Tomorrow

Tomorrow

Kevin stood at the bus stop. He was cold and tired. He could see the
number thirty eight disappear over the hill and he knew that he would
have to wait at least half an hour for the next one. Today, the whole
world was against him. He had been late in the morning for work and Mr
Worthing, had reprimanded him for setting a bad example to 'lower paid
elements in the work-force.' Kevin had tried to explain that it was
cuts in the public transport system that had caused his misdemeanour,
but Worthing wasn't satisfied.
'You haven't let me down Mr Gillies, You have let yourself and this
company down!!' His voice filled the tiny third floor office.
'Punctuality means efficiency. Do you understand, Mr Gillies?'

At lunchtime, Kevin told Doreen about what had happened and that he
would probably have a black mark on his personal file. When
redundancies came, he would be the first to go. Doreen nibbled her
sandwich and nodded politely. She was very patient. She offered to take
him out for a drink after work and talk about it further, but he had
ignored her request and without saying another word, he had walked out
of the canteen. She had asked him out many times before. Sometimes it
was for a drink, sometimes for dinner. He had always politely declined,
and the subject was changed. But today, Doreen's advances had seemed
tactless and vulgar. She never understood his problems. His career had
been all but ruined because of a ten minute delay on a bus that since
privatisation had refused to run to any known timetable, and all she
could think about was 'after work'. Kevin was furious. The only reason
he spoke to her at all was because they happened to be working in the
same place at approximately the same time. He hated the coincidence,
and he hated her more for relying on it. There was no room for Doreen
in Kevin's life and there never would be. She represented everything he
despised about the company and everything he despised about himself.
She was as much a fool as he was. Only he knew it and she didn't.

Kevin stood at the bus stop and cursed into the air. 'Fuck Mr Worthing,
fuck Doreen, fuck Longmuir Textiles and fuck Mrs Thatcher and this
fucking shite bus service'. His voice filled the street. The buildings
echoed in agreement. It was five below zero, but he didn't feel cold
any more. The outburst of abuse had warmed him. He suddenly felt alive
and defiant. For the first time all day, he began to think clearly.
Tomorrow changes would be made. He would be more assertive with Mr.
Worthing and he would go elsewhere for lunch.

He looked back along the road to see if there was any sign of his bus,
but the street was deserted. He stuffed his hands into his trouser
pockets and fumbled for change. He took out a handful of coins and
tried to count them under the streetlight, Two-fives, four-tens, five-
twos. He was five pence short. He counted them again, but he still
didn't have enough to pay his fare. A small wave of panic came over
him. What was he going to do? He couldn't walk. It was over five miles
through some of the roughest parts of Glasgow. He sighed and cursed
again. But this time it didn't help. He was stranded at a bus stop on
the wrong side of the city and all that separated him from the safety
and warmth of his flat was five pence. He almost laughed at the
absurdity of it but the cold was beginning to find its way through his
coat. He began to shiver as the street closed in around him. He had to
get out, get home before anything else happened. He had no option. He
was going to have to lie to the driver. The thought made him hesitate
for a second but he reassured himself.
'It's only five pence for Christ sake. If he notices, I'll cause a
scene and take his number. He'll probably let me on any way. How could
he refuse? It's too ridiculous to contemplate.' Kevin smiled, pleased
that he could get the better of the driver.
'It's the new me, in full glorious technicolour.'

After what seemed like an eternity, a number 38 finally made an
appearance. As the bus approached Kevin tried to see what the driver
looked like, check that he wasn't too much of a bruiser. But the cab
was too dark. The bus approached and slowed. It was now or never. The
bus stopped and the door swung open. Kevin stepped in, trying to
conceal his nervousness.
'Eighty please.'
He threw the coins into the machine. He was careful not to make eye
contact with the driver but the movement felt laboured. The driver,
unaware of the sting, pressed the button and the money was sucked into
the box below. Kevin had done it. He walked up the gangway, smug and
satisfied.
'Glorious technicolour.' he muttered.
As he was about to take his seat, he heard a voice from the front of
the bus.
'Oi.. Hey You!!'
Kevin turned and saw the driver's head sticking out of his steel cage.
He walked back.
'Yes?' he said, anticipating disaster and a long treacherous walk
home.
'Ye furgoat yer ticket.'
'Oh thanks.'
Kevin pulled the ticket from the machine and took a seat at the back of
the lower deck.

When the bus reached the city centre, it stopped to pick up a few more
passengers. Among them was a tall man, wearing a large black crombie
and a checked deerstalker that sat squint on his head. He stood in the
doorway of the bus for some time as he tried to dig change out of every
pocket. Finally, he mumbled to the driver and threw some coins into the
box. One of the coins clacked off the box and fell onto the steps of
the bus.
'One moment if you please sir, I'll get it.' The man's speech was
slurred with drink, but the accent was refined. He staggered about,
almost falling, until he spotted the wayward coin.
'There you are my man.' He picked up the coin and threw it into the
machine. He gestured with his arms as though giving himself a round of
applause for his apparent precise aim. But the driver grabbed his
wayward arm, preventing him from taking a seat.
'Ye drapped a fuckin ten pence oan the flair... an ye oanli pit a five
in the boax. Ah need anithir five.'
'I can assure you sir,' said the drunk calmly and now with clear
articulation, 'it was a ten pence that I misplaced from your machine
and it was a ten pence that I drapped.'
On the last word he imitated the driver's rough brogue.
'It wiz a fuckin' five. Ur yoo arguin' wae me? If ye dinnae pit in
anithir five, I'll throw ye aff the fuckin bus. Is that cleer? Whit's
it tae be?'
The drunk ignored the driver's abuse, broke free from his grip, and
took a seat. The bus stopped and the driver leapt from his cage. He ran
up the gangway and stood over the drunk, his fists clenched.
'Right... aff. Get aff ma fuckin' bus. Ave hid inuff o you ignirunt
drunkin bastards the night. Git aff!!'
The drunk looked up at him smiling.
'I've got a two if that is any use to you. It's all I've got. Are you
going to throw me off the bus, or should I say, your bus for three
pence. That is pitiful. Pitiful.'
Kevin shuffled nervously in his seat. He reached down into his empty
pocket then thought the better of interfering. The driver picked up the
drunk by the collar of his crombie and dragged him down the aisle. The
drunk shouted in retaliation.
'This gentleman seems to think that he is a gangster, a gangland yob.
You're worse than the C.I.D. What is your number? I would like your
name and number!'
But the driver, now enraged, ignored his request and when he got him to
the door of the bus, threw him out onto the pavement. The drunk began
to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
'The man is power mad I tell you. Someone take his number. He's a
gangster, nothing but a small time hoodlum.'
With that, the driver leapt on top of him and began to punch him in the
face. He stood up, kicked him in the ribs and then spat on his
deerstalker that lay by his side. Some passengers on the bus began to
cheer.
'Gee him wan fur us, the durty rich piss artist', said an anonymous
little voice from the top deck. The driver climbed back into his cage
and drove off. As the bus pulled away, Kevin looked back and saw the
drunk stagger to his feet, wipe the muck off his crombie and replace
the deerstalker on his head. Just before the bus turned into Duke
Street, the drunk, now standing straight and tall, saluted the
departing vehicle.
'Tomorrow...' Kevin thought to himself,
'Tomorrow.'