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Road Racing and Transit Trauma
by John Lavallée

The other day (well, actually it was more like a week ago, but it took me a while to get around to writing this), I was stopped at a red light, which is an something that happens occasionally when you drive anywhere near civilization (because waiting is a civilized thing to do).  I noticed that my fellow front-row victims (that is, the people who were not only unlucky enough to be stopped by a red light, but also had to be the ones who just missed the "go, damnit, go!" amber signal, making us oppressed victims of the traffic gods) were as follows, from left to right:

- A woman, minding her own business and trying not to pick her nose too obviously

- Me

- A car containing four teenagers beside me, whose blood systems combined probably contained at least a 24 of beer.  Canadian beer.

- A transit bus filled with drunken homeless people and other unfortunates who cannot, or will not (due to some mental health issues) drive and contribute their fair share of pollutants

As I was sitting there, hoping the old Buick wouldn't stall again, I heard the dreaded words that any circa 1987 Buick driver dreads.  "Wanna race?!" the slurring teenagers screamed from the car next to me.

I looked over at them with a look that said, very clearly, "can't you see what I'm driving here?!"  But then I noticed something had gone horribly wrong.  No, they were not challenging me to a race, but the bus.  Yes, that's right, the BUS.  Apparently, they figured a transit bus would give them more of a challenge than me.  Needless to say, although I might have taken serious offense to being bypassed for a large vagrant filled vehicle which was designed for the express purpose of driving a maximum of 50 km/h (~35 mph) and stopping every two blocks to let more old stinky people on, I was actually quite amused.  As the light turned green, the teenagers sped off, cheering as if they had just won the Olympics and waving (not in any profane way, surprisingly) at the bus driver, who had burst out laughing.  Actually, I laughed too, especially since the Buick didn't stall.  I don't think the woman beside me noticed, because she was too busy rooting around for something lost in her nasal passages.

Of course, bus drivers usually are not so cheerful.  There have been some days when I've boarded a bus, taken a look at the driver, and decided that walking would probably be a better idea, except for the fact that Mr. Cranky Bus Driver Person, sensing my hesitation, has SWOOSH closed the door and locked me in.  What's even worse than the cranky bus driver, however, is the annoyingly cheerful driver, who INSISTS on talking to anyone who is within hearing range, which is defined by the three city blocks immediately surrounding the bus.  What makes it worse is the fact that some bonehead decided to put a microphone by the driver's seat so that the driver can make announcements whenever he or she wants.  Most drivers have the common sense to leave us alone ("us" being me and the bus-full of people passed out from drinking Lysol, or so it seems some days), but several times, I have had to sit on a bus driven by a person who would probably be more suited to driving a pretend bus at the mental institution.  This is the person who truly believes that we're all blind and cannot see where we're going, so it is his or her duty to announce EVERY stop we come to.  Since bus stops are placed about as far apart as Rita McNeil's hips, this happens very frequently.  What's even worse is when this demented driver insists on telling corny jokes, or otherwise attempt to entertain the passengers.  This is why I think it should be permissible for us to take the on-board fire extinguisher and direct it at the driver if it becomes necessary.

Of course, drivers are usually not the biggest problem you will face on the bus.  The biggest problem you, as a normal, sane (and in the minority) passenger will face is the other passengers.  My worst experience with another passenger would have to be the time that an old stinky man boarded the bus, and decided to sit beside me.  As the bus was getting full, I could understand that he had to sit somewhere, but why beside me?  Unfortunately, I was not thinking properly, and instead of getting up so that he could sit by the window and I could either sit on the aisle seat, or if I was really thinking, run screaming from the bus, I let him sit beside me.  Bad move.  Apparently, this man had some sort of problem, or actually two, one being that he stunk horribly, and the other being that he insisted on repeating the following pattern of guttural noises throughout the ride:

- 1 throat clearing ("grrrrrrm")

- 2 lip smacks ("smack smack")

- repeated at nauseum

Unfortunately, I was out of bus tickets, so I HAD to stay on the bus for about 20 minutes of "grrrrrrrm smack smack... grrrrrrrrm smack smack", over and over again.  What made it worse was that as the bus began to empty and numerous seats became vacant, the old guy wouldn't move!  I couldn't stand it!  Finally, as the bus approached my stop, I pulled the cord and stood up, attempting to get off.  The guy wouldn't budge.

"Erm getting off dis stop grrrrrrm smack smack," he informed me.  But he didn't.  Nor did he get off at the next stop, or the stop after that.  Again, I attempted to get up and leave, but I was met with the same line.  I considered my options:

- OPTION #1:  Push the guy on to the floor and run screaming from the bus.

- OPTION #2:  Climb over the seat in front of me, making me look like a fool, and run screaming from the bus.

- OPTION #3:  Pull the emergency exit handle on the window, and throw myself from the bus.

- OPTION #4:  Sit there, resigning myself to the fact that I would never be able to get off.

In the end, I chose option #4, and stared forlornly out the window, telling myself that I would NEVER ride the bus ever again.  Fortunately, after about 5 minutes, the old man grrrrm smack smacked his way off the bus, and I hope, into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

Coming in at a close second was an incident in which an old, drunk man (I think it might have been a different one, but you never can tell) fell onto my lap.

After writing  all of this, I'm pretty disgusted, and frankly, I'm feeling a bit nauseous, so I'm not going to end this week's column with any sort of witty ending.  I hope you understand.