It’s cold this morning, though I probably won’t need this jumper by lunchtime. I turn left instead of right coming out of the house to take the opposite route towards the bustop; my feeble efforts to introduce some excitement and variety into the day – is that a new car outside number 79?
My old reliable 8am bus buddies have already begun to gather in the pre-acknowledged and respected morning silence; one by one, some nodding in recognition as I approach, others choosing the familiar awkward drop-of-the-gaze towards the ground – generally also my favoured approach at this hour of the morning, so no offence is taken.
Mrs. Purple Jacket noticably deflates as her talkative aquaintance Miss Multicoloured-Nails comes to settle chirpily by her side, greeting her with a ‘cold morning!!’ and a glance to the right to ‘see if it’s coming yet’.
Bleary-eyed and shivering slightly I check my phone for the second time in as many minutes, a blank glance the first time having failed to inform me of the time -just that the screen was very bright.
By the time the bus pulls up we’ve assumed our usual formation – tall lady with the furry coat who gets off in Ballsbridge stepping ahead of the guy that I recognise from primary school yet haven’t spoken to since that night in the pub down the road where I christened him my ‘bus mate’, and all the while me praying that my Leapcard doesn’t beep for longer than expected – the inconvenience it would cause to have to count out change amongst my orderly co-commuters would be shameful!
Stumbling my way to my usual seat at the back between Candy-Crush-playing –redheaded-guy and fair-haired-nurse-at-The-Hermitage-Clinic I try to focus my attention on the fact that the book I have in my bag to read is actually starting to get very interesting. I try to convince myself of the significance of this and mentally prepare myself to engage in the strength necessary to disappear into it’s pages for the next 45 minutes of my life.
As the morning brightens outside the windows, the mood inside the bus becomes gloomier with every full stop of commuters sighing away more and more of the precious oxygen and contributing to the increasingly claustrophobic atmosphere.
‘I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday’, and ‘I’m going to be sooooo late’ are common phrases in morning-commute land that allow successful communication with other travellers, but that I’ve learned to avoid on account of them being incessantly negative and pointless in their expression, especially in a situation such as aboard the 8am bus. These are uttered amongst passengers quite regularly with varying levels of boredom and energy, though in general the mood and tone is low.
As we turn on to the quays and the sun’s feeble effort to shine through the fogged windows reaches it’s peak, I put my book away in favour of the people-spotting opportunities the slow crawl of traffic before 9am presents to Dublin Bus passengers. The ground outside along the pathway seems to hold some sort of magical attention-keeping aspect to it, the sheer intensity of the walkers’ gazes fixed downwards as they hurry to their destinations seeming to cement hands in pockets and keep headphones blaring to block out the grumbling and bleeping of a city waking up.
As I disembark with a glum ‘thank-you’, echoing my previous self every day for the last month or so, I turn and jaywalk across to the other side of the road, a rush of adrenaline pulsing through me as I just about make it to the curb before the traffic surges forwards again. This spurs me on with one final burst of energy to take the too-wide steps of the Ha’penny Bridge one at a time, where I usually take them with two.
How exciting. Here’s to another exciting workday in Dublin.