update: further bus bloopers

Here's another one:  you can mistake the "where we're stopping next" light for the "we are stopping next" light and not press the button because you think it's already lit up, but learn two seconds too late that it wasn't.  Hello, stop past mine.

bus bloopers: the flat tire (tyre)

I suppose it's on obvious potential problem with any wheel-ridden wagon (it alliterates better that way, come on), but it's still not fun when it happens to your bus.  I overheard the driver say he was quite surprised because it was actually a brand new bus ... thankfully we were over the bridge at the time and were actually allowed out to walk to Wynyard from the ramp and no real damage was done.  This time.

news flash: massive delays this morning!!

If you lived north of the bridge today and were trying to get into the city via bus aroundabout 7:45 am -- wow, you were up a creek.  Evidently there was some issue in the tunnel that backed traffic up horrendously.  Instead of catching my usual bus, I actually walked all the way to Milson's Point (maybe a 35 minute brisk walk from my house) to get a train into the city -- and still arrived half an hour after my students.  I fared better than another friend coming from around Manly via Military Road who ended up getting to school an hour late instead.  Thank goodness for kind and understanding bosses!

update: bus bloopers

Your (brand new) bus can get a flat tire.  On the Harbour Bridge.

(Okay, so mine was just off the bridge, but that was just sheer predestination!)

bus bloopers: the unflaggable bus

You're sitting.  Outside.  In the rain.  Waiting for the bus.  Which is overdue.  So you're talking on the phone to pass the time.  In the midst of the conversation, the bus pulls up, shows no inkling of stopping, and, by the time you've managed to try to flag it down is currently passing you and doesn't so much as blink.  So you're sitting.  Outside.  In the rain.  Waiting for the bus.  Which is 30 minutes away, if it's on time.

Oh gosh, Kim, you say.  You write so realistically.  Almost as if it really happened.

Aww, shucks, I say.  Thanks.  It must be a gift.

bus blooper: a nice story

So this is obviously a very rare occurrence, but something not bad happened to me on a bus today.  I had just hit the dreaded black hole of buses on George Street (which occurs between roughly 8:03 and 8:10 am at Wynyard -- a monstrously long time for there not to be a bus to Broadway on a road that should be dedicated to nothing but buses to Broadway -- or whenever the 433 goes past) and made up my mind the best thing to do would be to hop one of the buses that stops at Central and at least get myself closer in case I had to grab a cab.  However (here comes the happy part!) just south of World Square I noticed that a 440 was tailing us.  I promptly pushed the button, stood and looked out the window at the driver of the 440 (which was now in the lane next to us) and made rapid, enthusiastic hand gestures to tell him I needed to get on his bus at the next stop.  I'm not sure if he understood fully, but he did stop at the next stop and I was able to run back and get on the 440 to Broadway.

It was only in retrospect I realized that the 440 had evidently made it through the black hole of buses on George Street.  How precisely this happened remains an absolute mystery.

bus bloopers: track work

So buses are so bad they're not only bad when they're actual buses, they're also bad when they're supposed to be trains but are functioning as buses.  Kind of like gerunds being verbs functioning as nouns, only worse.

Yesterday I had the sad task of seeing my boyfriend off at the airport (7 weeks till I see him again, but who's counting?).  We left with plenty of time to get him there via the train (seeing as that's how you get to the airport), but slightly less than plenty of time to get him there via the replacement bus services brought about by track work.

Now "slightly less" time is fine for those sorts of things they say "close" counts in -- horse shoes and hand grenades -- but not fine for those sorts of things "close" doesn't count in -- like Qantas departure times.

After the third bus finally pulled into the airport after I don't know how many very tense minutes, we both bolted through the airport to the check-in counter.  Miraculously, the plane was also delayed -- through no effort of City Rail, I can assure you -- and we were actually able to have a few extra minutes to say goodbye.

Which left me teary, alone, tired, hungry, cold and waiting in the dark in the rain for my bus.

The first four of which turned up weren't mine.  The next one of which was, but by this time all the other cold, tired, soaking people pushed madly ahead of me and stole all the seats, leaving me once again fighting for a space under the too-small cover huddling the mass of humanity.  Finally the replacement "train" arrived and took me to Central, where another "train" took me to Wynyard, where I waited in the Menzies for fifteen minutes for my real bus to take me as close as it could to home, whereafter (I know google doesn't think that's a word, but I think it should be) I gave up and called a cab instead of run for it through what was bordering on a downpour.

