Homage to a Bus Driver

Every weekday morning I wait at the bus stop at the end of my street for the 10B to arrive. I ride that bus the mile and a half to the metro train which will take me to work. On the average day the buss arrives on time, delivering me to the station two minutes before the arrival of my Metro train, getting me to the office door four minutes before my official start time. It’s a perfectly timed routine. If I were to miss my bus and be forced to wait for the next one, it would cause a ripple affect leading to a longer wait for the next train, and result in my arriving at work a full 21 minutes behind my usual time. As catastrophic as this would be for someone as punctuality obsessed as me, the solution is easy; never miss the bus.

As affective as this preventative measure is, last week I was forced to recognize the obvious truth that my timely arrival at work does not depend solely on me. I was waiting on the corner as usual. The time for the bus to arrive came. No bus. Five minutes passed. No buss. More people began arriving at the stop. Those who had been waiting as long as I had began to check their watches every sixty seconds. Ten minutes passed. No bus. At this point those with whom I was waiting were visibly restless, some even upset. I’ll admit that I was beginning to get impatient. I had meetings that morning, I had calls to return, and I had people waiting for me. Finally, 13 minutes late, almost time for the next bus to arrive, we saw the 10B pulling around the corner. The disgruntled passengers boarded the bus. I stepped on last with my fair share of internal grumbling. Then I saw the driver. He was obviously new, with a map and a list of stops in his hand, he was furiously reviewing the stops as we found our seats. It was his first day driving this rout, and he had the first bus of the morning. On top of that, he had a bus full of passengers mentally directing their anger towards him, blaming him for their late arrival at work.

Suddenly my 20 minute late arrival was put into perspective. I had the responsibilities of my job to worry about, but this man had his own responsibilities as well as all of his customers. His job was just as important as any of ours. How narrow minded must all of us at that bus stop have been to think that our arrival at work was the most important event of the morning? Sometimes, despite being surrounded by people, I think we forget that we do not live in a vacuum. The events that affect us almost always affect others as well, and most often occur for reasons completely unrelated to ourselves.

This event was nothing spectacular, I received no epiphany, and there’s no great end to the story. However, I can honestly say that late buses no longer upset me.