Thursday, 25 June 2015

The small stuff

The stuff that can drive you crazy, and is rather amusing. Like the ghost bus, the phantom bus as one of my fellow commuters dubbed it, the 311. Yes, talking at the bus stop is allowed when said bus does not turn up. It's been happening a bit lately. When it's there on the app then quietly greys out. No warning, just gone. Guess it's not coming then. While we waited one evneing, this lovely lady who works in the navy and I, the bus inspectors swarmed the stop.

No good, I shared with one of them. The ghost bus has gone off the radar again so you might need to choose another. Did I mention it was a chilly wet evening, not one to walk in my light coat, so we talked a bit about the weather. As the time drew out, the inspectors gave in and asked about the ghost bus. We regaled them with stories of our experiences. Much giggling from the very serious bus inspectors as we shared those 'being left there with no hope' stories.

It's funny, I've been a bit naughty at times when traveling and ridden the bus/train/tram without paying. Most of the time it hasn't been intentional like that time in Milan with Sandy or Rome with Di when the rules eluded me. I have been warned of inspectors throwing old ladies off the bus/tram/train. Since I've been in Sydney I've experienced them twice, both times riding legally. Once on the ferry and this time.

The next bus, not the ghost bus, came along and on we all hopped. It was hilarious, like party time on the bus. Strangers talking with each other as the inspectors checked the cards and tickets. The elderly gentleman sitting next to me shaking his head and saying he'd never seen such a thing in all his years of riding the bus. Our new friends waved good bye, promising to see if they can find that most ghostly of buses.

My stuff arrives on Saturday morning. I can't wait to lay down my precious carpets and hang my art and photographs. To make my little apartment more like home. The small stuff happened with the delivery of said goods. It seems that delivery is an issue. Not that I haven't paid for door to door, just that door to door means door to ground floor. So after a bit of grumpiness, I just had to suck it up, put on my big girl pants and get over it.

Sometime Saturday, at an extra cost for Saturday delivery grrr, I will be dragging boxes to the lift and getting them up to the 7th floor. All by myself. I'm hoping those delivering will take pity on me and help. We shall see. So life in the big city goes on, the weekend is close. One where I have a couple of social engagements. A BBQ with whanau on Saturday evening, a good catch up with those last seen a while ago, and drinks at mine on Sunday afternoon. I may even manage a few on Friday evening although I suspect it will be a quiet one. It's been a full on week.

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