All the way to London Brizzz

I was coming back from Bermundsy on Sunday night and was waiting at the bus stop. A bus (not my one) arrived. An Indian man wearing one of those blue London underground ‘happy to help’ jackets appeared from out of no where, got onto the bus and confidently announced:

“All the way to London Brizzz!”                                                     

The bus driver smiled and using his forefinger and thumb pressed together to express accuracy, cheekily and jovially said:

 “Bridge. Bridge. Try Bridge.”

Most people on the bus smiled.  The Indian man got off the bus, the doors closed and the bus drove away. Suddenly I was aware that the man was standing uncomfortably close to me, miserable. I could see he was holding back the tears.

“That is the problem with this country. I speak good English. I study hard. Brizzz. What is wrong with Brizzz? I can say Brizzz. London Brizzz.”

“I know mate.”

 I said as I prayed my bus would come soon.

“No manners. No one has manners. I study hard. I speak good English.”

“I can hear that mate.”

The man had obviously had a bad day in his English class or this was a regular thing that this bus driver did, just to make his day more fun. Given the bus driver’s smile and the man’s response the latter was most likely the case. I looked at my watch and noticed that my bus wasn’t coming soon and the man was still standing close to me.

 “What is wrong with Brizz?” He demanded.

“Nothing, mate.”

I walked on towards the next bus stop and exactly half way between both stops my bus passed me. I waited for another twenty minutes for the last bus, I got on, saw that the only other passenger was the unhappy Indian man in the blue coat. I decided to walk all the way to London Brizzz where I would get the tube.

Harry