Balls

The balls in the title of this post refer to the balls that are rolling round in the roof space of at least 3 off our double deckers. I can think of no reason for them to be there, there isn't some piece of high tech equipment in the roof space that they have escaped from. If the have escaped from such a piece of equipment then the should be replace at once. The only reason I can think of for them being there is that someone put them there when the buses were being built."Oh look. We have 50 ball bearings left over. What shall I do with them?" Or "I hate bus drivers lets drop them in the roof space. It'll be impossible to get them out without ripping the bus apart."

So far I have, as have all the other drivers, put up with the noise made every time we go round a bend or slow down or speed up. As have the passengers, they, poor dears have to listen to them as well. A new twist on the Chinese Water Torture. It does begin to get me down a little. They add to the already existing stress, not in a way that I am likely to take a bus full of passengers up to Berry Head, place a brick on the accelerater pedal and jump out. No; some little way in which my passenger care standard is likely to fall slightly, snarling instead of saying good morning, sending them on a 34 instead of the 200 open top bus, giving them £8.05 in 5 pence pieces when they give me a ten pound note for a single to Paignton. That sort of thing.

So the other day went I took over a bus to start my duty I was a little put off when the balls started rolling as I moved away. For 4 hours 10 mins I gritted my teeth and waited for the roar as the moved about in the endless intermittent dance into eternity. I say eternity, but we can expect these buses to last at least 10 years and while that is no where near eternity it will begin to seem like it. Unless the fitters take pity on me and get rid of them. If they would let me I would do it myself. For free. All it needs is each bus parked on a slope, and there are plenty of slopes in our depot, and a small hole drilled in the corner of each roof panel and out they would come. We could send them back to TransBus where they came from. Bit of plastic stuck over the hole, good as new. Better. No More Chinese Ball Torture.

To cut a long story short, after my lunch break I went out again to complete my duty. I took over the bus at Regent Close and headed for Torquay. As I braked gentle for the lights at Shiphay lane I heard the sound of 100 000 buffalostampedingg across the Great Plains in a desperate attempt to escape the clutches of Bison Bill, a sound slightly more annoying than Radio Gemini, a sound calculated to make me reachin stantaneouslyy for the radio and demand an other bus. But I remembered what my mother always used to say, "If you are upset then count to ten before you do anything." So I counted to ten; took me about a second and a half. Then I explained carefully and carmly to the controller that if I didn't get an other bus in about 15 seconds then I would drive this one up to the scrape yard in Exeter and place it gently in the crusher, press the Red Button and watch it turn into a large suit case sized ball bearing. If there were any passengers on board as this happened was their hard luck. The controller being an understanding man promised me a replacement bus ASAP. OK, it did take an hour but at least I got rid of the balls.

The other thing that gets me down about these balls is this; in a week I take over 10 buses. All of these buses have been driven by other drivers, in some cases 3 or 4 other drivers. When I speak to them about the little round things they all say, "Oh yea, they're a right pain. Why don't they do something about them?" But when I look on the defect card that is carried round all day long on each bus no one has ever written,"Please get rid of the balls."

Except me that is.