As a young school boy with no bus pass, long before the days of Oyster cards, I was forced to pay for my frequent bus rides in cash. The bus drivers had a large float of small coins to ensure that they would have enough to give change. Rather more than they needed, I suspect. At the end of the day they had to count their change as part of their reconciliation. I can see that this wouldn't have been much fun; they certainly resented it with a vengeance. To reduce the amount of small change that they ended up with, they would give out as many small coins as they possibly could. Passengers such as myself didn't appreciate being given vast amounts of copper to carry around all day and tried to avoid this and give as much of it back as possible on the next journey. Thus were the change wars.
The bus drivers' main strength was that they could refuse to let you on the bus if you paid for your fare with too many coppers. I was threatened with this a few times and got used to gauging how many small coins I could get away with.
Oh, it was a happy day that I moved to London and got a Travelcard. But in Malta the change wars still rage.
The bus drivers here have attained a level of expertise way beyond that shown in Bracknell. Their first trick is that the fares are incorrectly advertised. The sign says that the fare will be 50 cents. Naive holiday makers hand over a 50 cent piece only to discover that the fare is 25 cents. There is a 25 cent coin in Malta and the drivers have vast numbers of them in their floats, but of course they wouldn't hand one over so lightly. The give an array of 2s and 1s to the flabbergasted holiday maker. I fell for this ruse completely the first time and as a veteran change war fighter I felt well and truly thrashed in the first round. But I hadn't given up.
The next few times my lack of fluency with Maltese coinage and my uncertainty of the exact fare left me at the mercy of the bus drivers. They wouldn't state the fare clearly either and would snarl at you for hesitating. So I'd end up giving a larger coin in panic or letting the driver pick out the coins in which case I'd be giving him carte blanche to deluge me in small change. So I continued to be beaten senseless.
After a while though I felt slightly more confident. I had a 25 cent coin at the ready. Ha! I thought, I may not be getting rid of much change but at least I won't get any back. But the driver was far too quick for me. 'It's 23 cents' he said and gave me a 2 cent coin back. I staggered to my seat beaten again.
On the return journey I was determined to fight like a man. I prepared 23 cents in small change. I got on the bus and lunged forward with a metaphorical stab to the heart with my 23 cents. But the driver was still too quick for me. He parried, then swung a mace at my head saying, 'The fare is 25 cents'. 'But it was 23 on the way here', I protested, realising that I was being defeated yet again. '25' he said flatly. It was a high-risk gambit on his part - what if I'd had the extra 2 cents? In fact, I found out later, I did. But he had the psychological upper hand. I didn't really believe I could beat him and I handed over a 25 cent piece, took back the original coins and staggered, blood-soaked, to my seat.
On the next journey I put on my finest armour, sharpened my sword and made a full-frontal attack with 25 cents in minor coinage. The driver was slightly shaken but managed a partial defence. 'The fare is 23 cents' he said, and gave me back 2 cents. But he took the rest.
Yes, I had a moderate victory, but I knew I was no match for these men in the longer term. The Maltese have fighting in their blood. Over the centuries they have withstood sieges from the world's most merciless warriors. I was resigned to failure. I got off the bus and bought a car.
I am now the proud owner of a Toyota Vitz.
I'm also feeling much better, by the way.
