The Wheels on the Bus Go 'Round and 'Round...

This morning on my way to work I passed a row of school buses waiting to take flight from a local Speedway gas station. At first I started waxing sentimental. "Oh, how nice that the busses are lined up, ready to jet students off to another day of exhilirating education." And then I realized that the reality of the availability of cigarettes and a cruller probably had more to do with the location of the parked busses.

All this got me thinking about my days riding the school bus. I hated it. Virtually every minute of it. The only time I didn't absolutely detest riding the bus was when I got into middle school and discovered that the bus was a great place to catch another 30 minutes of sleep before Social Studies. During elementary school, I can remember standing at the end of the driveway, absolutely frozen, waiting for the bus to arrive. I had a friend who waited for the bus with us who stuttered, but none of us ever noticed since all of our teeth were chattering making all of us stutter. The elation of the bus's arrival and the blast of heat (and elementary aged schoolchildren body odor) that greeted you at the door was always tempered by our beloved driver saying "Hurry up and get in your seat, or I'll call the depot." Our bus driver was always threatening to "call the depot" on you. I had the same driver all through elementary school, and I'm sure underneath her grizzled exterior she was a lovely woman, but all I ever heard her do is bark and threaten to "call the depot." She did have an amazing ability to drive and watch you in the mirror above her head continually, all at the same time. She also looked like someone had pried the drink out of her hand before she started her route.

My favorite bus story from elementary school involved me and the two older idiots I used to have to sit with. We had assigned seats on the bus, and as a first or second grader, I always used to get plopped in with two fifth graders. Yes, we had three to a seat. Given my penchant for a quart of ice cream for desert with a candy bar chaser, I could have easily stood to have had my own seat. But no, I was smashed in with two other guys who were ticked off about sitting with the fat little kid. In any case, one day while we were parked at the school waiting to depart for home, these two dilinquents convinced me to raise my middle finger solo in the direction of the bus driver in the bus parked behind ours. I had no idea what this gesture meant, given that I hadn't spent as much time around state fair carnies as these two clowns I was seated with, so up went the finger. I can remember seeing the driver behind us immediately grab her little CB radio transmitter, and I can remember seeing the spectre of my bus driver headed back towards my seat. I don't really remember what happened after that, but I have a feeling the bus drivers had a good laugh at my expense about it later. It was probably recommended that it might be more appropriate for someone of my naivete to be riding a shorter bus. Who knows...

I salute you, Metropolitan School District of Perry Township, Bus 70. I don't miss you, but I salute you.

Bret