Recently, I decided to get a Manchester City jersey. I’m a big fan, and I had saved enough air miles to get it for free, so I planned to go after my dinner. I set out around 8.40pm, estimating that if I took bus 56, I should arrive at Madinat Zayed before 9.30pm: I was so sure on my planning that I never considered taking a cab.

At the bus stop opposite my building, I sat beside a worker who had already been waiting for bus 56 for 15 minutes. It was a good sign; I wouldn’t have long to wait in the scorching heat.

25 minutes passed. 2,500 cars had sped past. 250 cabs stopped to ask if I wanted a ride, but not a single bus passed from either direction. It felt like I had travelled back in time to 2004 when Abu Dhabi didn’t have a public transport system.

After 35 minutes, bus 54 appeared. Taking bus 54 would mean I would have to get off at the central bus stand and walk all the way to Madinat Zayed. Furthermore, bus 54 was solely responsible for a very unpleasant lecture I once received from my school teachers about punctuality and I’ve since taken an oath to never ride bus 54 again.

The waiting worker and I agreed – not even the air conditioning could compel us to get on bus 54.

At 9.25pm, bus 34 finally arrived to free me of my midlife crisis. Ok, I’m only 14 years old, but I’d been waiting for 45 minutes, wasting my life doing nothing – it felt like a crisis to me.

Taking bus 34 would also mean a long walk, but by that time I didn’t care. I gave the worker a look as if to say “see you later, sucker” and jumped through the first door, sweaty dirham in hand.

At 10.05pm, I finally arrived at Madinat Zayed having never seen bus 56. Even worse, since it was a Friday during Ramadan, by the time I got there, the store was already closed, so I still don’t have my jersey.

I guess I’ll just have to keep waiting for that bus 56. If my mission isn’t considered true dedication and support to my beloved Manchester City team, I don’t know what it is.

 

By Syed Fasiuddin