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.