Substitute bus drivers don’t get no respect. Some regular-route bus drivers are aware of this. They tell me that they won’t tell their kids when there is going to be a substitute so that the kids won’t have time to make nefarious plans.

It’s a fact that the kids act differently for the regular bus driver than for the substitute. I will ride with the regular bus driver to get familiar with the route before the day on which I will be substituting. The regular bus driver, who may have been driving for as many as twenty years, knows each of the kids by name. As she negotiates the traffic and the bus stops she will be keeping an eye on the kids in the rear-view mirror. As quick as a flash she will grab the intercom microphone, call a kid by name, and let him know what’s going to happen if he does that again. For good measure she will add “And don’t give me that look!” This routine might happen several times on a morning or afternoon route. Does it work? Yes. On the routes where I’ve ridden with the regular driver there is a semblance of order and the noise is held to a dull roar.

In comparison, when I drive that same route as a substitute it’s like New York City during a blackout—there is looting and lawlessness. The bus driver has given the kids assigned seats. She knows which kids to keep separated and who should be sitting in the front near her. If a kid dares sit amiss the regular bus driver catches her quickly with a quick glance in the mirror. Sometimes she doesn’t even need to use the intercom; she just gives the kid “the eye” via the mirror and the errant kid repents.

“Do we have to sit in assigned seats?” kids will ask as they board when they see they have a substitute.

“Yes.” I say calmly. I don’t feel calm, but I can’t let them know that.  I am at a huge disadvantage. I have no idea where the kids are supposed to sit. Some of the kids have figured this out. They take advantage of my ignorance and sit next to the friend the regular driver has taken pains to separate them from.  I know this only because sometimes another kid will call them on it.

“Bus Driver! Billy isn’t in his assigned seat!”

The noise and physical activity level spikes when I drive.  I catch glimpses of kids popping from one seat to another like popcorn. I see no rhyme or reason to it—it’s just because they can. They can because I don’t know their names. If I get on the intercom and yell, “Hey, you!” I have sixty-five kids staring up at me with eye’s that say, “You talking to me?” Sometimes the popcorn kid will make the mistake of making eye-contact with me in the mirror in the act of changing seats. I raise a questioning eyebrow and they sit still for about two intersection. Then they pop again.

The dull roar that accompanies the regular bus driver turns into a deafening cacophony when I drive. Again, not knowing any names I can’t single out the epicenter of the noise to apply some noise cancellation. On one particular afternoon route the noise went from cacophonous to insane.  All the kids were yelling. Some of them were screaming. I don’t mean screaming words; they were just screaming noise for the sheer joy of it. Others did scream words.

“BEEEE QUIIIIIETTTTTT!” they said. They were trying to do the right thing, but they enjoyed their part of the noise making.

As a sub I have learned to hunker down and tell myself, “Just forty minutes and the bus will be silent again.” On this day I I couldn’t take any more of it. I pulled the bus over onto the shoulder and stopped. This alone quieted the bus. The kids knew something was up. I unbuckled my seat belt, got up, and turned to face eighty-five pair of eyes.

“Shut up!” I told them, collectively. I was very articulate. Then I went on. “I don’t mind you talking and enjoying yourselves, but what’s with the screaming?”

That was it. I beat Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address for brevity.  Most had looks on their faces that said, “Whoa, that was unusual for a sub.” They were back up to a dull roar before we went a quarter-mile, but they did keep it just under insane. When I dropped them off many said, “Thanks for the ride,” or “See ya.” I was the only traumatized one on the bus. That route has become one of my favorites to sub on.

There is another route that drops kids at different spots along ten miles of highway.  The regular driver knows just where on this highway to stop. I don’t. One tree or fence post looks like another to my inexperienced eyes. Even after a familiarization ride with the regular I can’t make heads or tails out of the stops. As Blanche says in A Streetcar Named Desire, “I have come to depend upon the kindness of strangers.” This translates into me asking the nearest student where the next stop is. In almost every case the students have been extremely helpful. They seem to take pride in getting me where I need to be. When they haven’t been helpful, they’ve been playful. Several high school students were getting off at the next stop. I called back to them, “Right here?”

“No,” called out five voices. “It’s up there.”

“Okay,” I say, and continue to roll up the highway.

“NO,” call out five different voices. “It’s right here!”

I’m in a predicament. I have no idea how to tell which group of kids is telling the truth. I question them again and both sides are adamant. I make my decision and roll to the “farther” stop. There are yells of triumph and cries of anguish from the back of the bus. Five kids get up to get off the bus. The last one, a tall girl with long brown hair, speaks as she passes. “It was back there,” she said.  I had been got.

Being a substitute bus driver is not easy. But it’s not so bad, either. For all the noise and being-taken-advantage-of I am meeting an awful lot of really nice kids. I meet many more kids than the regular drivers because I drive so many routes. Everywhere I go kids will wave at me. These kids don’t just give me a quick wave; they wave enthusiastically with a big smile.  Most of the time I don’t recognize them, but I know they are from the bus. This always touches me. I’m only a substitute bus driver, but for some reason I matter to them. This makes the entire experience matter to me.