* Driver Dan offers advice and social observations regarding bus etiquette and the social ramifications of bad bus behavior. He prides himself on his keen observational skills, as he has been a bus driver for over 20 years. Dan knows what's up with the bus.
Dear Driver Dan,
I ride the bus to work every morning. I often stop at Starbucks to get a Frappacino for breakfast. Sometimes a cute barista named Jason talks to me and makes me late. I totally have to run to catch the bus. Some days the driver stops and lets me on, other times he just keeps going. Why? Why is he so inconsistent?
Leigh Ann - SF, CA.
Dear Leigh Ann,
You think I don't know who you are?! I know who you are. Every morning you pull this bullshit with me. "Please Mr. Driver, please I'm late for work!" Well ya know what? I'm not late for work. Give me a break. I drag my happy ass out of bed every morning to come pick you up. You could at least have the decency to get to your stop on time. Coffee? I like coffee. It's 7am, everyone gettin’ on the freakin’ bus has coffee. Does anyone think to get one for me? No! You all get that fancy SF pure, organic blah blah stuff too. None of that burnt up 7-Eleven swill for Leigh Ann & Company. The stuff tastes like styrofoam and cinders but I drink it every morning. Gets me goin’. I don't like the fancy coffee anyway. That mocha, latte junk is a little too sweet for my taste. But I will say if it were offered to me I'd drink it. It's the gesture Leigh Ann, the thought. Yanno, I do think about opening the bus doors for you. I really do. But just the thought, the thought of opening those doors and hearing that whiny little voice of yours, "Oh my God! Thank you sooooo much! If I'm late one more time my boss is totally going to kill me!" Blah, blah, blah... Sometimes I just can't do it. I can’t let you on and here’s why:
Nirvana has been attained on the bus. I long for these trips. No amount of weed has ever zoned me like these trips. It’s a special moment. Everyone, even the kids just spaced out. Eyes glazed, bodies bobbing around with the movement of the bus. Starin straight ahead. You can even hit a big old bump in the road and it don't matter. Perfect silence. Pure peace. No crazy people, no bad smells, kids aren't screamin'. Perfect harmony. And then here you come running around the corner. Red in the face, mouth hangin' open, arms all akimbo! You always appear on one of those days. I do not want you on my bus, plain and simple. You will steal away my one chance at perfection; Nirvana. I will not attain this for days, weeks even. Maybe never. No way buddy. And it's not just me. The other people don't want you here either. I can read it on their faces. They stare blankly at you then turn away. Slow like. That's how I know. They all turn their heads slowly and settle right back into the zone. It's nothing personal. I'm sure you are a nice person. You're just not right for this trip. Catch the next one. It's got a bunch of teenagers nattering on about some party last night. And that old lady that piddles her Depends right there sittin’ next to ya. That's your trip. That's where you belong. Knock on my door some other time kid. Maybe then you’ll be ready.