Daily Pleasure

Daily Pleasure

You can always take the bus. No matter what happens, or how long you have to wait, you can always take it. It’s a journey to somewhere. To anywhere. It’s a movie, going on and on and on: you can just get in whenever you want, and get off as you wish. People come and go, scenarios changing frame by frame, and a completely different habitat is made between this two mechanical doors. (Two that have nowadays come usually three. There used to be just the front door and the back door, but now they (who?) have incorporated a new concept: the middle-door.) People in the outside is being seen, almost spied, but the image is already gone, the pic has been taken, just to be printed on your mind, for you to decide whether you’d like to keep it, for a later instant of pleasure, or happiness, or loneliness, or simply to remember that you need to buy some new underwear. Buildings, houses, ads, graffitis, trash cans, cars, trees, voices, sounds, wastelands, dogs, are all gone in a second, just to be replaced with new ones. It is just life, going on fast-forward. If you are lucky, you can even get a seat near the window, and if you are lucky enough, you can try to open it, and get this movie in 3-D, even with some real effects. The wind in your face, your eyes moistening, your hair dancing like Russian ballet, the roar in your ears, the heat of the sun, the sheen in your retina, the cars' fumes encroaching your lungs, scenting your clothes, the vibration of the motor, the unmistakable ultra-acute sound of old soiled brakes; it is just a window to the real world. A world that you watch immobile: time is not passing for you, you just watch, life is not paying attention to you now, now that you are on the bus. Your life is resting, being carried from one place to another by the chauffeur, you don’t worry. Not to worry about time, ‘cause is not yours, not to worry about the streets, ‘cause they’re not yours, not to worry about the roads, ‘cause they’re not yours, not to worry about the weather, ‘cause it’s not yours. Not to worry, just to enjoy.

And not only the outside can you enjoy: take a look at the inside! The chauffeur, what is his face telling? Nothing. Annoyance, tedium, fatigue, constipation, hunger, what? Nothing. In fact, no need for a face to drive a bus, just left hand (a right hand is useful for curves sometimes), one finger (but not from the left hand) for the ticket machine, one right leg (automatic busses don’t have clutch pedal), two eyes (more would be ideal, but really expensive), right ear (for passengers insults) and a big mouth with clear loud voice, for giving instructions in an exclusive dialect (rooted in the Royalty) such as "Arriba!!!" ("Please, come in, be my guest" or similar), "Puedo cerrar?!!" ("Are you all seated and comfortably accommodated?") or "Corriéndose, que en el fondo está vacío!!!!" ("I invite you all to take a step to the back, where the air is fresh and dinner is to be served in a few minutes").

In case you are lucky enough, and you get a first row seat, you will be able to enjoy, hopefully, some functional music, usually Cumbia*. Soft lights and paradisiacal blooms complete the scenario.

All this, for just eighty pence.






* "Cumbia" stands for Cambridge’s Ultra Modern British Intellectual Atmosphere.