The woman on the bus

I mentioned on yesterday’s post that I did not know whether I would maintain the discipline to keep at the blog thingamajig, and that I could not predict whether I would soon descend into commenting on my co-passengers on the bus every morning, on my journey to the business park, in the suburban wasteland of North West Dublin. However when said passengers – actually that should be passenger singular, are as strange as angry lady then I really have no choice.

For the last 3 mornings in a row a woman has gotten on the bus and proceeded to spend 30 minutes fighting on the telephone. On Monday I barely noticed as she was behind me. She sounded irate. I recognised her South African accent.

Yesterday she sounded furious and spent the 30 minute journey giving out about what I presume to be her child, and her argument was with who I presume to be her ex. She was quite forceful in her insistence that said child be denied some treat as his behaviour did not merit it. She was sitting beside me, so I felt uncomfortable giving her more than a side-eyed glance.

Well this morning her rage was explosive. Whoever she was haranguing was getting an absolute earful. She hung up the phone on him. He rang her back. She accused him of not letting her get a word in edgeways. I blinked in confusion – her speaking was relentless –  I was amazed at her breath control – she never needed to pause for breath during her tirade. What must the other person sound like.
Apparently he was not her ex, but her current and it is his job to get their child to school. But he is utterly useless and doesn’t listen to her (I don’t know who’s wrong and who’s right in this circumstance as I can’t hear him, but judging by her tone my sympathy lies with him).  He never turns the light off when he leaves in the morning, an hour after she does, as she has to turn it off when she gets home. The child is in trouble at school and it is all his fault. What more can she do?

Be slightly more pleasant is my suggestion, but so unquenchable is her daily anger, I dare not interfere.

She was facing me today. Quite an attractive woman, about my age. But her face had a look of permanent discontent. When she hung up the expression on her face looked like it was challenging someone to make a comment and she would continue the rage.

What ails this South African woman? Is it the Irish winter.

Who can say?

Like a car accident you can’t avert your eyes from I am semi-hoping the saga will continue on tomorrow’s journey.

And now I go to my class.

 

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