Sleeper Bus

So, here was the writing exercise:
'Write about an everyday experience from the point of view of a ‘community’ that you are a member off (national, physical, religious, class, political, industrial).'

And here's my take! 

The Laos / Vietnam Border

 
Sleeper Bus


We’re all pushed into a corner of course, the foreigners. The one nearest to the toilet and furthest away from the fire exits. I was woken up last night by a mouse crawling in my hair, no doubt trying to get at my curry-crab flavoured crisps. As I tried to get back to sleep I watched a large cockroach sauntering across the head rest in front, it paused to pose, silhouetted heroically in the moonlight.

At dawn the next morning, after the bureaucratic hoop jumps, I climbed back into my bed, tucking my newly stamped passport into my money belt. I couldn’t stretch out of course, anyone over 5’8 is viewed as a giant round here. We all had our crosses to bear. Mine was an energetic local woman who kept flicking my face with her hair when she leant over me to adjust the curtain with her umbrella. Something she liked to do a lot. We’d been on this bus for sixteen hours already, imodium-ed up the eyeballs and rapidly losing patience.

Suddenly, from the front of the bus came a commotion. The driver was heading straight for us, the white corner, gesticulating insanely and pointing at each of us in turn. We looked blankly at each other, and then at him. He got louder. Other passengers around us began pointing at us, then the border, then at us. It made no sense.

He started pulling us from our seats. We climbed down, filed out of the bus and stood there in the dust. Then, with no warning, the door closed and he drove off. All of about twenty metres over the border. After screeching to a halt, he opened the door and started screaming back at us, motioning for us to get back on, cursing us in Vietnamese for jogging too slow. We got back on the bus and squeezed back into our seats. The bus drove on.

The Only Way is Essex or Some Shit Like That

So, our writing exercise over reading week was this:

'Write about something you have a very strong opinion on from a neutral point of view.'

 

So, it turns out I'm not very good at being un-opinionated...

 

 

The Only Way is Essex

 

I suppose they do contribute something to society, even if it is just how to get the perfect scouse brow or championing completely unnecessary breast implants. They show that just about anyone can become famous, proving you don’t really need to go to school, or work to better yourself. It's all lying there waiting for you, if you'll sufficiently compromise your dignity. So, they become living beacons of glitter for all the kids who doubted it was possible to become successful by achieving barely anything.

 

“Look at me,” they say, “I can just about string a sentence together and, at 25, I’ve just released my autobiography. It’s called ‘Dreams’ or ‘Dreaming’ or something”. Or “I achieved fame by getting really fat and then thin again and then fat and then thin. I hope to reach the dizzying heights of getting my tits out for Nuts magazine, and then one day fulfilling my life-long dream of getting drunk and then pissing the bed on celebrity Big Brother.”

 

They are the pied pipers of the entitled generation, working hard to stamp the notion of ‘It’s ok to be yourself’ and ‘It’s what on the inside that counts’. I can hear them now, clattering all over the feminist movement in their debilitating stilettos, flashing the highest bidder.