My Other Car is a Fuss

Why do buses display their number when they are out of service? For what possible reason do I need to know that the bus trundling around the corner with the "Not in Service" sign lit up is the 171 I've spent the past hour waiting for? Is it supposed to reassure me that at least that time I got close? All it does is make me ask just how the bus driver managed to get to work that morning when the public transport system is clearly as effective as standing next to a postbox with a stamp on your forehead. A bus is like the flu, despite your best efforts, sometimes you have no choice but to catch it. I really hate them. There is no less comfortable way to travel, you're squashed in like cattle going to market, the driver's about as light on the brake as a hippo with a leg spasm, and you're thrown about so much they become the equivalant of a human laundrette, tossing old women around like socks in a tumble dryer. We pay for this? They have no saving grace, even the route numbers are dull; P3, 49, 122, they sound like additives. They should lighten it up a little, have some square roots in there, make a little pun of it, or what about some of the more well known figures like Pi or Planck's Constant? You might as well chuck in a couple of imaginary numbers as no one will be that surprised if they don't turn up. This morning I'm waiting in a queue at London Bridge for the rather mundanely named 43. I've been waiting so long I have frosticles on my nose, and for the last ten minutes have been trying to blow steam rings. Finally a bus pulls up to the stop but halts short by ten yards. The driver gets out, turns off the lights, and steps out for a cigarette before realising how cold it is. While we wait in the snow he retreats back inside. I'm freezing my ass off here, I could piss icicles, and this driver is all wrapped up in his cosy warm bus with the window open! The cheek! Who is this guy? Who are we to board the bus? We are nobody! Just because our tickets pay for the upkeep, maintenance and running of the ENTIRE NETWORK! The bus driver! now he's a somebody. Oh yeh, he deserves to sit on his seat with his feet on the wheel smoking through an open window. I mean he's got a real tough job sat on his ass all day. We deserve nothing more than this frost bitten icy wind to whip and chafe us like dogs- At last! Before I can develop my rant further the driver flicks his butt away, starts the engine and shunts forward. He stands up and adjusts the sign, scrolling through the destinations before coming to a stop: Not in Service. Motherf&*"&*&"*"*