A couple of weeks ago I inadvertently added my Stagecoach bus pass into the washing machine in what was otherwise a vain attempt to remove some of the accumulated grime matter from my jeans. This had a rather peculiar side affect for the forementioned bus pass.
Considering its treatment it initially survived pretty well with the print still legible even if it was slightly blurred. However, over time my photo smudged alarmingly to make my ID look like I was re-enacting the role of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. The benefit was this made my wispy baldness look like thick wavy locks!
I managed to avoid intense questioning from the drivers or a while but come last Wednesday I needed to renew the pass. Unfortunately my peephole photo was deemed unacceptable so I needed another. For this I was not financed, coming up 18p short of the staggering £4.00 needed by the nearby machine for a set of passport prints.
Later when I looked at suitable photos at home to butcher they were either of an inappropriate size or expression. There was one of me giving the V sign which would be hugely satisfying to brandish at unsuspecting bus drivers but I thought better of it.
I was still loathed to spend £4 so I cut out a picture of me from issue 13 of our company magazine in the hope it would be OK and to my immense surprise it was. I knew our vast collection of back issues would be useful for something.
Incidentally, while filling in the forms two Asian women approached the other member of the counter staff. An elderly lady explained through an interpreter that she felt that a driver’s decision not to stop for her was racially motivated and she wanted to make a complaint. For all I know she may be right but I have the same problems myself of buses not stopping for me several times a year so I very much doubt this was the reason.
Mind you, I was asked on the street for the second time recently whether I spoke English. I was born less than 10 miles from this spot buddy! Grrrrrrr!