Non-Fiction: Shuttle
Train of thought in shuttle from Hotel room to Charles De Gaulle Airport:
In Hotel Lobby waiting for 7pm shuttle. 6:40
Ah that man over at the counter is a shuttle driver, says so on his t-shirt, what a coincidence, or maybe it’s my shuttle, Yellow Bus Shuttles, was that the one I signed on for? Can’t remember, ah he said ‘Dixon’ to the receptionist, that’s me. Wow early, really early. What if I hadn’t been here, if I’d arrived back at ten to 7? No shuttle no plane? Collapse of plans? Massive expense. At least it didn’t come to that, but it was so close; that’s probably worth spending some time panicking about retrospectively.
Ok well, here we go, hmm he’s double parked on the main road, that’s cavalier, probably reflects on his driving skills. We’ll likely be in some kind of accident, Paris drivers are crazy. People always say that being in a car is much more dangerous than a plane to soothe fear of flying. Well this is it, I’m dealing with those odds. Yep, car crash definitely.
I wonder what kind of review process these drivers go through, is it like pizza delivery? “I’ve got a licence give me a job.” GPS machine suggests non-thorough knowledge of Paris streets, I mean this could be his first assignment. Ex-cons have to get jobs too, right? This seems like an ex-con kind of job.
And no-one else in the bus, I must be the first to be picked up. Would explain why he arrived so early.
“Are you picking up anyone else tonight?”
“No, straight to the airport.”
Ah ok, so no real comprehensible reason for a requested service to be 20 minutes earlier than appointed. Seems odd. Does this demonstrate a lack of experience or insufficient understanding of social norms? This guy is probably insane. I mean who drives an airport shuttle anyway, what kind of work is that? They’re not going through psychological and aptitude tests to ensure safety. But things always work out, right?
What about depression statistics, a lot of depressed people out there. One second of closed eyes contemplating the pointlessness of existence or the recently divorced partner and bang. Screeching collision with oncoming traffic as he is at peace with his destiny and mine is cut brutally short. I mean he’s driving an airport shuttle for Christ’s sake. That cannot be fulfilling.
Well I don’t know the way to Charles de Gaulle, how do I know he’s taking me there? And of course he knows I don’t know the way, I’m just a stupid rich tourist foreigner he’s seen a thousand times before. I think he murdered the shuttle driver, stole his clothes and found my name and location in the paperwork to be marked as the next victim. He had to get to me quick before the dispatch office realised something was wrong. Hmm. Maybe I can spot some signs that I’ll recognise from the original Airport to Hotel Route.
I mean I’ve done this before, so it should be a similar track. But everything does look the same, and even if he does take me all the way to the airport he could just keep on driving, keep right on going to nearby woods or a freezing river. Horrific torture followed by slit throat or gradual drowning. But I could take him right? I could totally take him, he’s not much bigger than me and I’d have the sheer terror fuelled, pumping adrenaline on my side.
But if that was his plan all along and if he killed the other guy he’ll have a weapon, if it’s a knife I think I’d be ok. The doors will be locked but I’ll just ignore the metal tearing through my flailing arms and gouge his eyes out if he threatens me, maybe even turn his weapon(s) against him. That would be unpleasant though. I wonder if it’s possible to kick him in the crotch if he’s still sitting in the driver’s seat.
Ah, a sign for Charles de Gaulle, that’s a relief I guess. How long until we arrive, I mean yeah, he could just keep on going, but if he was going to torture and kill me surely he would have just slipped off a lonely highway exit earlier on and done the deed.
What if he’s hoping I fall asleep? A lot of people must fall asleep on these trips, particularly if they’re by themselves, just a quick doze before a long flight. Wait for that moment of vulnerability when my eyes are closed and that’s the end of me. The end of my life dictated by an unlucky selection of shuttle bus company. My parents will be ringing my phone until the battery’s dead, friends will be assuming that Daniel’s having a wonderful holiday. The police will have to interview the receptionist at the hotel, the last person to see me, he was nice enough. Unless of course he contacted this murderous shuttle driver. What if they’re working together? I told the receptionist I was being picked up at 7, what if he called this guy to come early. The hotel had all my information including credit card details. Oh my god.
Oh we’ve arrived? He’s opening the door. Wait, is this the gare? Is this the train station? No airport, definitely airport. Well, that could have been worse.
