“Sorry love, you can’t come on here with that”
“With what?”
The bus driver nods down to the two recently purchased paint cans in my hand. I’d just bought them from B&Q and I'm attempting to board a bus on the Old Kent Road. But he isn’t having any of it.
“’Course, if you’d put them in carrier bags, it wouldn’t’ve been a problem. But you see, I’ve seen them now, so you can’t get on”
He looks like a normal person. But he's carrying that smirk of officialdom. He's enjoying this far too much. This is a man who doesn’t get to say ‘no’ enough.
“What? Because I’m carrying paint…?” I venture, trying to piece together some/any logic. “But they’re sealed” I protest.
“Yeah, but see, it’s a fire risk’
“A what?”
“Now if you’d put them in plastic bags, I would’ve let you on – but I can’t now, can I?” A reptilian smile passes his lips. “And, to be fair, no other bus driver will let you on with ‘em either. You need to put 'em in bags...or walk.” This is all news to me. Is he? Ohmigod, yes, he is, the man is actually gloating like a Bond villain. Who gloats in real life?
I’m a long way from home and the cans are feeling heavy. The other passengers begin to tutt and shuffle their feet impatiently but I’m not letting this go, this man is clearly an officious idiot.
“So putting paint cans in plastic bags somehow stops spontaneous exploding, does it? Are the anti-terror squad aware of this major breakthrough?”
Unfortunately for me, it’s hard to keep the sarcasm from tripping uncontrollably off my tongue. I’ve fallen straight into the bus driver’s hands. He tells me in no uncertain terms to get off the bus and it looks like the tired commuters are willing to help his cause, if it means the bus will get going again. I’m beat. I tell him he’s an arsehole and get off the bus. He gives me a two-fingered salute and laughs theatrically as he pulls away.
Must stop goading unreasonable bus drivers.
Eventually, a long bendy bus pulls up. I get on from the back and keep my head down, just in case…
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