Gathan Beaga

The Sourpuss

Now the next bus in the morning has this woman already on it who always stakes out the same spot plus an extra seat for her friend (who gets on about five stops down).

She is The Sourpuss. Even though there may be plenty of spare seats on the bus, she always gives me a pursed lipped icy stare as I hop on, as if expecting me to contravene all the Laws of Commuting and sit beside her. I must look like some kind of rebel. (Yeah, right.) But I have to admit, I’ve been tempted, just to see how she’d react.

This morning though, she looked like she’d taken a good few extra pulls on a really juicy lemon. Her favorite spot had been occupied by a mooncalf couple all eyes for each other. (Hell, they even irritated me with their saccharine murmurings.) But The Sourpuss was resolutely staring out the window as if to deny the interlopers’ existence. The mooncalves had failed to heed her telepathic command to avoid that specific spot and claimed it before she’d even got on the bus.

It was obvious her entire day had just been trashed by this event. I hope she recovers from the trauma. And that her workmates and family are not too badly affected.