On the cold, grey afternoon that was Easter Monday, the family huddled together in the car as we waited on Bathurst Street for the bus from East London that was to bear eldest back to university in Stellenbosch.
On the cold, grey afternoon that was Easter Monday, the family huddled together in the car as we waited on Bathurst Street for the bus from East London that was to bear eldest back to university in Stellenbosch.
The area was well-nigh deserted, except for a smattering of other cars and small groups or individuals sheltering under the awnings of nearby buildings with their luggage, ostensibly there for the same purpose as we were. No cosy coffee-shop in sight, not even an enterprising little mobile kiosk or wagon to provide some warmth and sustenance during the wait.
And wait we did. The scheduled time of arrival for the bus, 3.40pm, came and went. As 4pm approached, I became a little anxious because we had an appointment to honour.
We sent word of the delay, but eventually decided that one member of the family would be dispatched to said appointment and the rest would remain behind to wait. Not generally how I would have chosen to spend precious time off on a public holiday, especially given the fact that Grahamstown had plummeted straight into winter without prior warning. Imagine the discomfort of the people waiting out in the freezing cold.
Around 5pm, a bus from the designated company arrived and we purposefully jumped out of the car, got the luggage out and joined the queue to embark. The wheels were finally set to roll.
To our dismay, we were informed that this was the first bus of two, and that only one passenger would be able to get on.
Needless to say it wasn’t our treasure. Our shoulders dropped and we trudged back to the car. I felt a little like the vultures in Bedknobs and Broomsticks who run on to the field excitedly with their stretcher when there’s an injury, only to skulk back dejectedly when it proves not to be serious.
The stewardess on the bus had muttered something about the roadworks holding them up. For over an hour – really?
The second bus arrived about 15 minutes later and by the time the large contingent of school pupils and their luggage had been offloaded, the bus departed a full two hours after the designated time. My son eventually arrived in Stellenbosch three-and-a-half hours late, and missed his first class. No doubt there were others who were similarly inconvenienced.
Sadly, this was not the first time it had happened, and it probably won’t be the last. What does it say about service orientation and our economy if the recognised mainline bus carriers can’t even run vaguely on time?
