Guest Post: How Maxx Doesn't Really Mean 'Max' Anymore. An Open Letter.

When I say I'm moving to London, one of the few things that get mentioned is how AWESOME the public transport is. How waiting three minutes seems ridiculous. And that blows my mind a little, because in Auckland, the public transport is horrid. If your wait is a mere half hour, you should be happy. Well, I have this friend, Busta. And he wasn't so happy about the longer than half hour wait. Unfortunately Busta doesn't have a blog on which to post his Open Letter, so I'm posting it here. Oh Maxx, I really wish your service wasn't so dismal.

Dear Maxx customer service,

I'm currently sitting opposite the Glenfield Mall at stop B waiting for the Ritchies bus 131, scheduled to get here at 6:43pm. The time is now 7:21pm and still no bus. I know I didnt miss it since I've been waiting here after just missing the 131 bus that got here at 6:18pm, after madly flailing for the bus driver to pick me up. He didn't.

I know the bus exists since both your website, and the tagged sign, with a faint whiff of urine next to me, both say so. So I'm wondering why I'm still sitting on this hard, sticky bench, rather than the comfort of one of the hard, sticky seats on one of your buses.

At this point I would like to express my appreciation of you updating your website with many pretty pictures. It certainly makes searching for imaginary bus routes much more satisfying, and I never liked the functionality of being able to see the map of the route anyway.

Is it your policy to pull numbers out of your head, and hope by some miracle that a bus with that exact number turns up, at the right stop at the right time? By my calculations, the chances of that happening are the same as if a leprechaun came and danced a jig infront of me right now, and then kicked me in the nuts for good measure, which I must say, would be a lot more fun than what I'm currently doing, as at least then I could say that I've been kicked in the nuts by a leprechaun.

If, in the future, you could provide something close to the service you promise I would be in your debt and may even share with you my prized black jellybean collection. My wife has just arrived. I called her and explained I'm trapped in some corner of hell reserved for waiting for public transport, and being called by a telemarketer while a really good episode of Shortland Street is on. I think I'll stick with relying on her at the moment, because unlike Maxx, she actually picks me up when she says she will.

Final count, 7:38, no bus.