My old friend and the most avid reader of my blogs, Valerio, said after hearing about my “Food from heaven” adventure (blog of the same name): “Here’s another good point of your job: your commuting to and from the pub seems to provide a lot of material for stories…”
Indeed.
When I first transferred to the Wood Green branch of the pub chain, I’d just pull my jumper over my work top after the closing shift, and jump on the night bus — first the N29 to Manor House, then the N253 for the last two stops to my house in Stamford Hill.
On one of the N253 journeys, I noticed the driver looking fairly intently at me as I was getting on, even turning round in his seat and craning his neck at the next stop when I went and stood just out of his direct line of vision. This freaked me out a bit, thinking he probably fancied me.
You see, I’d been approached before by men on buses and at bus stops, striking up a casual conversation, starting with asking if I was going home from work, then moving on to whether I wanted to go for a cup of coffee or a walk in the park, but they’d all been earlier: around 9/10pm, a sunny late afternoon for the-walk-in-the-park one.
This level of interest at 3am by the bus driver was a bit too intense for my comfort. After I disembarked, I dawdled around the bus stop, waiting for the bus to move off, as my house is by the main road, only ten yards from the bus stop, so I didn’t want the driver to see where I lived. He, on his part, wouldn’t drive off immediately either. And so, there we were: each idling at the bus stop, in a kind of a stalemate for a while. This only confirmed my initial judgement of him. He’s persistent, I thought, and making his interest very obvious.
You see, I’d been approached before by men on buses and at bus stops, striking up a casual conversation, starting with asking if I was going home from work, then moving on to whether I wanted to go for a cup of coffee or a walk in the park, but they’d all been earlier: around 9/10pm, a sunny late afternoon for the-walk-in-the-park one.
This level of interest at 3am by the bus driver was a bit too intense for my comfort. After I disembarked, I dawdled around the bus stop, waiting for the bus to move off, as my house is by the main road, only ten yards from the bus stop, so I didn’t want the driver to see where I lived. He, on his part, wouldn’t drive off immediately either. And so, there we were: each idling at the bus stop, in a kind of a stalemate for a while. This only confirmed my initial judgement of him. He’s persistent, I thought, and making his interest very obvious.
The next time, it was a different driver. This one actually asked, also turning round in his seat and craning his neck, “Where are you going?” What a strange question! Why did he want to know? What’s the matter with all these male drivers, I thought.
Another post-shift night, as I was waiting for the night bus at 3am, I happened to look down and noticed that because I hadn’t taken off my work apron — which had a big pocket in front and into which I often stuffed spare paper napkins for wiping up greasy spills — I looked about eight months pregnant under my jumper.
Penny dropped: those bus drivers were probably wondering what this heavily pregnant woman was doing, being out and about at 3am. And an Oriental woman at that too, which is unusual, as Oriental women don’t go gadding about at 3am, even less when eight months pregnant.
Also, because it was a different driver the second time, he didn’t get to see that I was still eight months pregnant three months later.
Also, because it was a different driver the second time, he didn’t get to see that I was still eight months pregnant three months later.
I now make sure to remove my work apron when I finish my closing shift. No more staring from the drivers after that.
(London, 2016)
Update 031218: Another penny's just dropped (yes, the brain has arrived on the slow bus). The drivers might've been worried that I might end up giving birth on their bus, hence the level of interest!
* See also "Catching the last Tube train" and "How to expedite matters"
Update 031218: Another penny's just dropped (yes, the brain has arrived on the slow bus). The drivers might've been worried that I might end up giving birth on their bus, hence the level of interest!
* See also "Catching the last Tube train" and "How to expedite matters"
In her blog post "Late-night bus journey home (London)," the author shares an amusing anecdote from her time commuting after late-night shifts in London. She recounts how, after finishing work at a pub in Wood Green, she would take the N29 and N253 night buses to her home in Stamford Hill. On one occasion, she noticed a bus driver staring at her intently, which made her uncomfortable. Another driver even asked her, "Where are you going?" Initially, she interpreted these interactions as unwelcome advances.
ReplyDeleteHowever, upon realizing that she had been wearing her work apron under her jumper—giving the appearance of being heavily pregnant—she understood that the drivers were likely concerned about a seemingly pregnant woman traveling alone at 3 a.m. This revelation led her to remove her apron after shifts, resulting in no further unusual attention from drivers.
This story highlights the unique experiences and misunderstandings that can occur during late-night commutes in London. It also underscores the importance of context and perspective in interpreting others' actions.
Late-night bus journeys in London often come with their own set of challenges and stories. For instance, some commuters have shared experiences of falling asleep and missing their stops, leading to unintended extended rides citeturn0search0. Others have discussed the quirks of specific bus routes, such as the 146, which operates with a single vehicle due to its short length and infrequent schedule citeturn0search5.
Overall, the author's narrative adds to the rich tapestry of stories associated with London's night buses, offering a humorous and personal perspective on the unexpected interactions that can arise during late-night commutes.