Stairs on wheels

The bus was packed. I will never, I thought, get a seat. I will just never get one. I will be standing the whole way, silently hating all these smug strangers with their bums on slightly sticky, uncomfortable seats. 

I stood at the bottom of the staircase, a fat lady and a businessman came down meant  that there would be a seat for me, a place for me to be happy, to silently love all my fellow passengers and wish them well for their days. As I climbed I began wondering, as I often do, about how many people a day fall down the stairs on double decker buses.

I found a seat by a window that was dripping with the heat of the daily commute. Sometimes when I'm feeling woozy on the top deck I fixate on the inevitable and dangerous descent that awaits me when I arrive at my stop.

'Please don't fall' I prey 'It will be painful, but mostly embarrassing and I will have to pretend I did it on purpose' A bit like when you see someone stumble in the street and then the stumble evolves into a small jog as if this was the stumble-ee's intention all along and their stumbling was by way of a small warm up before the real spurt of activity. 

If one was at school and the only way to get to class was to go up and down stairs that were on wheels that stopped abruptly without warning, the parents would have doubts about the education provided and worry about the danger posed by their child's perilous journey to the classroom. The health and safety lobby would be making banners saying "Our children are in danger, ban the mobile staircases. No!". 

But for some reason this insane practise on a bus is ok. I have never seen anyone fall down the stairs, but I think that's by luck, not design. One day 700 people will fall down different staircases across the length and breadth of the bus network and then London transport will have to replace the stairs with elevators. And that would be cool, until people got stuck in them and they would be banned too.