So I’m sitting on a bus, in London bare in mind. It’s been another long day at placement, chances are I have an ‘I will kill anyone who gets in my way’ death glare tattooed on my face. I’m minding my own business, counting down the stops on the familiar 30 minute journey until I can scream in my bed – or more realistically, scoff my face – knees pushed up on the back of the empty seat in front of me, head against the window, earphones in. That’s when I notice him out of the corner of my eye. The bus driver is looking over his shoulder, checking out something inside the pretty empty bus.
He carried on driving and I thought nothing of it… until he looked again. I could have sworn he was looking at me. Maybe I was humming along to my music again, or perhaps he didn’t like me having may feet up on his bus seats. I put my legs down and carried on looking out the window; 3 stops to go.
Mr bus driver was definitely looking at a me though. The third time I caught eyes with him and took my earphones out, because clearly he had something he needed to get off his chest.
“Did you ever have long hair?” It wasn’t just him looking at me now, but the other 2 passengers still on the bus.
“Yes…” I answered cautiously. Did I know him? I didn’t recognise him. He was too old for me to have gone to school with him, and seeing as I’m not a London girl it’s not like I just knew him from around.
“You should grow it long again. You’d look pretty with long hair.”
Come again for big fudge. This man was weighing up my hair (which admittedly was messy, because it had been a long day and I just didn’t care) instead of looking at the busy roads. I didn’t respond right away, I was far too confused. “I like it short, it was too puffy when it was long.” I eventually answered, rather lamely, and pushed the stop button, because I was finally home.
Totally stunned, I told my housemate when I got home. She was indignant, outraged on my behalf. I think she pretty close to writing a letter to Transport for London, a nice long rant about their misogynistic bus drivers. But the thing is I now find it rather amusing, and it’s not like all bus drivers give me fashion advice. You’ve got to admire his confidence really, even if his advice wasn’t appreciated. But what I really took away from this is that my face was pretty alright, I just needed to sort out my hair. And hey, a compliment is still a compliment, right?