On the last bus home no one can hear you scream
“Why don’t buses have seatbelts?” the former American comedian Arsenio Hall asked rhetorically. His answer was simple: “if you’re riding a bus, your life isn’t worth anything”.
I hate taking the bus – it’s crowded, bumpy, and here the locals have a visceral hatred for any form of ventilation. The minute the feeble air conditioning goes on, people start running up to the driver to demand that it be turned off. Now that summer is coming it’s like riding in an old running shoe.
The standard demoralizing experience gets worse when I end up taking the last bus home. You have to be at one of the main stops because, in a frantic rush to finish their shift, the drivers have a predilection for ignoring those pesky passengers wherever possible along the less brightly lit points of the route. You have to pick your seat carefully: too close to the front and you’re listening to the bus driver’s selection of 70’s Italian pop favourites for the next 2 hours – too far to the back and you feel the wheels bouncing up and down as the driver tries to reach warp speed.
Tonight, after an endless day at work, I had the bus trip from hell. Things started off predictably: the bus lurched forwards, accelerated out of the piazza, and began to sway back and forth as we took the curves at excess speed. Bags flew out of the racks above, purses rolled down the aisle, tired commuters ended up sprawled in contorted shapes – everything seemed normal. But our driver was in a real hurry this time.
After the first stop in a small town halfway along the route we were almost an hour ahead of schedule and the driver decided to press his luck. The bus plowed through the medieval streets of the town, sparks flying as it grazed parked cars on its way back to the highway.
Then we heard a bump. And how that bump made us jump! After passing along on the sidewalk – in the driver’s pursuit of the racing line for a particularly sharp curve – the rear end of the bus smashed into a balcony of a house. We all ran to the back window and saw a big chunk of bus roof lying in the centre of the road, surrounded by fragments of masonry and iron railing.
After checking the situation the driver set off, slightly chastened, at a more moderate speed and began to follow the route back to the highway. Then things got stranger.
When we were almost at the on ramp, he swung the bus around and began to retrace his route at high speed. Nobody said anything – people just looked at each other and moved their hands in signs of despair – until we came to the fateful curve for the second time. At this point, one of the passengers demanded an early release.
The rest of our ride home went smoothly but I have had it with public transport. Let Al Gore and Sting give up their private jets and take my seat on the bus, I’m driving the car to work tomorrow.