Not the greatest, prettiest title in the world — all caps, seriously? — or indicative of what I have to say, but the only reason I’m able to write at all is because the NAPPS wireless network is back! Which means I can now check my mail incessantly, stalk people on facebook, IM friends, and otherwise amuse myself online without having to subject myself to six hours of grey’s anatomy reruns, pointless calls, or my boyfriend’s copy of Horse Heaven. And I mean the part of six hours when I’m not doing actual work, of course.
So it’s been really, ridiculously hot in St. Louis, and I hear it’s just about to get even warmer. We hit the 90s just about every day of the week last week. All the stickiness and nausea has started to make me think twice before rolling my eyes at the words “global warming” or “going green.” Although some of the people who incorporate those words in their daily vocabulary frankly scare the shit out of me. The point is, I feel like I’ve been doing my part to help the world die a little more slowly as I take the bus to work everyday, the same way I’ve been going anywhere for the most part in the past two years. Not that this is always by choice. Public transportation can be a real pain in the ass, especially when you don’t know where you’re going. There’s hardly anything I hate more than staring out the window intently, straining my neck to figure out where we are and when the hell I’m supposed to pull the cord to request a stop. Or even just figuring out where the stops are in the first place. But in the end, you get used to it and it’s really not so bad. First trips are still a little nerve-wracking, but in general, being the unfit lazy ass I am, I don’t have all that much to complain about when it comes to taking the bus.
And that’s when I rediscovered how bus drivers are really amongst the wonderful people in this world. Of course, one occasionally meets the cold, nasty bus driver who is bitter about mindlessly driving people around all day long, the kind who only feel alive and involved when they find aspects of their life to criticize. All the time. Like my dad.
But then there are the kind, sweet souls that make you feel a little more hopeful about the world. The ones who allow you to enjoy meeting new people and to believe strangers can bring you something amazing. If there’s anyone out there reading this who can’t appreciate the fact that I’m a romantic — well, you don’t have to keep reading.
The first time I gave this subject serious thought was about five years ago, when my high school decided to outsource the bus system to another company in the hopes of cutting cost. What that really meant was that the current drivers, many of who have been loyally transporting the school’s students safely to and from campus, would be slowly phased out over the next two years. And by phased out I mean fired. The decision was pretty appalling, especially after I had gotten to know one of our wonderful drivers. Once a month, members of the biggest community service organization at school dedicated one afternoon with kids from Cathwel Orphanage. We’d drive over in the morning, take them out on various field trips, and return them to their homes in the evening. A day out with the kids was always exhausting, no matter how fulfilling. But the long, long rides, the traffic. Those were truly painful.
So I couldn’t have wished for a better bus driver than Mr. Guo. Unlike other drivers who were anxious to know how long they have for a break between taking us to Cathwel and bringing us back or planning their cigarette breaks (because it was Asia), Mr. Guo acted like a member of the committee. During the rides, he constantly glanced in the mirrors, making sure none of the kids found themselves in potentially dangerous situations like kids have a knack for. On the occasion we had to pull over, waiting for certain parties or clearing up certain confusion, Mr. Guo traveled up and down the aisles of his bus, tickling the babies and chatting with the older boys. Once, he even pulled on his swimming trunks and spent the day at the pool with them, 50-year old belly and all.
Mr. Guo was kind and he was generous. He was diabetic and carried packets of sugar in his pocket, just in case. I’ve seen him share some of the sweet stuff when kids were getting hungry or just craving sweets because they’re kids. It’s a tiny act of kindness, but to kids who came from broken and abusive families, to kids whose parents couldn’t afford to keep them, a tiny bit more love was not too little.
But that could no longer be his life. The year that he was scheduled to end his services, he asked us for the leftovers from our annual Rummage Sale fundraiser. His mother was growing sickly and his wife was frail, so he wanted to take the leftovers downtown and see what he could get for them. Past the mid-forties, bus companies don’t want you anymore. They want younger, livelier drivers with more energy to bring in more money. So he had to take what little money he would get from the things people didn’t want out of the things other people didn’t want.
So I guess that’s a sad story, but it’s sad because a wonderful man was slighted. Bureaucracy is a monster machine.
Unfortunately and shamefully, time passed and I didn’t think much about the matter until today. I came to college, excited to meet new people and do some soul-searching, and got caught up in starting a new part of my life. But today, as I got on the 16 bus going down Skinker, the bus driver smiled and said to the passenger he had been chatting with, “See, I see her everyday at this time.” Which made me decide my day was off to a good start. Even if you’re not friends, even if you don’t really know one another, it’s always nice to be noticed. It’s the same feeling you get when you return to a great restaurant you’ve been dining at for a long time and they know exactly what you want without you opening your mouth and saying a word. Someone knows that part of your life as well as you do, even if it’s a small part. The familiarity. It makes you feel like you belong. It makes you feel like this place in the world is yours to a degree.
On the bus, I started thinking about the Mochi articles I should work on and the calls I should make for securing a venue for my As You Wish Imports (fair trade!) vendor in the fall. All of the sudden, the bus driver spoke to me.
“Where do you wanna go today?”
I realized we had reached my usual stop just before Delmar, thanked him profusely, and got off the bus. It was a tiny act of kindness, but for the unfit lazy ass that I said I was, for saving me an extra five minutes of walking under the scorching and sticky St. Louis sun, the tiny bit of friendly attention was not too little either.
If you buy any of this and don’t consider it complete bullshit, I recommend “Riding the Bus with My Sister” by Rachel Simons. A journalist agrees to take a year off and spend time with her retarded sister, who has apparently gotten to know the drivers on the many buses she rides each day. The writing is decent but could be better, but it’s still on the top of my list because every chapter contains a life lesson. Taught by a bus driver, of course.
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