My Grandad drove the number 18 bus in Dublin, from Palmerstown to Sandymount and back again. The same route all of his working life. A route that took him temptingly close to his house along the way.
He was a forgetful man by all accounts and often took a detour to his home to collect the things he had not taken with him. Strictly against the rules of course.
Passengers would become alarmed when he suddenly swung left when he should have gone right.
‘Something is wrong,’ they would exclaim in panic. ‘The bus isn’t supposed to go this way. Is it a new driver? Is he lost? Where are we going?’
‘Relax,’ the more frequent riders would tell them. ‘Paddy must have forgotten to pack his lunch again.’
Or ‘It’s raining pretty hard, Paddy must want an umbrella for the journey home.’
It was a long time ago. Now it seems hard to imagine people being so easy going. So accepting of a simple man’s foible.
Now time is so precious, people so impatient.
I still think my Grandad would have done it anyway.
Whether he would have kept his job for very long is another question.
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