Bus Drivers

While a bus driver is a bus driver, not all drivers are the same. When I rode the bus to Carrington Junior High in Durham, NC, I discovered that the teenager who drove our bus wasn't a bit like the soldiers who had driven my elementary school bus at Fort Shafter, HI. For the record, I sat near the front of the junior high bus and the party was in the back. Our driver's only problem with the party was that he could only watch the fun in the rear view mirror. That still left plenty of time to stop the bus long enough to steal construction signs from the side of the road. In contrast, the soldiers who drove the school bus at Fort Shafter followed the rules and never revealed to us what the nasty words meant that were scrawled onto the bench at the bus stop. For them, every day on school bus duty was one less day spent dodging booby-traps in Vietnamese jungles. With all of that bus experience, I wasn't surprised to find that Greyhound bus drivers aren't cookie-cutter copies. Lady in Red--the prison blind dater--groaned when she realized who was driving our bus from St. Louis to Nashville. "He's slow," she said. And she was right. We'd pull into a stop; Slow Driver would suggest that everyone not leaving the bus, remain on the bus; then the entire back third of the bus, including the two "service" dogs, would pile off for a lengthy smoke break. That changed when I switched buses in Nashville. Mr. Efficiency set the rules. When his bus stopped, the only passengers who left the bus were ones not coming back. Except for one 10-minute smoke break. When 10 minutes passed, Mr. Efficiency closed the door and hit the gas. "If you're not on the bus, raise your hand," he said. By then, the "service" dogs were on some other bus. So were the Amish. Good thing as it was plain that no last-minute dog sniff, no bonnet crisis and no half-finished cigarette comes between Mr. Efficiency and his route. A bus change in Chattanooga left me with Miss I'm In Charge. As I handed her my ticket, I advised Miss I'm Charge that my checked bag would need to be unloaded at the very next stop. She told me to mind my own business concerning how the bus got loaded. Then she glared at me when I pointed out my luggage to the bus loader so he'd know it was coming off the bus soon. Twenty minutes later the bus arrived in Cleveland. I got off the bus. Then the whole bus waited as Miss I'm In Charge searched three compartments before finding my bag. Like drivers, bus riders come in all shapes and sizes. I was Miss I'm In Charge's Know-It-All Passenger. But I also go by Smugly Satisfied. I wore my I Told You So grin while Miss I'm In Charge dug through the bags to find the one that should have been loaded last.