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“What’s Going On?”

Being a bus driver is much like being the captain of a ship. You are ultimately responsible for the safety of the ship and those on it. It begins each morning before the initial bus run. Even in the pitch black of a December morning I have to do a bus safety inspection. This involves checking the oil and coolant levels, checking the tire inflation, making sure the air brake will pop when the air level gets low, checking all of the many required light systems and more. Does the emergency door open? Do the emergency window alarms work? The purpose is to make sure my bus can safely and dependably carry the children to and from school. If something goes wrong, it’s all on me, the captain.

Being the captain also means I have to solve problems that may occur in the course of my daily runs. This can be something simple like helping tie a shoe.

I’m sitting in the driver’s seat when the tiny second grader asks me for help. I pat my leg and she places her foot on my thigh so I can tie her laces in a double knot.

That’s an easy one.

Early this year I was subbing an elementary route in a raging blizzard. Even after clearing the windshield, and with the windshield wipers going full bore, I only had a small clear space to see through. I couldn’t remember where the first turn was. I asked the kids for help, but it was such a whiteout that they could be sure either. It was only after I made a best-guess turn that they informed me, “This is the wrong street.” That wouldn’t have been so bad except that the street turned out to be a dead end. While staring at the ditch at the end of the narrow road with forty vociferous kids behind me I had to decide what to do. It was simple. I had to find a way to turn the bus around without backing into any cars or knocking down mailboxes. The solution was simple, but in a snowed-in forty-foot beast it wasn’t easy.

Some situations are trickier.

I’m at the end of my bus run far out in the country of a town that is ten miles south of the city where the school is. Who should be my last two riders are walking to the front of the bus to get off at their country lane. I notice a kindergarten age boy walking up the aisle with them. I am alarmed.

“Who is that?” I ask.

The teenage girl and her brother shrug and get off. This is my problem, not theirs.

I alter my question. “Who are you?”

The little boy whispers something.

“What?”

“Jimmy Spinder,” he says, a little louder.

The school year is only a week old and I’m still not sure who’s supposed to be on my bus and who isn’t. Did this boy just not get off at the correct stop earlier or is he supposed to be on one of the other two buses that bring kids to this small town?

“Do you know which bus you usually ride?”

The boy shrugs. “I think it’s this one.”

“I haven’t seen you before. Have you seen me?”

The boy shrugs.

“Do you know where you are supposed to get off?”

“Yes,” he says proudly. “I get off at the dairy.”

Ah, that’s the other bus that comes to this small town. In fact, the dairy is only three miles away. I get on the radio and call the other bus driver. “Bus 17,” I say, “I have your Jimmy Spinder on my bus.”

I’m thinking I’ll just run him out to the dairy and drop him off when Bus 17 says, “I don’t have a Jimmy Spinder on my bus.”

I sit for a confused moment trying to figure this out. The answer comes from another bus driver who has been listening in. “Which dairy?” she asks.

I look at the boy and say, “Do you live in Levan or Nephi?”

“Nephi,” he says.

I roll my eyes. This boy really got on the wrong bus. He’s about twenty-five miles from the other dairy where he is supposed to be. What to do? I have another job starting in fifteen minutes. I can’t take him all the way to the other dairy. That will take an hour. Fortunately Bus 17 is going back into Nephi. We arrange a meeting place and transfer the boy. He gets home safely to his very worried mother who has already been calling the school to find out where he is.

Some situations are just strange

On another morning I am cruising slowly up the street to pick up my last stop of kids. I can see all fifteen of them lined up nice and neat watching as I approach. Suddenly, a big yellow cat wanders out in the road in front of me. I press the brake and my bus squeaks to a stop. I think the cat is going to keep crossing until it is out of my way. Instead, it stops right in front of me and sneezes violently three times.

“Poor cat has allergies,” I say to anyone sitting up front who might be listening.

With the sneezes done, I think he will continue crossing the road. He doesn’t. Instead, he raises his nose high in the air and tilts his head this way and that. This is one strange cat. Suddenly he sneezes again. In the yellow rays of the morning sun filtering through the tree limbs I see cat spit shoot up into the air like a fountain. I shake my head in empathy, but begin to turn the wheel to see if I can get the bus around this poor cat without squishing it under my duals. My kids are going to be late for school. Suddenly a fourth-grade girl leaps out of the line and runs out into the road. There’s a cat in danger and a bus that needs saving. She is just the one for the job. She scoops the large cat up in her arms and moves him to the side of the road. She then runs back to take her place in line.

