Getting the bus today was rather exciting. In fact, it was even more exciting than the time last week when I inadvertently got high from the paint fumes some dude was huffing a few seats away. (Crazy people: if you’re going to abuse solvents, please don’t do it on public transport, especially air-conditioned buses where the windows don’t open.)
The big news is that the bus fare has gone up another 10 cents to $1.60. This, my friends, is an absolute outrage, for it was only a few months ago when it went from $1.30 to $1.50.
I was quite happy for it to be $1.50, and I was looking forward for it being that much for at least a year. It was very convenient to fish out three fun-sized 50c pieces and give them to the driver. But now $1.60 is going to be annoying. I’m going to have to start finding 10c coins or mucking around with twenties. God, how inconvenient.
This morning when I got the bus, I forgot about the price increase. I plonked down three fifties and the bus driver looked at me like I had come through a wormhole from the 1940s was expecting change from a halfpenny.
“It’s a dollar sixty,” he grunted. “Oh! Ha ha! Yes!” I gracefully exclaimed, and managed to piss off both everyone on the bus and waiting in line behind me as I took far too long rooting around in my wallet for the 10c coin I knew was there.
Later, as I boarded the bus home, I gave the driver a $2 coin as I couldn’t be bothered making $1.60 in exact change. He stared at it and a slightly nervous look shot across his face. “Have you got a 10c coin, ma’am?” he asked. “Oh, sorry, no,” I replied, trying not to look like a lying liar. “Hmm,” he hmmed, as he reluctantly departed with one of his precious, precious 20c coins and two tens. See, that’s what happens when the price goes up.