And that is the end of my sad, rainy story.  Buses, I'm afraid, never have happy endings.  But Australians hate sappy sugary sweet American endings, so there you go.  A nice, rainy Australian ending.  So long.

attack of the killer buses

I could have sworn I had another idea from my bus this morning to write about, but it's not coming to me now.  What is coming to me is the tale of how I just spent the last, oh, three hours on a variety of buses covering a distance that could have been covered by a car in roughly thirty minutes.

It all started, as most tales of such woe do, with running slightly late.  Not catastrophically late, just a smidge on the oh-we-really-ought-to-hurry-it-up-and-hope-all-goes-amazingly-according-to-plan side of late.  For once, I actually had company as I was traveling with Garry back to his conference in Chatswood.  I know, I know, everyone thought I just made up all my bus adventures, but not this one.  I have a solid one witness who can confirm everything went rather horrifically (and not-at-all-my-fault-edly) wrong.

Upon arriving at the bus stop, we learned that the first bus (of two) we needed was due out in 20 minutes.  Recall, if you will, that we were supposedly hurrying merrily, yet hurriedly, along.  20 minutes does not exactly improve this process.  Finally the bus came and for awhile all was well and good.

"What's it doing here?" Garry asked, as the bus turned into Royal North Shore Hospital.

"Oh, don't worry about that," I said drowsily, "It just does a loop here.  All the 144s do."

And the next thing I knew I was being shaken out of my contented back massage reverie to calls of "Kim, Kim, the bus is stopping here -- it doesn't go any further!"

I was shocked, but it turned out it was true.  All the other 144s do a lovely little loop-de-loop, but ours did merely a lovely little loop.  There were, though, I hasten to add, roughly half a dozen of us total who all expected the 144 -- as per its route -- to carry on to Chatwood, so the driver kindly offered to take us back to the station, which was a fine gesture and all, except that the station was back in the direction we'd come from and in doing so we missed the next 144 and had to wait what the automated text device assured us was 14 minutes, but what in reality was 20 minutes.  At which time not one, but two triumphant 144s showed up and took us on yet another exhilarating loop-de-loop before progressing onwards.  At that stage (the -de- of the looping, that is), we encountered yet another 144, which I assumed was the twin bus heading to Manly, seeing as it hadn't passed us previously, but which then too joined the two triumphant 144s en route to Chatswood in a merry little trio of devil-may-care-what-time-we-arrive-there buses.

Eventually we did and were only just off our 144 when we glimpsed a stealthily waiting 545, which was to be the next segment of our journey.  Now roughly an hour late, we sprinted for all we were worth and were just to the steps when the driver held up a hand and said,

"Sorry, guys.  Too late.  Grab the next one."

He thought he was hilarious.

And so eventually we arrived, Garry left and I waited 20 minutes for the next 545 to take me back to wait 20 minutes for the next 144 to take me back to loop-de-loop to my stop to walk home to blog copious amounts about how very much time I spent on a bus for a boy today.

Gosh I think I like him.

update: further bus bloopers

The other day I had quite an adventure getting to Balmoral.  I knew I needed a 245, but the sign seemed to think there wasn't one due for about 40 minutes, which was ridiculous to wait in peak  hours traffic, as well as being a time somewhat after the event was supposed to start.  So I decided to jump anything that would take me to the top of the hill and walk down.  I cleverly passed up a 144 that said (of all the crazy things for a 144 -- which everyone knows is the Manly bus -- to do!) it was stopping at Spit Junction, knowing that wasn't far enough, in favor of a 247.  Completely forgetting that 247s also turn at Spit Junction.  Thankfully I remembered this just before and hopped off bus number one in time to grab another passing bus ... which also turned at Spit Junction!  I was reasonably furious as I hopped off bus number two, though my anger dissipated rather quickly when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a 257, also turning at Spit Junction, but actually on its way to, not the top of Balmoral hill, but Balmoral Beach!  It was frustratingly hard to stay angry at the last bus after this, and before you knew it I'd hopped off bus number three (of what should have been a one bus trip -- thank goodness I have a My Multi!) to be the first person to arrive at the picnic.

I got a friend to drive me home.

quicko: the christmas bus!

