A bus full of characters
I finished training last July. When a driver is approved to end training and start driving routes (or “turns in” as MT calls it), they get to pick what routes and times they want to work from a patched-together selection of work that none of the longer-tenured drivers chose. My first work included a morning trip on the 568. From what I had seen on express buses, they were all basically the same: pick up a bunch of nine-to-five commuters in some suburb and bring them downtown. I quickly learned, however, that the 568 was not only not an express bus (despite the high number), but that it certainly wasn’t frequented by a typical crowd.
Before drivers fresh out of the training classes start on their routes, they do a ride-along with the driver currently doing their work (there are drivers who drive the leftover routes that no one voluntarily chose). As we were pulling out of the garage on my ride-along, the driver was describing to me that the 568 had a strange bunch of people that rode it. When I asked him what he meant by this, he made the spinning-finger-pointed-at-his-head motion, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the word “crazy”. As it turns out, the 568 attracts this specific crowd because it goes directly to this workplace way out in the ‘burbs for, erm, societal misfits. Alcoholics, delinquents, the mentally handicapped, etc. I got to know these so-called “crazy” passengers quite well over the next few months.
I ended up really getting a kick out of the people riding the 568. Here are a few that I remember better:
Charlie: Charlie was the most friendly towards me of all the riders. Not coincidentally, he was the only one who’s name I knew. He was probably in his thirties, but he had the interests and personality of a kid. He loved to tell me about his bike, or talk about cartoons he had seen or action figures he had. He had a lisp too, which made it even more adorable. He would play little tricks on people too, like extending his hand for a handshake and then pulling it back, then laughing uproariously. One day, he asked another rider to marry him. Here’s the part that always killed me: every day when he got off, he would extend his fist for a fist-bump with me, and I would oblige him.
Lyle: I call him Lyle, but that’s actually what he called me. Occasionally he would ask me what my name was, and I would tell him Leon. He would somehow misinterpret this as Lyle. I got tired of correcting him, so eventually I just let him call me Lyle. Lyle was a very troubled man. He would go into great detail about his medical problems, along with stories about lying to the doctors about his smoking and drinking, not taking the pills he was supposed to be taking, trying to bribe a doctor that was recommending that his leg be amputated, and all sorts of other fascinating things that most people wouldn’t tell their best friend. He also loved to talk about the mathematical details of the weather: he had an impressive mental catalogue of high and low temperatures on certain dates. His mantra was “99 in ‘99″, which refererred to the fact that it hit 99 degrees in 1999. He would repeat this to himself. Since this had been the hottest temperature in recent years, he was practically jumping out of his seat when we hit triple digits later that month.
Bush: so-called because he looked like what I imagine Dubbya will look like in 20 years. This man was a human Chimpanzee. He was hunched, gangly, and balding, with a prominent muzzle. He was by far the most talkative of the people on the bus, often to the point where people would be telling him to shut up. He had a raspy, high-pitched voice and would sometimes flail his arms around while he talked, adding to the similarity. He had an obsession with insects; one day he listed off all the places he had bedbugs “bedbugs in my soup, bedbugs in my cereal, bedbugs in my underpants, etc”. He also had a delusion that people were mimmicking him, often yelling (to no one) “don’t repeat what I say!”. Whenever he got excited, he would yell “ba-ba-ba-BOOM!”, throwing his hands into the air.
There was another guy that was friendly with Bush. They had a lot in common: this guy was hunched and balding, and had a high, raspy voice too. He looked like a lawn gnome, and would always jut his head out and grin in anticipation when I was pulling up to his stop. He hardly ever spoke in words, but instead with a series of high-pitched grunts. Imagine the sound someone would make to imitate a lawnmower, and you’ve got something pretty close to the sounds this guy made.
Dracula: This guy had a long, angular face and thin mouth, making him look like a vampire. He was the opposite of Bush and his friend: he rarely spoke, but he had an absolutely amazing voice. I would always try to get him to talk when he got on the bus, so I could feel his deep, full baritone voice resonating in my ribcage.
There was a woman on the bus that, I was convinced, absolutely hated me. This was puzzling, as I had always been nice to her. When she got on the bus, she would silently glare at me, even though I would greet her with “good morning” when she got on. This wasn’t your typical dismissive, avoidantly-silent reponse: this was a deliberate, angry silence. This was odd, because she would then head to the back and chat merrily with the other riders. Normally, when she was glaring at me, I would awkwardly avoid eye contact while she was paying. However, one day I decided to silently stare right back at her. There we were, glowering at each other as she paid. I didn’t flinch, and eventually she looked down in defeat. She stopped glaring at me after that. Victory!
I kind of miss driving that bus. It makes the job so much more entertaining when you’ve got a bus full of characters like that. Plus, on these days I had to be at work at 5:45 am, and these riders made staying awake a whole lot easier.
Feb 23rd, 2007 at 7:52 pm
Leon, Leon likes his money
And he makes alot, they say…………..