going by bus, again

Some days, I am amazed at how helpful bus drivers can be. (See 'a free ride' for a story about one in particular.) Several weeks ago, I stood waiting for the bus into Durham, with Lucy in the stroller (pushchair, pram, buggy, or whatever-you-like-to-call-it), hoping fervently that it would not be a double-decker bus with steps. Though it isn't a common occurance, the last time I tried to board such a bus, the bus driver just shook his head. Then he drove on. So when the bus approaching was the dreaded item, I signaled anyway, hoping against hope. The driver, who was young and friendly, nodded approval, but said that I'd have to collapse the buggy. No problem. Except it was impossible with one hand so to do. Another waiting passenger offered to help, and I accepted. Lucy was not keen on being handed over. Amidst the fumbling and screaming, the driver descended the steps and picked up the stroller, stowing it for me without needing to collapse it. When we arrived at our stop, he fetched it for me and set it on the pavement.

If you've ridden a bus in Durham, you know that's like winning the lottery. Not unheard of (a couple won over £200K just last week), but a rare bit of luck. Contrast the above with a shorter story with a less happy ending: a couple of weeks ago Anna, Iain and I waited at the bus station, with Lucy in the stroller, on a warm and sticky afternoon a . We'd been into Durham on the bus and were heading home. I struggled through the crowded station to get onto the bus. Upon hearing our destination, the driver quoted me a fare of £5.90. I stood there with £3.30 in my hand, the fare we'd paid to get to Durham. For a split second, I started to reach for the difference. Then I turned to the driver again and said, 'But it only cost us £3.30 to get here.' He looked straight at me and said unapologetically, 'It'll cost you £5.90 to get back.'

We didn't take that bus.