What a little superhero. She solved the problem before the captain figured out a solution. It’s good to have people with initiative on the crew.

Sometimes ordinary confusion and extraordinary confusion are hard to tell apart.

I’m riding on another driver’s morning run to learn his route. I’m chatting with the driver while the kids laugh, chat, and tease behind us. I hear a girl calling out louder than the other kids. I wonder if she had had too many bowls of Sugar Bombs cereal for breakfast. After a few more blocks I hear the little girl again.

“What’s going on?” she yells.

I wonder what it is she’s playing. We’re stopping to pick up his last four children when I again hear, “What’s going on?” I ignore the overly energetic girl but notice the smell of hot coolant in the bus. I know the smell of bus coolant well, but usually don’t smell it in the bus. As the driver brakes to a stop, I tell him I am going to go back and see where the smell is coming from.

I quickly identify the girl who has been yelling because as I walk back, she meets my eyes and yells one more time, “What’s going on?” I can see confusion and fear on her face. As the bus brakes to a stop my shoes are suddenly awash in steaming, green coolant as it runs up the aisle to the front of the bus. The coolant runs through the heaters that are under some of the seats and fans blow the warm air. Apparently, the hose to the heater under her seat has broken and coolant is pouring into the bus. It’s no wonder this poor girl is wondering “What’s going on?”

The bus driver is a good captain. He stops the bus with a splash as the coolant hits the dash at the front. He radios and reports the problem to the transportation supervisor. He opens the front door and has the kids outside move back so they won’t be caught up in the flow of coolant which flows in a small waterfall down the bus steps. Then both of us help the kids off the bus. The driver counts to make sure we have them all. About this time another bus pulls up and we escort the kids onto it so they can finish their ride to school. It all goes pretty smoothly considering.

Bus driving has a weight of responsibilities, but it is usually pretty straightforward—pick the kids up and drop them off. It can be boringly routine. The universe takes care of “boring” with the “What’s going on?” situations. It may be anything from a foot in your lap with a shoe needing tied or steaming, green coolant splashing down your aisle. It could be a sneezing cat holding your bus hostage or a little, misplaced kindergartener and neither you nor he knows where he lives. “What’s going on?” is a question a bus driver needs to get used to. Finding the answer and a solution makes the job more satisfying than many would believe it could be. It’s all part of the bus driving adventure.

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These books by Tory Anderson are now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format:

If My School Bus Route Were a Woman

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If my bus routes were women my date last year was a woman who liked reading books in the park and taking long walks on the beach. She might surprise you with a water balloon sneak attack on a hot day, but not often enough to make you nervous.

My afternoon bus route last year consisted mainly of picking up a large load of kids and dropping them off relatively in town. By the time I left town I would only have ten to fifteen kids, depending on the day. My route then meandered on long country roads through alfalfa fields and past grazing cows who may or may not have looked up when I honked at them. Many of the kids would move up near me to chat. It was a pleasant route to end the day.

My date this year is a woman who is pretty enough, but high maintenance. She wants to spend a lot of time with me, which is pleasant, flattering even. She can dance like no other and has great taste in clothes. It’s just that I better pay attention to the hidden meanings in her conversation. Oh, and don’t not notice that she had her hair done. Time with her is exciting, but fatiguing.

Unlike last year’s route, where I picked up big loads and got rid of them quickly, except for the few with whom I meandered through the countryside, this year I pick up one large load and we are together for sixteen long miles. The difference is like taking your wife and child out to dinner at a quiet restaurant four blocks away versus loading your wife and eight kids into a van and driving across the country on a family vacation. It’s an entirely different commitment level.

It takes a while to load fifty to sixty middle school students. They have seating assignments, but I gave up on trying to enforce them within a couple of weeks. Once the chaos of seating is over I get the bus rolling. I cruise at about 5 mph through the circus of the school grounds. There are other buses coming and going, kids crossing the bus lanes in and out of the crosswalks, and new sixteen year old drivers trying to force their parent’s cars into the driveway between the buses.

It’s not until I exit school property and turn onto the city street that I begin to feel the pressure of all those kids behind me. I can feel their energy pressing at the walls of the bus, pushing me toward the windshield. It’s just potential energy, but it could ignite at any moment.

I have a short stint on the Interstate before I exit. At the exit I turn onto a highway that will take me up over the ridge to the small town where these kids live. This is the point of no return. If I were in The Matrix this is the scene where I have to choose between the red pill and the blue pill. Once I make the turn there is no turning back.

