A Bus Ride

I rarely take the bus without feeling intimidated by the driver, the passengers, or the risks the bus often goes through. One day last week, I had a chance to ride on one of the most notorious buses. The driver, a betel nut chewer, could hardly wait to dart off the very moment the last passenger got on. Throughout the way, he was virtually cursing, blaming the bad traffic situation and those cars getting in his way. Once in a while he would spit out a mouthful of “bloody water”. Those who wanted to get off literally had to beg him stop. Otherwise, he would do anything possible to make you feel regret having taken that bus. The bus got more and more crowed when it was closer and closer to Changhua. Suddenly, a pale-looking lady burst out screaming, as if stung by a yellow jacket. She was swearing that someone had picked her pocket. Everyone of us was expecting the driver, who was such a bully, to wield some timely effect. To our greatest disappointment, he remained deaf to all of our entreaties. Finally when the bus got to the terminal, he got off first, strode away, wearing a contemptuous look as if implying that the victim had deserved it. I, so much downcast, accidentally glimpsed a gang of three thievish-looking young men hurrying away. More shockingly, when I came out of the toilet, I caught sight of the brutal driver crouching at the corner with the sneaky young men. They were dividing among them the cash stolen on the bus. I really wondered what on earth had gone wrong with this world.

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