Thanks, Driver!

Maybe it's a cultural thing. Back in Welly, whenever I alighted from the bus, I would call out, "Thanks, driver!"

I guess it's because in Welly (and likewise, the rest of Kiwiland), bus drivers are not only responsible for getting you in more or less one undamaged piece to your destination, but they also collect your fare, count out and give you your change, and give you a ticket.

And when you're unsure about where you should alight, you can inform the driver, and s/he will stop at the right stop (even when nobody presses the bell) and call out for you to alight. This reason alone is enough to make my "thanks" and "cheers" heartfelt.

Here in Singapore, bus drivers work the doors and drive, and nobody ever thanks them. In my case - such as today - the lack of vocal appreciation is, I should think, very justified.

So there I was, after a pleasant lunch with Kel, after a jaunt around a decidedly boring China Square, a proudly kitschy Chinatown Point, and the crowded corral of Plaza Singapura, a little excited about finally visiting Little India.

At the bus stop outside the Dhoby Ghaut train station (not a single dhobi walla in sight, much less a ghat), I studied the bus route chart for a moment before deciding to put my trust in the driver.

Thus, when bus number 7 pulled up, I hopped on and asked the driver, "Does this bus go to Little India?"

He didn't even glance at me as he answered in a monotonous drone: "One-forty." (Meaning a dollar forty - for the fare.) With that, the doors closed ominously and with a rather fatalistic thump (that had an echo of finality) behind me and he pulled out of the bus bay.

What the fuck else could I have done? Scream and pound at the closed doors as the uncomprehending driver sped off? No. I'm a born and bred Singaporean; I don't do drama, I certainly do not make a scene: hence, I tapped my ez-link card and moved to the back of the bus.

I reasoned: the bus must go to Little India - after all, he told me the amount for the fare, which is sorta like an indirect answer to my question ... right?

Fuck no.

When the bus didn't turn where I thought it should, I had a bad feeling - you know, the sort you get but ignore when you find mussels going for dirt cheap and later find yourself worshipping by the toilet bowl and your walls decorated by projectile vomit - that sort of bad feeling?

A little anxiously, I turned to the girl (prolly younger than I am) standing next to me and asked her exactly what I'd asked the living-dead driver. She gave me a direct answer: "No."

When I appeared a little more agitated (I was inwardly cursing the driver), she was sweetly concerned, and asked if I had enough money to take another bus or a cab.

"You got on at Dhoby Ghaut, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"You should've taken a train to Little India," she said.

"I know," I whined, "but I wanted to take the bus." And inwardly cursed the driver some more.

Then my would-be rescuer-in-shining-armor had to alight and she apologized. Wow. Single-handedly, she'd polished the image of 'the typical Singaporean' I was carrying around to a brilliant luster.

The bane of the my day continued driving. Finally, when the bulk of the passengers alighted, I followed suit (I'm a born and bred Singaporean, after all) and found myself standing front of a sign screaming "Bugis Street" (nope, not a single transvestite in sight). As I alighted, I fought the impulse to holler, "Thanks for nothing, driver fucker!"

But no. I'm a born and bred Singaporean; I don't do confrontations. So I pulled out my phone, speed-dialed Jason's number, and when he picked up, howled, "How do I get to Little India from Bugis?"

He thought for a moment. "Uh ... you can actually walk from Bugis, but it's going to be a long walk." Pause. "Why are you at Bugis?"

Which was the straw that broke this camel's back. With wild gesticulations and my I'm-PMS-ing-tantrum, I shrieked out the blow-by-blow of why exactly I was at Bugis.

After expending my infuriation, I cut the line, and studied the bus route chart. It didn't give me any hope or confidence, so I asked a girl at the bus stop. She didn't know which bus would go to Little India either.

So when I, a walking sweat fountain, was about to give up and take a train home, I saw a bus I've never seen or known before: a CityBuzz service number C3 that would very conveniently take me from where I was to where exactly I wanted to be (the bus stop in front of Tekka Market). Goddess be thanked! (I knew my day couldn't be completely shit when my Devils had won at the Garden!)

The bus was blessedly air-conditioned and empty when I boarded, and when I alighted, for the very first time in my life in Singapore, I called out, "Thanks, driver!"

And it was heartfelt.



(22:13 SGT)