The times that are written on the post next to the shelter are inefficient. The driver reads them; 'pfft. Timetable! I laugh in your face. My middle name is keeps-on-time. Watch? What's them?'
They run early or late, depending on their mood. Don't even try and tell me it's the traffic! I get on that bus and I can see what's come before and if there is traffic, we will catch it up.
When it comes too early, you run, dragging your coat behind you. When it arrives late, you stand with your thirty books in your bag on your shoulder. In the freezing cold.
Or, as happened this afternoon, your friends are running and you are hoffing it as fast as you can. They get on, show their passes and the driver pulls away. It's almost like he's giving you the finger.