The 252

Dennis was an inner-city bus driver, and he was having a bad day. Dennis was 3 weeks away from retirement. He had seen a lot of bad days in his time, so a bad day by his standards was indeed a very bad one.

 Firstly, the weather was absolutely stifling. One of those sticky summer days where the British weather reaches unheard of heights, and the general public melt like March snowmen. He was also stuck in traffic. Dennis hated traffic. Being a bus driver, he often got to avoid it. Not today. Road works were blocking up the bus lane. Not great on a normal day, but in 38 degree heat, it was unbearable.

The passengers on the 252 all had somewhere to go. Babies were crying and their 15 year old mothers were mouthing off at yobby youfs on the back seats. Three old Asian ladies were tutting; two old Jamaican gentlemen were giggling; one shabbily dressed person of indeterminate gender was talking to him/herself. A young couple shared headphones which didn't quite keep the sound in, but luckily this was drowned out by the youfs' blaring drum and bass - drum and treble would perhaps have been a better term, for the sound quality from their tinny speakers was not quite up to scratch.

Dennis was going spare. Horns were hooting, yobs were yelling, babies were bawling.
"Oi! Dicked! Some of us have places to go yeah!"
"Yeah hurry up you prick!"
Everyone seemed to be shouting at him. He was hardly to blame! It was this darned traffic! This darned weather! Finally, Dennis snapped.

He flipped on the indicator and pulled out into a one-way street. Everybody cheered. But when Dennis began to veer further and further from the direction they should have been going in, people started getting rowdy again. Soon, they were on the motorway, and the passengers were going mental.
"Where you going you mental prick!??"
"Dis bumbaclaaart gwan de wraaang waaayy mon!"
"We're gonna report you innit!"

But Dennis didn't seem to care. He was laughing. He turned round and shouted, "We're going to the beach! And I don't give a damn if you lot report me, I'm retiring soon anyway!"

He was met with stunned silence.
"Don't tell me you lot got anything better to do!"

The passengers of the 252 looked at one another. The babies stopped crying. The youfs put their music on pause.
Then one of them broke the silence.
"Dis is gunna be SICK BLUD!"
He spoke, it seemed, for the masses. Everyone began to clap and cheer.
"Disss bwoy crazy but he sure dam smart!"

So Dennis drove the 252 to the beach, and parked in the coach bays at the car park. All the passengers got out and, in dribs and drabs, headed out towards the sea. The Asian ladies hitched up their saris and paddled in the waves; the Jamaican gentlemen sat on a bench, eating Mr Whippys and giggling. The genderless individual rocked back and forth whilst burying his feet in the sand. The teen mothers sunbathed and the youfs stole a ball from a 5 year old and started a kick-about. The young couple held hands and strolled along the shore.

Dennis smiled, and loosened the top buttons of his bus-driver uniform. He looked back to the car park, where the 252 was languishing idly, out of place yet somehow at home.

Dennis was an inner-city bus driver. He was having a very bad day.
Not any more, he thought, gazing out at the pier, a huge grin spread from cheek to cheek. Not any more.