“The Bus Driver and I: A Two Round Bout”
John Weyers (7:40am MWF)
I was only a sophomore in high school, still young and naïve. I had many lessons to learn, but little did I know today I would begin to learn a valuable one. My car was in the shop, and I was forced to ride the bus home from school. It was a freezing cold day, and I had no idea I would experience just how cold it was by walking home later that day. I had not ridden the bus to school for years, and I of course was late and got on the wrong bus. This was what I believed to be the end of my already miserable day (I had left an assignment at home, and proceeded to stain one of my favorite shirts with ketchup).
On the school bus, the smell of exhaust literally made me nauseous and gave me a headache. It was an unavoidable and discomforting smell. I was listening to my new CD I had just bought, keeping to myself in the front of the bus. The kids in the back were obviously freshmen judging by their familiarities with each other. Each one had his/her own seat, though not assigned each kid knew where they belonged. They began a game called the “Penis Game,” where you see which one can yell out “Penis” the loudest. The bus driver had told them repeatedly to stop, and finally got so fed up that she stopped the bus on the side of a main road. I was laughing inside knowing that these kids were not the least bit concerned with the bus driver, and continued talking and ignoring her. To my surprise, the bus driver came up to me and began yelling at me. This caught me off guard considering I had not said a word the whole trip. I still had my headphones on, and actually had to take them off to hear exactly what she was saying. Her yelling is not what set me off, it was what she said.
“Are you always this disrespectful to authority?” she questioned. Did she honestly think it was me?
“I did not say a word this whole trip, I’ve been listening to my headphones, and you’re going to accuse me? That’s bullshit!” I shouted back.
This is where I began to screw up. It set her off, and she decided to give me a life lesson about how if I continued to act the way I did, I would grow up to become a bum and “sleep under a bench.” Yes, a bus driver had the audacity to tell me I was not going to grow up and be successful. This is where I really screwed up and said something I have regretted to this day.
“That’s funny, you’re a F***ing bus driver and you are going to tell me how I should act and how I’m not going to be successful, F*** you!” She just stared at me in disbelief, as if she could not believe I just said this.
I have regretted this statement since 15 minutes after I said it, and as the days, weeks, and months would proceed, I would learn to regret this statement more than ever. After our exchange of words I just stormed off the bus and walked the remaining mile or so home in the blistering cold. I knew it was cold out, but I was so angry I did not even notice or care the least bit. The next day at school I had to meet with security and they agreed on giving me a week’s worth of detention. And that was the end of this ordeal...so I thought.
About seven months later I had just bought my grandfather’s old car. It was a nice looking fully loaded ’92 white Honda Accord with custom rims and a sound system. It was not something you would expect a 65-year-old man to be driving. Once it got up to Alaska (it was shipped from Washington), I had to take it to the DMV and get it registered and have the title switched to my name. I decided to go to the DMV downtown because the lines were usually smaller, and it was closer to where I worked. I called in and told work I would be late, so I left right after school and went down to the DMV. I finally would no longer be the guy in the “beater” car that looked and sounded like it was going to fall apart.
I must have arrived at the DMV during the perfect hour, because I was the 2nd person in line. Normally the DMV had 10-20 people minimum in the line, mostly people getting new ID’s or young kids trying to get a driving permit. The smell of the vanilla-roma scent was pretty strong, almost sickening. There was jazz playing in the background over the speakers. Why did they play jazz? I am sure it appealed to less people than any other genre of music. The music would cut out whenever the automated voice would call out the next number. I remember the 1st time I went to the DMV this young girl and I were taking the test for a permit at the same time. I had gotten a 17/20 on mine, 15 was passing. She was at the next booth crying because she received a 14/20, missing it by one point. That’s when I knew the DMV was not a fun place to be, or work for that matter.
This must have been my day. The lady behind the counter was a young girl, not much older than me. She had dark brown hair, and a pretty face. She was very slender, and had a gorgeous smile. It was her eyes, however, that really stunned me. I almost thought they were contacts, but I figured (for my own satisfaction) that it was her natural color. They were a deep green, almost like an emerald. She was the only teller at the time, so I knew I was going to get her to help me, this was going great.
