The bus journey from hell

Teen Times: Cheap, convenient and environmentally friendly. What's not to love about our bus service? Hmm . . . Where to start? Here are the numbers. To go into town: 10-minute walk to stop, at least 10-minute wait and 20-minute "scenic" route before Cork's Merchants Quay appears. Total: 40 minutes minimum. Walking: 20 minutes.

I know you're thinking, and can hear your Mam saying, God gave you legs for a reason. Unfortunately he also makes it rain practically every second day, so the public transport option is occasionally necessary.

Inconvenience aside, there's no hiding the fact that the bus service is reserved for the young, the old and the downright scary. Ask any schoolgirl who uses the bus and I guarantee she'll have terror stories. On mine it's a man in his mid-20s, let's call him Jimmy. Now poor Jimmy is a few stops short of the station . . . However that's no comfort when he stares at you, or more accurately your legs, for an entire journey.

Someone stroked my hair in town yesterday. Presuming it was a friend I whirled around smiling - to be faced with a disturbing look on the face of an old man. I screamed, receiving flashbacks of a similar incident with him a while back. Return of the phantom hair-stroker! Can you guess his favoured means of transportation? Of course, our very own Bus Éireann.

Jokes aside, my worst experience occurred returning from Uisce, an Irish College in Mayo, in August 2005. The nine-hour trip was worth it, but the last leg of the journey made me wonder. At that stage, two clearly intoxicated couples boarded, Dutch Gold in hand. They certainly made their presence known, emphasised by the silence of every other passenger. Initially it was merely drunken mumbling. Then the atmosphere changed. One "lady" dragged herself into the aisle, shouting abuse at random.

Suddenly she spotted a black couple and their perfectly behaved children, silent among the commotion. "Niggers," she slurred. "Stupid f**king niggers." I felt physically sick. Even more so when not one person defended them. Worst

of all, like every other coward, neither did I.

Racism's dead? Not on our buses. These people weren't thrown off. No garda awaited their arrival.

On our return from Uisce this August, guess who stumbled on again? But this time a garda had actually escorted them to the bus. "Just get them back," the garda ordered. Nothing like dumping the drunk and disorderly in a confined space with the public. Surely our bus service should be a privilege that can be taken away if abused. What appals me is that this probably happens not yearly but weekly or even daily.

Now I'm extremely fortunate. I'm driven to school almost every day and can walk home. The convenience appeals to my lazy side and it's nice to keep your faith in humanity intact first thing in the morning. However, when we move house this month it'll be the bus service for me. Driving lessons for Christmas it is, then. If only everyone could be so lucky.

Sarah Gallagher (16) is in fifth year at Scoil Mhuire, Cork

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