In a small town you can get away with behavior that would never be accepted in a city. When I told a friend about the bus experiences I had in a small Florida town, she said that in New York City, the passengers would not have let the bus drivers do that. That is not exactly what she said, but I omit all references to physical violence.
Once upon a time, I was using the local bus for transportation. I had experienced a car accident and was planning to give myself a rest before getting back to driving. If this sounds like a fairy tale—it is. The reality of having destroyed a car that I couldn’t afford to replace is not something to put in print. The fact that I no longer had a car and had waved goodbye to my underinsured vehicle from the other side of a junkyard fence is sad, sad, sad.
Always an optimist, I welcomed the opportunity to relax and not drive. I did not consider that this relaxation would include waiting on the bus while the driver ran into McDonalds to pick up his breakfast which he thoughtfully chose to bring back in a little bag, and not eat inside. The first time this happened, I looked around in confusion hoping that the other passengers might share my disbelief and offer some support to my conclusion that this is not appropriate bus driver behavior. My teacher training has taught me to use terms like, ‘inappropriate behavior’ as opposed to, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” The other passengers sat patiently, and if they saw my expression of disbelief they looked away, mildly embarrassed. I was the newcomer; they had been putting up with this for years and after all, he is the bus driver.
The next scenario is not just inappropriate bus driver behavior but, “We’re calling your parents and you’re going home” bus driver behavior. The stop before mine was in front of a chain supermarket. There were only two passengers with me on the bus, two Asian men who were happily chatting in Chinese. Perhaps they were new to this country and, being newcomers, they may have thought that what we were about to witness was normal.
The bus stopped in front of the supermarket parking lot. A third Asian man pushed his cart out of the parking lot and down the driveway that connected the parking lot with the road. He basically had the audacity to leave his grocery cart pushed neatly against the curb out of the way of cars. He stepped innocently onto the bus, showed the bus driver his pass and sat down. The driver flew into a rage. She stood up, pointed to the cart, and screaming, she ordered the man off the bus and commanded him to move his cart back into the parking lot. I couldn’t believe my ears. The man, abashed by her outburst and fearing I don’t know what, dutifully left the bus, and moved the cart.
Shamed with thoughts of, “What would Rosa Parks have done?” I took it all in speechlessly. I didn’t want to engage this bus driver, she’s big, loud, mean and crazy. The three men started conversing in Chinese and well, they didn’t seem upset. I guess by fascist standards this was not a major issue. The next stop was mine. I hopped off the bus and nodded to the driver, “Have a nice day.” I was thinking - if I hurry, hurry, hurry I can get to the car dealership and be driving by tomorrow.
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