The Taking of B'ham 123: The Perils of Commuting into Birmingham

Birmingham is an easy commute into by bus. But when Will McGuire is confronted by an unhinged passenger, he learns why so many choose to drive instead.

The red double-decker bus turns onto our street. The number 9 is neon lit in the top corner. ‘Perfect.’ 

We are on a test run to see how I get to my new job in Birmingham central from Halesowen.

As Jen and I step aboard, I notice the driver is shielded behind bulletproof glass.

‘Two to Birmingham.’ I slot in a fiver.

A ticket snakes out the side. With a hiss the doors close and the driver spins the wheel.

‘Excuse me, Sir.’ I clear my throat ‘I think you owe me about fifty pee?’

‘Don’t give change, mate.’

‘No change?’ I don’t believe it.

Jen urges me along. ‘You’re in Brum now, Will.’ 
I puff up my chest. ‘He’s lucky he’s behind all that glass.’

She directs me up the stairs to the top level and then to a seat at the front. She explains that the back of the bus is reserved for axe murderers and drug dealers. I flick a nervous glance behind, my chest deflating.

The bus takes us all along the Hagley Road. Once in the city, we teeter back down the stairs and Jen asks the driver which stop is best for me. His answer is interrupted by a black man rapping loudly from the middle of the bus. He has a cap over his head, shadowing his eyes, and a hulky frame that fills the whole aisle. 

Is he busking? I wonder. He won't collect much, the driver doesn't give back any change!

The Hulk cackles with laughter. The other passengers clutch their bags and turn away.

I realize, he's not a busker – he’s a crazy! And just after I was told that the loonies had to sit at the back!

His mood spins as he drops into a seat and begins to sob. ‘I’m so sorry!’ 
I feel like someone should pat his shoulder... like someone else.

The apology is short lived. He jumps back on his feet, shouting at us. This is what happens when you get short changed by the bus driver, you go insane with rage. I’ve got a mind to start yelling myself.

The Hulk scans for someone to pick on. No one dares catch his stare. But I know he will talk to me. Crazy people always want to talk to me. And just as I expect, something wicked lumbers my way.

The bus pulls up at a stop. A queue forms as one passenger wants a complicated bus pass. I mentally will the passenger to hurry up. 

Beside me, the Hulk wets his chops like a starving Rottweiler about to be served dinner. 

The passenger is now counting out money from his wallet, paying all in pennies, making sure his change is exactly right. 

Hot breath beats against the side of my face. I pick up a flier and stare at it as intently as possible. Perhaps if I look too deeply involved he won’t want to disturb me. 

Passenger Purse-Strings finally gets on, grinning that he hasn't paid one penny too much. The driver tells us our stop is next.  

We just need to survive till then.

‘Whatchu want, man?’ The Hulk asks me.

I look up, feigning surprise, as if noticing him for the first time. ‘Huh?’

He points to the flier with a trembling finger, scratching at himself and fidgeting.

‘Oh just-’ I turn over the flier to see what I’ve been reading ‘-studying the bus route changes.’

His milky blue eyes narrow into slits.

‘Between May and June,’ I add.

‘Oh. Thought you might ‘ave been going to like Dig-biff or summat?’

The coach station in Digbeth is Birmingham’s main bus port, unfortunately situated in the middle of its worst neighbourhood. Commuters use the station as a refuge to escape the loiterers and general undesirables circling outside, looking to pick off weary travellers. A tour through the back streets of Digbeth with this guide is tantamount to murder.

‘Er nah just going to the thing – over those ways.’ I decide a vague, non committed answer is the best. I don’t want him to know the route I plan to take every morning.

He peers around me for a better look at Jen, his slit eyes gaze her up and down. I mirror with my own head to block his view. He stiffens, and his mouth gapes as if smacked. His brow scrunches up and he storms off, parting through the busy aisle like Moses, with alarmed passengers lunging out of his way.

‘He acts like I can’t talk to his woman!’ He roars, pointing a finger at me. But instead of inciting outrage from the crowd, there is just a stricken silence.

‘But he don’t know - I’mma stomp him!’ He stamps his foot and paces the aisle, his nostrils flare as he works himself up. Passengers hug the sides of the bus, hoping not to get my blood on their new suits. I wonder if the driver’s seat can fit two more behind that glass wall. Forget bulletproof – I hope it's Hulk-proof!

Will I really be riding with this guy every morning?

He points his finger at me again. ‘Then... I’mma kill him!’

The bus pulls over. ‘This is your stop,’ the driver tells us.

I don’t wait for the doors to finish opening before I push Jen through and clamber out behind her. I look back to see if he's following. But the doors shut and the bus trundles on.

‘You know what Jen? I think I'd rather drive.’