>After I had checked the online job sites I decided to toodle off to the dole office to hand in my blue card and in return, the lovely people there will pay me. That’s a pretty decent deal, in my opinion, it’s just getting there and back that has always been a pain in the neck.
It’s all quite straightforward, really. I go along our little footpath, dodging the fairies and pixies and any possible form of faeces, cross over the road and wait for the number 830 de lijn bus that takes me past houses, the industrial site that houses IKEA and into Zaventem. There, I jump off, run across the road and am usually back in time for the next bus back.
This time though, I had to wait quite a bit for my bus and despite having raided every single pocket in the house for change, could only hand over a €20 note. I knew that wouldn’t go down well, but the driver asked if any of the other passengers had change for my note and I was duly saved. The driver even smiled at me. On the way back to the bus stop, after having deposited my blue card at the dole centre, I needed to get out some money, so I hovered over a hole-in-the-wall, grabbed my money and card only to see my bus go by. The next one wasn’t for a while so I waited next to a crowd of excited north Africans who had just been shopping, and steadily, the queue got longer.
Finally, the bus arrived and I hopped on, clutching a €5 note. It was the same bus driver – but hey, this has happened before on my jaunts to Zaventem, and I went to hand over my money.
“Do you still have your other ticket, Madame?”
“Err, oui, why – is it valid for an hour?”
“Mais oui – an hour and twenty minutes. Let’s see.”
And yes, I was well within my limit, just like every other time when I have offered to use the same ticket that I bought to get there but have been told that I have to buy a new ticket. I wanted to kiss the driver, but he had a moustache.
Belgium’s de lijn: I feel robbed.
