So the other day I didn’t have school on a random Tuesday and as my alarm clock went off (I forgot to turn it off the night before), a thought crossed my mind. What do bus drivers do when no one gets on the bus? I mean even in a busy city, there is most likely at least one time when a bus driver is just driving an empty bus. Have you ever seen those selfies people take in an empty bus with the caption #foreveralone? Imagine how the bus driver feels when they are the only ones on a bus.
I wonder what thoughts go through their head? Do they ponder the futility of their job- ferrying around a giant bus with no one inside but themselves? Or do they hope for someone to get on at the next stop? Do they like the silence; refuge from the loud vacuousness of people’s lives?
Honestly, although I am eternally grateful to bus drivers (except when they make me late for school), I have no clue what goes on in their heads. Just like I have no idea what’s going on in your’s right now. I mean, I can take an educated guess that you’re wondering what the heck this has to do with the title of this post, but I have no control over what you choose to think. On that note, I’m going to take an educated guess on what goes through the brain of a bus driver when confronted with an empty bus.
The aroma of frying bacon drifts into my nose. Along with the smell of nicotine that signals it’s time to join my mother for our morning smoke. I throw off the covers and roll out of bed, grunting as I bend over to pick up my uniform. Wow. Good thing I don’t work out or my joints would be in even worse shape. I change and walk out of my bedroom to the dingy bathroom I share with my mother. I pull the string next to the mirror and a fluorescent bulb flickers to life. I look at myself in the mirror. Could be worse, I think as I take the shaving cream I bought at the dollar store and slather it on my face.
After I’m done shaving, I walk into our kitchen, which consists of a stove, a microwave, one frying pan, one pot, and a sink. The frying pan is currently being used to fry up bacon to go with the pile of eggs on the counter. People tell me I should watch what I eat or I’ll get a heart attack. I just prefer to enjoy my food, seeing as I’ll be gone one day or another.
As I sit down, my mother looks me over. She hands me a lighter and then we eat and smoke in silence. After we finish eating she looks at me, stands up, wipes some bacon grease from my face, and kisses the top of my head. She tells me the same thing she does every morning, albeit perhaps with a little more feeling then usual. “Look at my big boy, you’re all grown up! With a job as good as a bus driver too! I know that bus drivers don’t get much credit, but they should, because without you, the entire infrastructure will fall apart! No matter what happens today, remember that you are doing a public service, and I will always love you.” Then she hands me my keys and ushers me out the door.
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I love my bus. It doesn’t look like much. In fact, it looks exactly like the other 199 buses parked in this lot, but I don’t care. She is MY bus. I’ve had her since she was new, with shiny windows and a strong brakes and an electricity aided steering wheel. Today, she is a little more beat up, but still the same old Lucy. That’s her name, after my crush throughout high school. Sadly, I don’t think she knew my name, but my bus sure does because it’s printed on a document on the dashboard.
Do I like my job?Well of course I do! I mean sometimes it can be a little frustrating, but that’s true for any job, right? For example, there was this one time when a skate punk got on the bus and made a fuss. When I said he has to pay, he reached into his pocket and dropped something inside my hand. It was a lit joint, and it burnt my hand so badly I had to go to the hospital. And he never did pay for the ride. Then just recently, a sweet looking girl asked me how to get downtown, and I told her that this bus goes there, and when to get off and such. Then a young man stopped her and said loudly, “Yeah, this bus goes there but it takes wayyyy longer than the 43! You should take that. The only reason why he wanted you to take this one is because he’s a pervy old man.” So that one stung. I was honestly just trying to be helpful.
Anyways, today felt like a good day. The sun was out, and things seemed to be going my way. I got on Lucy and backed out of the lot, following the route I had done thousands of times in my ten years as a bus driver. I liked this drive to the first stop, as it was the only time in the day when I got to be alone with my thoughts. My rout was one of the busiest in the city, and I had never had an empty bus between stops. I should know better than to think like that, because at my first stop, usually my busiest one, only two people stand waiting. One is the skate punk, and one is a lady talking on the phone. They both get on, the punk boarding at the back and “forgetting” to pay, and the lady absently pressing her wallet to the sensor. A beep follows, and the electronic transaction is complete. Even though the entire bus is empty, the lady stands up and is basically yelling on her phone. She must have been an arguing with her significant other, because there was a lot of talk about that “other woman.” How nice it is not to be in a relationship. At the next stop, more people get on. They are all preoccupied with one thing or another, and I begin to get annoyed. Can they not see that it is a beautiful day, and that they should be grateful for the fact that they are surrounded by people, not this claustrophobic box that surrounds me. Okay, so I lied. I hate my job.
As I drove that bus on my tenth anniversary as a bus driver, I had had enough. It was time to teach these ungrateful, vacuous, plastic people a lesson they wouldn’t ever forget.
To Be Continued…
Just a Tumbleweed 