dare you turn his handle?

"Listen, pal," said I, "unless I get an apology for your language, you're not going anywhere on this bus!"

"AN APOLOGY???" he convulsed with such animated chin play that I'm surprised he didn't give himself a black eye. He immediately tried to pull open my cab door with his grubby little mitts.

"Calm doon, pal!" shouted an older passenger, "A mistake was made, just calm doon!"

The slumber troll paused and looked up the bus. I think he was more unsettled with the idea of sharing a bus with thirty hectoring youths rather than anything I could threaten him with. After considering his situation, he eventually decided to retreat. But before leaving, he turned and gave me a final volley, "See if you dae that again, I swear tae Goad I'll fuckin' rip ye!"

"Ooh! I'll rip ye! I'll rip ye!" shouted some passengers, taunting the slumber troll. The rogue eventually tottered away, gritting his gums, which had the effect of folding his face completely in on itself, real hedgehog style. Best place for it, I'd say.