I’m speaking quite literally. Highway 28 is well-enough maintained, but it’s just two lanes with no shoulder and no turnouts. Just a few feet to my left semi-trucks come roaring by at 70 mph. Just a few feet to my right is the edge of the road with an incline that will roll the bus should drift that way. If the bus breaks down I’m stopped in my lane with 65 kids, worrying about being rear-ended.

On the highway the kids have an advantage over me. I have nowhere to stop to correct behavior problems that may arise. In such a narrow lane I can hardly glance in my mirror to see what’s going on in the back of the bus. If the kids ever understood the bad situation I am in on the highway I could be in real trouble. Bus drivers have State secrets.

When I commit to the highway I focus on the road. The kids behind me are talking, laughing, teasing, yelling. I’ll check my mirror briefly at times. Usually I see a kind of motion among the seats, like choppy seas, although most students stay out of the aisle like I demand. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of hat being stolen from behind and a kid turning to pursue it. Other times I detect a basketball arcing across the aisle. I can get on the intercom and address these issues verbally. So far that’s been enough.

When I top the ridge I can see our little town sitting like a green splotch amid the miles of yellow grasses. It’s just five miles away. Did I say “just”? There’s the saying, “so close, yet so far away.” There is wanting to buy a hamburger, but being a dollar short. There is needing to use the toilet, but somebody beat you into the stall, and you can tell they are sitting there browsing on their phone.

As I feel the energy in the bus growing (I see somebody hop seats) the miles become longer. The bus is moving in slow motion. I hold out my hand and reach, but town ignores me and looks the other way (“Tory, Bart is swearing”). Oh, just let me make it to town one more time.

Finally I reach the sign telling me of the lower speed limit ahead. I slow down to 35 mph as I reach the park. I make a right turn, two blocks, and then a left. Half a block later I stop and open the door. As the first large group of kids get off the pressure is released. The bomb is defused. The world isn’t going to end after all. I will hear the birds sing tomorrow.

I actually like driving bus. Believe it or not, I enjoy getting to know the kids. Many of them are pleasant, and some are downright polite. But to get to the enjoyment part you have to be able to deal with the pressure. The pressure is real . . . especially during that last five miles.

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These books by Tory Anderson are now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format:

Bus Driver Diaries: I’m a Celebrity; Who Are You?

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Being a school bus driver makes me something of a celebrity. Okay, so I’m no Taylor Swift or Dwayne Johnson, but in Nephi, Utah, I’m pretty big stuff. Although I may have to admit that most of the people in Nephi wouldn’t know my name, the people on my bus route know who I am. Scientifically speaking I have no data to disprove that it’s the yellow school bus they are responding to instead of me, but one thing I know is that people wave at me all the time. You can’t take that away from me.

No one told me that becoming a school bus driver would throw me into the public spotlight. Even though my bus driver training didn’t include ‘Paparazzi Management,’ I’m proud of the way I’ve adjusted to the attention. The truth is, I’m doing really well. People wave at me all the time, and I love it!

I first noticed the attention in the schools themselves. I was assigned to take the band to the elementary schools. The band gets a captive audience with whom it can strut its stuff and hopefully recruit future music legends to their ranks.

Before I say any more, let me tell you that what a bus driver does while waiting for students on activity trips is considered a trade secret. I can tell you that they are not required to attend the students’ activities. However, rather than waiting on the bus like a zombie—whoops, I might have said too much—when it’s possible, I like to go watch the students in whatever activities they are engaged in.

In the case of the jazz band I snuck in a side door to find a seat and watch. I was confused when I heard my name being called. I looked through the throngs of squirming elementary students to find one standing and waving at me. Then I spotted another, and another. Some I recognized as students who regularly ride my bus. Others I didn’t recognize and guessed that knew me from activity trips where I had been their bus driver. Although I wasn’t used to the attention I rose to the occasion and unabashedly waved back.

Next, my quiet trips to the grocery store were often interrupted by the wide eyes of children staring at me as they walked the other direction with their moms. They would wave shyly and then pull their mother down to where they can whisper in their ear. I can only imagine they are saying, “He’s my bus driver.” Of course it could be “Why is there jelly at the corner of his mouth?” or “Why does he dress so funny?” but I’m going with the bus driver hypothesis.

Lately I’ve noticed people waving at me as I drive down the street. This is heady stuff. I have to remember that just because people love me I am not actually better than anyone else. It’s not me; it’s the bus driver mantle I wear.

