Bus Stop Chicken

A couple of times a week I catch the bus into work. Most days Roo and I car pool but sometimes I need to leave early or she needs to stay late so I take public transport (car parking is cheaper at the university than it is around my work). Now, they're not as punctual or frequent as the Melbourne trams but the Wellington buses are clean, never really get that full and I’m yet to feel like a drumstick in a chicken incubator while riding them.

I don’t know how I started but I’ve invented a sad little game that I play when it’s time for my stop. I win by not having to pull the cord to get off the bus. I lose if I chicken out and pull the chord or miss my stop. I know that only about 1 in 20 trips are bereft of fellow passengers with the same side walk destination but as I spot the stop coming closer it’s very hard to hold off pulling the cord.

Last Friday, when I stepped on the bus, I decided that I’d cease playing this stupid game and just travel to work like a normal person. The chance of having to walk five minutes out of my way because of a game no-one else even knows they’re playing was a fairly good motivator to throw the whole thing in and just pull the chord as soon as my stop came into view. However, as we neared the city centre I remembered that I was on a record equalling 9-0 winning streak and who was I to deny the fans of this proud sport the chance to see BSC history be made?

Note - In a variation on BSC, I ‘win’ when riding the lift if fellow passengers get off before my floor, leaving me alone in the lift to do a quick victory dance before the doors open on my level.