Yes, the Big Green Bus.

Dublin Public Transport is a pretty miserable state of affairs. Two Tram lines; one north south, one east west. Neither connected the train network. Nothing going to the Airport.

But of course, all the money saved has been recycled into a top notch bus service, with smooth, efficient, regualr cheap services, interconnected with major and minor hubs and the trams and trains, Yes, you might think that. You would be wrong, but forgiven for thinking it.

The Green Bus is Dublins answer to Public Transport. A 25 year old, diesel puffer, belching it’s way through the city. Being a coach, there are six steep steps to get up and in. User friendly and accessible this is not. Walking stick or mobility impared ? Forget it. Wheel chair accessible ? You have to be kidding. I do not know how one is supposed to use public transport in Dublin if one has mobility imparement.

Then there is the concept of waiting.

In the infinite expanse of the cosmos, where the stars hum lullabies to wandering planets and the universe itself is but a cosmic joke waiting to be unpacked, there exists a most peculiar artifact: the bus timetable. Not merely a cold, unfeeling schedule of departures and arrivals, but a work of fiction so profound that it makes the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy look like a train timetable for a station that doesn’t exist.

The timetable is a lie wrapped in bureaucracy, a dream sold by a man in a stained uniform and a narrative of hope and despair that unfolds every time a traveler stands at a bus stop, clutching a crumpled piece of paper that promises salvation at 14:37; if, of course, the bus hasn’t been cancelled due to budget cuts, hijacked by aliens, or replaced by an app that doesn’t work.

The bus timetable is a choose-your-own-adventure story where the only wrong choice is showing up on time. It is a tragedy in three acts: Act 1, the euphoria of planning a journey; Act 2, the crushing reality of waiting; and Act 3, the existential dread of realizing you could have walked.

And yet, we cling to it like a life preserver in a sea of uncertainty, because what is life if not a series of faith-based transactions with the universe? The timetable, in all its ink-stained glory, is the universe’s way of saying: “Here, hold this. It’s important. Also, it’s probably wrong.” And yet, we board anyway, because somewhere, in the fine print of existence, it might just be true.

And for the Green Bus pretending to be Public Transport in Dublin, the one that can be guarenteed, with 100% certaintly, is that the time of departure writton on the timetable, is the one time that it is impossible for the Bus to depart. This is Dublin Public Transport.