Although his head was stuck firmly between the doors of the bus, Will's first concern wasn’t to pull himself free, rather it was that he might drop his precious polystyrene plate of chips, soggy chicken burger and gravy, which he had queued diligently for twenty minutes previously.
Upon reflection, up until this point the evening had been reasonable ordinary; a couple of drinks with friends, followed by a couple more, followed by a ridiculous amount more and then chips, chicken burger, lashings of gravy, head stuck between doors of bus.
He hadn’t even had a single chip yet. No, he’d been conscientiously saving them for the late night bus journey home, a pleasure he allowed himself only once or twice a week.
Why was the driver doing this? Was he being malicious? Vindictive? Had years of taking abuse from drunken kids finally snapped him? Or had he simply not seen Will lean in to ask a question when he threw the switch to close the door before he began to pull away? To be fair, Will considered, it was as this precise moment in time a moot point at best.
Will’s pace was quickening now, and no matter how much he pulled, his head was jammed solid. The pain of course, was becoming unbearable, and despite screaming and banging on the side of the bus for the driver to open the door, no action was forth coming.
Ironically, this wasn’t the first time this had happened to Will.