Al hanahag sheratza lihiot elohim

What a place. Today I took one of those buses usually occupied by old ladies in fur armour (i mentioned it before) and fur helmets, a Polish version of a hijab perhaps, because sometimes one can only see their eyes, blinking with suspicion at all travellers aged lower than a dinosaur. Feeling slightly intimidated by their company I tried not to be there – quite hard with a pierced nose and vividly green skirt. I couldn’t even try to sneak into their mercy by participating in the common discussion (bus driver involved too, of course, a hidden supporter of the Old Ladies Team) about the EXACT coordinates of a certain veterinary clinic – a second most important shrine of the Berets (a common nickname for the old ladies) and the like. After considering some options the instigator of the topic got off and we may only hope that she didn’t make it to the clinic and her neighbour will not have to hear the ‘sweet voice’ of her beloved hyena, in other words a dog which regardless of its size barks in a high pitch tone and at everything - including his masters. I think it’s a special breed. For the protection of the endangered species – Polish Old Ladies (further referred to s POLs).

So I am in those beautiful circumstances, on one of the longest bus lines - the cursed 171 (POLs find it of particular interest, the longer the better, a second life type of a thing, that is why at the afternoon hours you have no ticket control, the inspectors made room for the POL gang, I wonder how they fought for supremacy – by making pierogi?)... and pit’om I hear one of them, standing by the middle doors and screaming ‘but WHYYYY didn’t yaaaa stop at the buUUS stOP?’(notice the intonation) and the poor driver stopped immediately and in panic opened the doors for the two infuriated, puffed up passengers. (Obviously those on the missed bus stop didn’t have chance to get in, but what kind of a deal would that be exchanging the two for more than that). And as an expression of sorry he shouted in a (surprisingly!) truly concerned voice: kuuurna zapomniaaaaałem! (fuuuck I forgoooot!). It is the only occasion when a bond forms between non-Beret passengers, eye-contact and muffled half-smiles. After all the bus driver is not a god (did anyone read Keret?).