Sometimes it’s a child in the car stopped at the stop sign just ahead of me. They’ve swiveled around in their seat and are looking up through the back window and waving at me excitedly. Sometimes it’s kids walking home from school. I don’t know how they know me, but they perk up as the bus approaches and wave as I pass. Sometimes they only want me to blow my air horn, pumping their arms in the air. Oh, I blow it alright. I’ll take any excuse I have for the pleasure of blowing that air horn.

What intrigues me is the number of adults waving at me. They are usually in passing cars. Many of them catch me off guard. In my bus I sit high off the ground behind what amounts to a large picture window. I have to remember not to pick my nose or scratch because I am visible to the public. The drivers of the cars aren’t nearly so visible and I don’t notice they are waving until it’s almost too late to wave back. I usually don’t recognize these adults, but I’m fairly certain it’s me they are waving at. Why are they waving? It’s completely possible that it’s because I’m really hot stuff. Being fair minded I have to consider that it may only be that they are waving at a happy yellow symbol of their childhood or to someone they see as connected to their children. I’m going with the Hot Stuff hypothesis.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I enjoy the attention so much sometimes I dig for more. Some children walking home from school don’t seem to know who it is that is driving by. I will wave from behind my picture window to give them the opportunity of experiencing some really hot stuff. Some will look confused (celebrity can dazzle a little), but usually they will wave back. That makes me happy. Sometimes I’ll give a little squelch of the air horn first to get their attention, then wave. That usually makes them happy.

There is much more to being a school bus driver than most people understand. There is driving the big beast, and regulations, safety rules, and regulations, student management, and regulations, washing the bus, and regulations. Have I mentioned regulations, yet? But the best part of being a school bus driver is definitely all the waving. Yes, the waving is great.

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These books by Tory Anderson are now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format:

Bus Driver Diaries: Where’s the Pee?

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In the afternoons my first job is to pick up about seventy elementary students. They come running—sometimes screaming—to the bus. As a bus driver you have to be up for this. I deliver all but about ten of them in two stops: Blessed Happy Stop Number One and then Happy Stop Number Two. I call out these names each afternoon over the intercom. I’m pretty sure the kids don’t know that I named the stops for how I feel about them getting off, not how they feel getting off.

Next I stop at the high school and junior high school where I pick up fifty or so secondary students. Most of these are on for a fairly short ride of no more than three miles in three stops: Turkey Trot Stop, Red Cliffs Twice, and finally Grand Central Station.

At this point I am down to those ten elementary students and a four or five secondary students. We head out into the country where we travel back and forth on country roads another twenty-five miles to deliver the rest. The bus is normally much quieter at this point and the ride isn’t unpleasant.

A couple of weeks ago the “country” kids were singing and laughing and making a bit of a ruckus. One of them decided that we should take turns telling jokes. I suffered through some long, badly told jokes that, to tell you the truth, I really didn’t understand. I prepared for my turn. I’ve heard thousands of jokes in my half century of life, but of course I can’t think of a one when others are waiting. Just in time I dug up a joke I learned as a kid, probably on a bus.

Little Jimmy needs to use the bathroom. He asks the teacher for permission while doing his bouncy “really have to go” dance. The teacher is very strict and makes Jimmy recite the ABC’s first. He sings the Alphabet Song leaving out the “p”—“. . . l, m, n, o, . . . q, r, s . . .” and so forth. “Very good Jimmy,” says the teacher, “but what happened to the P?” Jimmy responds, “It’s running down my leg.”

The joke was a big hit. After all, the joke had “pee” in it and my audience was mostly fourth and fifth grade boys. Unfortunately it was too big of a hit. It’s been two weeks and Fall Break and the kids still retell this joke every day about the time we hit the country. Today the boys, joined by the girls, sang it with real feeling.

I overheard one of the boys tell the others that his teacher had told him, “That’s not an appropriate joke.” Great, I thought. I have to remember that what’s spoken on the bus doesn’t stay on the bus. The next day another boy improved the joke. When asked where the P is Jimmy says, “It’s running down my left leg.” The boy explains that it’s funnier when it’s the left leg.

I never planned on being a bus driver. Who knew that bus driving would lead to a career as a comedian? Being a comedian isn’t so hard, especially on Bus 13. You only have to tell one joke, and only tell it once, and they laugh forever.

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These books by Tory Anderson are now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback format: