Who'd have expected a Mexican standoff in Spain? Ok, so none of us were armed, I hope, but we stood in what can only be called a quasi-semi-circle, our bags in hand, staring at the bus.
The driver had opened the door, turned on the lights, opened the luggage area, and climbed down from the coach. There he stood, looking at no one and nothing in particular and sucking on the collar of his coat like a nervous five-year-old.
He looked at us. We looked at him. I turned to J. "Why are we standing? Is he going to give some sort of signal that he's ready?" J. said he assumed so. Five minutes can be a long time.
At the end of those minutes, a blond woman who'd been standing, confused alongside us, walked up to the driver and wordlessly handed him her ticket. He nodded in a practiced way and she boarded.
"What an ass wipe!" J. said.