My fist on the bus goes punch punch punch…

More than one public holiday during the Summer time, this country just gets better and better by the day! Happy Waitangi Day, that’s the real reason we’re enjoying a long weekend, not just a willy nilly bonus day in the sun. History.

As I didn’t escape far for the Christmas break, or celebrate New Years in any form, I made damn sure I was getting away this weekend. Time away from the office, the work cellphone, the city, constant social networking. The destination; Mount Maunganui. One of my, if not thee, favest places on the North Island of this beautiful country, that I am now lucky enough to call home.

As a non driver (having not been behind a wheel for close to eleven years now, it’s safer this way. For everyone.), travel is aided by that of public transport. I’m no snob, I’m happy to hand over little bunce and travel with people from all walks of life. Saying that, it’s rare you’d be seated next to someone who has a shed load in the bank, I’m sure. There are however, those few trips you take, where should the traffic clear, we balls it up again, by; crashing, flipping the bus, and taking in the fresh scent of petrol as I reach around for that lighter that lives at the bottom of my satchel. Anything to get those feckin 30 South American ‘lads’ to just simply shuuuut the fuuuck uuuuuuup!!!

I knew before leaving the office today, that my ride to my mini break was full. No empty seats. The chances of being seated next to a Bobby Orange scented twerp were high. I set off from the office at 3pm, giving me 30 minutes to head down to the bus stop just 20 minutes away. I arrived to see no one else waiting. Assuming a bundle of peeps would be collected at our next destination, the airport link, Manukau. I was, not for the first time this week, wrong. I’d have rather thirty seagulls flew over my head and shat in my mouth (this has happened before, just the one retched bird mind you), than what was occurring before my eyes. No less than thirty, tanned, shorts and vest wearing, loud mouthed Spanish-esq looking males, I’d say averaging 21 years of age (12 mentally), and then I heard a noise I usually enjoy, music, but to quote the wonderfully charming Jay from The Inbetweeners 2 movie, “why is there always some cunt with a guitar”! These cretins were boarding the very coach that had just pulled up in front of me. My dry contact lense wearing eyes were grateful of the tears that were slowly forming. Seriously, I know I’m approaching the wise age of 33, but please, seriously, street slang says it best when I say, FML.

This is not the Kiwi Experience bus pals, so please, whatever drivel it is you’re attempting to ‘sing’, along with a badly played guitar, stop. Also, it’s not just the driver you are frustrating with you constant walking up and down, asking if we can stop to use a WC. We are stuck in traffic, barely out of the CBD (even after 90 minutes!), so sit down, cross your legs, shut your pie hole, and enjoy the view would ya! I mean the scenic views of NZ, not this angelic looking lass drafting your obituary.

As I said, happy holidays peeps! xxx

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