A Miserable Business

A similar scene occurs every time I attempt to use public transport, and I know I’m not the only one who is guilty of using this carefully executed facade. My knees bend slightly inwards, I put on the best cute-and-innocent face that I can muster and my voice turns somewhat high-pitched, as I daringly ask for a child ticket. An excruciatingly tense pause follows, as I wait for the verdict: I’m hoping that they are the type of driver that does not care how old you are, as long as you don’t pay them with that £20 note. This is by far the best kind, but is becoming some what of an endangered species in this day and age. The second type is less compliant; he asks for your age. However, when you assure them that you ARE fifteen, they nod in agreement, too naive to think that you might actually not be telling the truth. The third type is a force to be reckoned with. Due to your inability to show them any ID, you end up forking out an extra £3 or walking home in the rain - usually the latter.

The point that I’m really trying to make here is that our generation seems to be suffering from a severe case of not-a-child-but-not-an-adult-either syndrome. And the circumstances where we are considered to be an adult are beyond our control. The need to have to pay adult prices on the bus should bring on a whole load of privileges, the vote for example, or preferably the right to purchase alcohol. It seems we are being taken advantage of, our apparently “disposable” income is being snapped up by those corporations that can get away with classing under 18’s as adults.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am certainly not promoting the idea of regressing back to our play school years, however tempting the thought of free milk and digestive biscuits may seem. In fact I take quite the opposite stance; I wouldn’t mind paying extra if it meant people would take us more seriously. I mean, we can’t even qualify for the full adult minimum wage until we are 21, and by that time most of us will have accumulated about £20,000 in dept. It seems the only privilege gained when you turn 16 is being charged extra for things. But don’t worry, there’s always that faint glimmer of hope when you buy your first lottery ticket! (Oh the irony).

I suppose this is simply a reflection of the world in which we now live, where freddos no longer cost just 10p - no doubt the era of the glorious 1p sweet is long over. And as for the Bristol bus service, it looks like we’re going nowhere fast - quite literally.