The Midnight Bus: Five Rowdy Revelers, a No-Nonsense Conductor, and an Unforgettable Night on the Ou…

The Night Bus

The doors of the double-decker bus folded open with a hiss, sending a wave of warm air rolling out into the chilly night. A pack of five rowdy lads tumbled aboard, their muddy shoes thudding against steps, handrails, and even a few unlucky passengers legs.

Most of those on board, drawn together by Londons only late-night bus, chose not to challenge the drunken energy of the newcomers. The boisterous group, wild-eyed and full of drink, loudly debated how best to spend the rest of their night out, each trying to outshout the others with ribald stories and crude jokes. Every outburst of laughter was punctuated with a toast as they knocked the bottoms of their cans together, establishing their own impromptu pub at the back of the bus.

With a mechanical clatter, the doors sealed shut, and the bus rumbled away from the quiet curb. Including the new arrivals, barely a dozen people sat scattered about, along with the conductora tired woman with glasses whose frames predated any of the lads.

She rose and approached the group, her hand gripping a roll of tickets.

Evening, gentlemen. Fares, please, she said, her voice weary and unamused.

Oyster card, burped one.

Same here!

Got mine as well! shouted anotherhe looked barely out of school, with an awkward fluff of blond hair and unsure movements. Yet in his mates company he played the brashest, shouting over the rest to prove his place.

Lets see them, then, the conductor replied, unimpressed.

You show yours first! sneered the biggest lad, miming a tearful face.

Im the conductor, she answered evenly.

And Im an electrician! Dyou reckon I get free leccy, then? retorted the burliest, beer trickling out the bottom of his battered can onto his jacket and filling the air with a sour tang.

You either pay, or you can get off, lads.

At that, the bus lurched to a halt, and the remaining passengers silently exited into the darkness outside.

We told you, weve got travelcards, the youngest squawked, puffing his chest out.

Sandra, lets head for the depot! the conductor called to the driver.

Aye, Sandra, depot it is! the boys parroted, fake tears streaming down their faces as they wiped imaginary eyes.

The doors closed once more, and the bus spun a slow turn, picking up speed. The group kept laughing for a moment, until the steadiest among them finally asked:

Howd the bus just turn around in the road if its meant to follow its route? With genuine curiosity, he met blank stares from his matesno one cared for the detail.

The bus quickly gathered pace, engines roaring, somehow overtaking cars on the darkened roads. The lights dimmed and flickered, some dying altogether. Now the only illumination came from the citys distant lampposts and neon shopfronts. The conductor sat quietly, stoic, facing forward. There were no more stops.

Oi! Where are we headed, driver? finally called one, concern creeping in as their bravado gave way to sobriety.

No answer.

Stop the bus! We want off! Another voice cracked, all bluster spent.

The conductor didnt so much as glance over.

As Londons streets faded behind, the bus barreled down a pitch-black country lane. Inside, the boys pulled out their phones, only to find No Signal glaring back at them, Facebook frozen in limbo.

They passed fields, and then one of the group lunged at the conductor.

Do you know who I am? If Im not at work tomorrow, youll regret it! he threatened, desperate.

At those words, the headlights clicked off, plunging the bus into deeper shadow.

Please, let me out! I’ve got exams to revise for! the youngest squeaked, near tears.

The bus thundered on, tearing through the still night. Completely sobered, trembling, the lads racked their memories for hostage escape tips. They tried smashing a window with empty cans, yanking at the doors, clawing with their hands until fingernails bent. Nothing worked.

Eventually, they reached for their wallets.

Here, keep the change! Please, take us back to town! they pleaded, waving £20 notes.

The conductor remained unmoved, staring straight ahead as their frantic apologies and appeals dissolved into tearful desperation. The bus rumbled onwards until it screeched to a stop by a vast, moonlit lakethe sort you only find in English ghost stories.

Where are we? whispered one.

Theyre going to drown us, whimpered the youngest.

Tom, do you know how to drive a bus? We need to do something! moaned another, hope flickering and dying as Tom shook his head.

Suddenly, the front door swung open and the conductor stepped outside. In the moons glow, her figure flashed past the drivers cab. The boys saw a long object in her hand.

Thats it Shes got a gun. Or a spade. Were finished, sobbed the electrician, the group speechless.

A second later, the lights flicked on and the conductor returned, boots tapping crisply. In her hands were a mop and a bucket. She set them down in front of the shivering group and smiled lightly.

When youve mopped the walls, I’ll pass you cloths for the seats and floor. Then well head home. Any complaints?

The five lads shook their heads in perfect unison.

The night stretched endlessly. They split into teamstwo fetched water, one swapped cloths, two emptied greasy buckets into an old iron trough that seemed to have always been there. Surely, this wasnt the buss first trip to the lake.

As dawn broke, the bus gleamed, even the glass sparkling like new. The boys, now stone-cold sober, cleaned in silence, working together as a team. When finally finished, the conductor stamped their tickets and settled them in as the bus rolled back towards London. The nights rebels were dropped off at their stops one by one, and the bus returned to its usual routeready to meet another day and more passengers.

Sometimes it takes a long night and a bucket of suds to teach respect, remind you were all riding together, and show that dignity, like a clean seat, is only worth as much as the effort you put in.