I know I usually rag on the buses, but you know, they're the necessary evil everyone loves to hate.  And everyone once in a blue moon (lifetime?) they do something pretty cool:  it's around for what's at least its second year, if not more, it's that time of year:  the Christmas bus is in town!  (Please don't start on the amount of punctuation in that last sentence ... or I'll double it in the next one!)

The Christmas bus is amazing, and I really quite like it.  You have never seen a bus with such fully decked halls.  It is red and greened to the nines -- pictures from school kids, garlands and a whole shocking array of what would normally be exceptionally tacky, except, for some reason, I really love it.  I think it's the lack of Christmas everywhere around it -- and here is one motley bus, going whole hog for Christmas with wild abandon.  It's adorable.

Oh, and it was free.

Talk about the best bus ever!

quicko: bumper buses

You know, when there are two of the same number that suddenly somehow end up right on top of each other?  (Not literally.  Though that would also be a moderately significant bus blooper in its own right.)  One is really late or one is really early, though knowing buses, I'd say you have a much better shot putting your money on the former.

update: further things that can go wrong on a bus

This one is a real humdinger in the sense that I had actually written it down as an idea to blog about in a, "oh, it's so frustrating this happened to this other man I saw" sort of a way ... when before I was able to, it happened to me!  Forewarned is not necessarily, it seems, forearmed.

Here it is:  the bus may eat your ticket.

You know what happens when it does?  In my case, it worked out reasonably fortuitously with no lasting damage, but I see that in many ways that was a matter of pure ... predestination, shall we say.  Certainly not any thanks to Sydney transportation.

My ticket was eaten on a Wednesday night about 6:30 pm on a 230.  The driver took my name and number (felt a little funny right there ...) and said he couldn't open up the ticket machine so someone would give me a call when his shift was over.  (Fortuitous incident number one:  his shift was over only an hour or so later.  Fortuitous incident number two:  I was not on my way to work and didn't have to catch any more buses immediately.)

Thankfully, someone did give me a call shortly before 8 and said it was all right, they had my ticket, I could come and collect it now.  Evidently it had not occurred to them that I no longer had a bus pass to come collect the bus pass with.  I pointed this out, and was asked where I was.  I was, it transpired, at a trivia night at the Kirribilli Hotel, which meant I was not able to come and collect it when the doors closed at 9 pm somewhere in Neutral Bay.  And also that I had no means of getting to work in the morning if I waited for them to mail it to me.  (Furthermore, my mailbox key is broken, but that's another story.  Well, actually I guess it isn't much of one:  I went to open the mailbox one day and discovered my key was bent.  How odd is that?)

This threw the man greatly as he was anticipating I would either come (how, he had not thought through) or not care or something.  He said to wait a few minutes and he'd call back.  Risking trivia team disqualification for indoor use of cell phones, I magnanimously waited with my phone for another call.  He thankfully (fortuitous incident number three) found a passing 227 driver who was going to the same stop I'd got off at that could take the ticket to me if I could meet him at that stop between 8:10 and 8:15.

And thus I found myself meeting the 227 at 8:15 and it had, indeed, returned my ticket.  Which was all very lovely and fine and I'm glad it worked out -- but for goodness sake!  What if I had been on my way to work and still had to catch another bus?  What if his shift hadn't ended for six more hours?  What if I didn't have friends to drive me home in case the 227 driver hadn't been found?  What if, what if, what if?  They had absolutely no plan in place besides "come without your ticket to collect it or we'll mail it to you" -- which, frankly, as one who depends on public transportation to get to work every day can assure you, is not remotely sufficient.  Particularly as I suspect this ticket eating business has been happening repeatedly lately -- as I had seen it happen just prior to my own unfortunately fortuitous incident!

So, fellow riders, beware:  the bus may eat your ticket.

quicko: 30 second rule

This one has nothing to do with food or floors, unfortunately, but rather missing buses (specifically, the M30).  It does not matter when I get to my bus stop, I will consistently miss the M30 by 30 seconds -- that is, I can see it, I can see it stopped, I can see it waiting, but I am on the other side of the traffic lights and there is no possible way I can catch it in time.  I'd so much rather not see it having just been there and remain in blissful ignorance that the bus that would take me directly to work has just passed me by.  For the fifth time this week.