Finally my number came up on the screen and I walked up to an empty booth. I was curious, wondering if maybe she had left to go to the bathroom or took some sort of break. I waited for about three or four minutes when an older lady came up. She had dark brown hair with gray here and there. She had dark brown eyes with dark circles around her eyes. The circles were not horribly dark, but noticeable as if she used makeup to hide them. Her face was not what I would call attractive, but she was probably 45-50 years old. I glanced down at her name tag, “Irene – Manager” it had said.
“Just my luck,” I thought. I could not have just been fortunate enough to have dealt with the cute girl. Oh well, what did I care, I was finally getting my car registered and that’s why I was here in the first place. She started taking my information, starting with my social security, name, and ID number. Then I gave her my address and her head kind of quirked back, as if someone had just shot her with a squirt gun or something. She said, “I used to be a bus driver for that route and other routes in that area.”
Suddenly it hit me. I knew exactly who she was! This was the lady I had said probably the meanest thing I had ever said to anyone in my life. Oh my god, did she know who I was? Immediately my smile was gone, I no longer knew why I was there, I just wanted to leave. She said, “Hmmm, you kind of look familiar, do you remember what bus you took?”
“I never took the bus. My neighbor drove me until I got my own car.” I explained. This was obviously a lie, however. I took the bus for the better part of my freshmen year and some of my sophomore year. I was busted, she knew exactly who I was and was testing me to see if I would admit anything, or maybe just say “I’m sorry.” I had been waiting to say this and clear my conscience for the last year, and here was my chance. What were the odds I would ever see that bus driver again? This was my chance to redeem myself and apologize. That is all I had to do.
She continued helping me, smiling at me. This was her redemption. Not only was she not a bus driver anymore, she worked as the manager at the DMV, which was a definitely a solid job. She was probably going to end up making more money than I would as a teacher. In my head I was going over what I was going to say. I was trying to get the words memorized like you would a speech. How would I start it off? How do I tell her I was the kid who forced her into tears in the middle of the bus ride?
We just sat there as the computer did its job in processing my information. It was dead silent; I could tell she was waiting for something, perhaps an apology. I was sweating, and my face got very warm and red, I knew it was the blood flowing to my head. I just stood there swaying, listening to the jazz music and observing other people, keeping my attention away from her and the apology she deserved. I remember watching a heavier set lady walk in all bundled up in what looked like 3 jackets, with her 3 young kids running wild. I thought how patient she must have grown with those kids, because it was obvious they were a handful. I also remember a father coming in with his son. They looked so much alike, and even wore the same colored jeans and Northface brand jacket. He was there trying for his driving permit. I did not stay long enough to see how he did.
“Ok, I need you to sign this and this, and you can be on your way.” She said.
It was almost as if there was a hidden message in her eyes, “Ok, I need you to sign….and you can be on your way, AFTER YOU APOLOGIZE.” I signed the paper work and smiled back to her, grabbing my ID back and my newly acquired title to my car. However, I was not happy at all like I expected to be. How could a simple trip to the DMV to get my title and registration be so awkward and awful? And so I left without apologizing, and walked back to my car. I remembered this feeling. It felt like the same walk I had taken after I left her bus. It was colder from the bus, and much longer, but the feeling inside me was the exact same.
Now I am not the least bit religious, but I think I was meant to go to that DMV that day just so I could apologize and clear myself of the hateful things I said. To this day I regret it more than I had prior to the DMV encounter. I mean I disrespected this lady twice by not apologizing. If I had apologized, she would have apologized right back I am sure. On that day we were both wrong, but she definitely got the worse end. I was a 16-year-old kid; nothing she could have said to me would have impacted me as much as what I said to her did. If I would have just sat there and not said anything, I would have forgotten about it less than a week later. But by insulting her the way I did and not apologizing when I had the chance branded me with this emotional scar that will be there for the rest of my life.
Never again would I ever judge someone without knowing anything about them. She could have been a bus driver for only a few months in between jobs, and I would have had no idea. Maybe she was successful and got laid off or quit, and just drove a bus because she needed the money at the time. From then on I have never said anything to someone’s face the way I did to her, and never will. The feeling of guilt that has stayed with me over the years has been quite a burden. Everyone discriminates and judges people as soon as they see them, but this taught me that you really have no idea what they have gone through or what they will become.
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