Mrs Womble Writes Again

Again we find ourselves the unintended recipients of a letter from Mrs Edna Womble. This time she writes to her local bus company.

Dear A-Plus Bus Company Ltd

It gives me no great pleasure to write this letter of complaint following the shocking abuse recently directed at me by the driver of the 42A to Grosvenor Road. The callous disregard and deplorable unprofessionalism with which she refused my perfectly reasonable desire to disembark at my requested stop was hardly mitigated by her shallow excuses that I'd 'got on the wrong bus' and that 'this bus doesn't go to Maybourne Avenue'.

Allow me to apprise you of the circumstances of this outrage. I was in town to buy a new hat for a forthcoming family gathering, the precise details of which should not presently concern you. Suffice it to say that a great deal rested on making a successful purchase as I had no intention of being outdone by cousin Kaitlyn again, like I had been at our Susie's christening.

As if these concerns weren't pressing enough, I also had my nephew in tow, a gifted young man prone to being easily diverted by shiny objects, moving vehicles and generously proportioned women.

It's no wonder, therefore, that I was sufficiently preoccupied with these various distractions to allow my concentration to slip long enough to board the wrong bus. Upon realising my mistake, some fifteen minutes later, I naturally asked the driver to make a minor detour - no more than four or five miles - and this was when my troubles began.

The driver refused. I don't know her name - she had a badge with a number on it, but quite honestly it's enough of an ordeal for me to remember the many passwords, pin numbers and log-ins that seemed to be a constant requirement of everyday life, so I'll be blowed if I'm going to start committing your staff to memory as well. Let's just say that she was a fat blonde woman with a lazy eye, a blotchy complexion and a cruel mouth, which I'm sure is more than sufficient detail for you to work it out for yourselves.

Anyway, she is obviously someone who revels in being spiteful and callous, as her behaviour towards me clearly demonstrated. She persisted in clinging to the tired defence that she couldn't deviate from her route because it would 'inconvenience the other passengers' - a dubious claim which I immediately put to the test by asking loudly if anyone minded a minor variation to our journey. Happily, it emerged that they had no objections whatsoever, if their embarrassed silence was anything to go by.

Nevertheless, your driver - whom I shall henceforth refer to as 'that stroppy cow' was unmoved by this touching exhibition of solidarity. By now I was livid. The blood was pounding through my head and there was a ringing in my ears that just wouldn't go away - mainly because it was occasioned by my nephew repeatedly pressing the stop button. This was not a disruptive act, I might add, rather a natural expression of his unique musical talent - but it was, nonetheless, getting on my wick, so I demanded that the driver stop the vehicle and let us off immediately.

My final act as I stood at the roadside was to express my dismay at her conduct and avow that I would never set foot on her bus again. And then, pausing only to step briefly back aboard to collect my nephew who was swinging from the handholds like a monkey, I stormed off in a huff.

While I am sure that you have every intention of making the appropriate reparation, you should know that by this time I was over six miles away from my house. I feel that this should be taken into consideration when calculating my compensation. Thank you.

Yours sincerely

Mrs Edna Womble

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