Seriously, it doesn't matter when I get there, if I'm on time, if I'm a minute (gasp!) early, if I'm six minutes late, whatever.  I am always 30 seconds too late.

update: further things that can go wrong on a bus

School children.  Need I say more?

update: further things that can go wrong on a bus

--You can forget something.  (i.e., a sweater)
--You can get mysteriously dirty.  ("What's that on my arm?!")
--Other passengers can misinform you about where the bus is going.
--You can overhear other passengers misinform (or, worse, potentially misinform -- you're pretty sure it's wrong, but not sure enough to correct them) other passengers.
--It can take ages to find where the bus stop you need is ... in the rain.
--People can form two lines to get a on a bus and you can't work out why and figure out eventually you're in the wrong one, but then have to go to the very end and start again.
--The driver can slam the door shut in your face.

quicko: some "overheard" humor

From mX's "Overheard" section:

Girl:  Oh, the bus is early -- it's only a minute late.

(Oh, no, really, but I get what she means!)

***

Guy 1:  Is this an international train?  No, wait, it's interstate?

Guy 2:  It goes to Hornsby.

(Sorry, might need to be a local for that one -- Hornsby is pretty far north, but still definitely Sydney.)

***

Guy on phone:  I'm sorry man, but I really needed their ice cream.

update: further bus bloopers

--An issue that I haven't actually had, but have had the foresight to foresee ... when the bus is full at a stop and some people step outside to let other people off ... how likely is it that one of these days they're just not going to get let back on??  Entirely too likely for me to risk it, that's what.

--Just a reminder, the standard button issues.  Pressing them too early, pressing them too late, not knowing when to press them.

--10 minute bus wait in Neutral Bay morning rush!  Followed by 10 minute bus wait on George Street in the morning rush!  It was preposterous!

update: bus bloopers

So this week there's been the relatively run-of-the-mill bus break down in peak hour when I'm already late on my way to work, but also, much more creatively, there's been the mysteriously directioned bus.  This was the E71 which stopped in Neutral Bay clearly hailing itself a Manly bus, which was perfect, seeing as Manly was where I was going.  Unfortunately, it had a very different idea about how to get there than I did.

Having traveled to Manly probably hundreds of times by bus and car, it's one of the few places I feel pretty confident I could drive to without actually having driven it myself (generally I can be driven somewhere umpteen times and still have no idea how to get there until I do it once on my own ... seeing as I don't drive per se in Australia, well, I guess it hasn't been that much of an issue.  It's more of an issue when someone is driving me and expects me to know my own way home ... which I would, providing they stuck to the bus routes and left those pesky back roads alone).  To be precise, when you come up Military Road and hit Seaforth, I tend to think a right-hand turn is in order.  If you looked at a map, I'm 99% sure you'd agree with me, unless you're a big fan of seeing the rest of the world before you see you Manly and have a car that could handle that.  The bus, it appeared, thought it was such a car and hurled headlong into a left-hand turn.

Fortunately, I know that particular area quite well, having lived there for a year and a half awhile ago.  Unfortunately, it appeared that the driver had not made a wrong turn for the route in question because no one else on the bus appeared the slightest bit perturbed.  I hastily pressed the button, got off, crossed the street and waited ten minutes at the bus stop going the other way and finally caught the much more reliable 143 to Manly.

I presume the E71 must have made it there eventually, but I suspect I beat it by a long shot.  Perhaps you've found it in your neck of the woods as it meanders its way across the globe?

update: further bus traumas

Okay, so like the past couple bus posts, this one isn't revolutionary, but it is annoying.  It's when a bus stops 4 lengths back instead of at the actual stop (quite possibly because there had been other buses in front of it, but still) and then you can't see it (particularly if you've been reading while you're waiting) or can't flag it down in time or at the very least you have to go running to get it, or, more annoyingly, go running to check if it's the bus you want or not, and then find out it isn't.  And then lose your seat on the bench.

update: bus bloopers

These are pretty much just par for the course, but they seem to be happening to me a bit lately, so just for the record:

--You can JUST miss the bus and know it.  For instance, you're walking up to the stand from the direction it's going to be going and it flies right past you.

--Alternatively, you can JUST miss the bus and not know it.  This one is a more devious option.  There you can be sitting, safe in the assurance that you're two minutes early, thinking that your bus is just running a few minutes late and will be here momentarily.  It's when it's been about 15 minutes, though, that you start thinking, actually, that bus must have been three minutes early.  And thus you wait a full half hour for the next scheduled one to come.  Cruel and unusual punishment!!  Particularly when you are transporting milk and in the afternoon sun.