Bus’ted

Bus’ted

As we head towards Memorial Day weekend, we all have thoughts of summer dancing in our heads.  One of the blessings that will come with it is the removal of the abundance of school buses on the roadway.  They are the Cicadas of the school season.

I have heard that the wheels on the bus go round and round.  Apparently the one’s directly in front of me go round and stop…round and stop.  As I am rushing to catch a train, kids converge in front of their own house.  They are chauffeured away like these were big yellow taxis instead.  Couldn’t these groups assemble on a corner for one prime pick up place?  Instead I have a front row seat for the morning ritual:  Blinking lights on, stop bus, stop sign out, doors open, kid gets in, close doors, kid sits, stop sign in, blinking lights off, move bus to the next house and repeat.  And just when we get to the end of the block, the bus is sure to miss the light.  This way, it sits with its right blinker on, preventing me from turning on red…at the longest light in Long Island history.  Just once I wish it was piloted by Otto, ignoring students and street signage alike.  But Mike, it’s just a bus and the children, oh the children, need to get to school right?  Well, yeah I suppose…but my bus disgust travels back a bit.

In our old neighborhood, the main bus yard was right around our block.  Even with the convenience of this location, they did not provide passage for our local students.  Instead, the black refuse that plumed from their exhaust choked us.  As they returned from the allotted rounds they backed up our streets.  Making matters worse, the captains of these yellow demons parked their own vehicles on our street.  This would force us to play ball elsewhere, where one might not know what a new fangled sewer looks like.  Our parents complained all the way up to the Mayor, bus our kids and stop blocking our driveways.  Their words fell on deaf ears.  You CAN fight city hall, just don’t expect to win.

It was a Friday afternoon near the end of the school year, my first in Junior High.  As usual, our gang gathered on the corner.  We would watch the incoming buses and the exodus of parked cars so we could settle on our playing field for the day.  Taking our parents lead, we learned to despise them.  As the last car departed, the players took to the blacktop field.  I had recently been to the doctor to have a huge blood blister drained that was on my ankle.  Yuck!  I had no idea how I got it, I have never had one since.  So this day I was a spectator, my ankle wrapped, the drain still inserted and me in flip-flops.  I settled into a spot on the curb when I noticed it.  One of the drivers in his haste had dropped his keys…and not ANY keys, but the keys to his yellow chariot…#222.  We decided to act.

The following morning about a dozen or so of us amassed across from the bus yard.  It was a collection of kids, boys and girls, ranging in age…but most of us in our early double digits.  We entered through a side gate and searched out #222. The buses were bunched like a can of yellow sardines. We found the big fish, she was nestled right in the middle.  We opened her up and took our rightful place in the seats that should have been used to shuttle US to school.  It was suggested that someone take the helm.  Never one to be shy, I occupied the driver’s seat and did my best Ralph Kramden.  The bus was blocked and we never intended to take her for a spin.   However, all the other gadgets were at the ready.  Blinking lights on, stop sign out, doors open, kid gets in, close doors…I am sure you have heard this somewhere before.  We decided to start her up, just to let some of that famous black puke smother it’s own.  What we didn’t know is they had Saturday security.  The sudden rumbling sound awoke them from their slumber.  Someone was coming.  We exited the bus as I shouted, "I think this is our stop".  We climbed on top of the bus.  We walked across the yellow rooftops of the tightly packed buses. This was the easiest way out and best way to avoid security.  That was fine by me considering my flip-flop state.  We squeezed back through the gate and out we went.  We could here them yelling “We called the cops on you!”  This was always an idol threat in our neighborhood…no one ever did call.  We laughed it off and headed up the block.

We were about a block and a half away when the laughter stopped.  Two unmarked cop cars pulled up like they were Starsky and Hutch.  We bolted down the block and the chase began.  We turned the corner and a few chose to cross the street to the park to seek refuge.  The majority headed to that blocks end, to make another right.  We had now rounded the corner and were heading down the next block.  The group darted into a backyard.  Flip flopping my way in the rear, I followed.  I entered the back yard to see everyone find a hiding place…behind bushes, the side of the garage, under the car.  I was brought to a halt by the chain link fence in the back of the yard…and with no cover.  All the good spots were taken and I froze.  That was until I heard behind me…“Freeze!”  Without looking back I hopped over the fence like I was an Olympic high jump hopeful…flip-flops and all.  As I got to that house’s front yard I could hear the fence rattle behind me.  Flip-flops don’t fail me now!  I was now headed back TOWARDS the bus yard.  I looked back but did not see my pursuer.  I continued a few houses down and dove behind a car in a driveway before I could be spotted.  I thought, if needed, I could continue through the yards. This was MY briar patch and they were not gonna catch this rabbit.  Just one thing, I noticed I was not the only one panting.  As I turned to my right, there he was behind the fence.  Today you have Pit Bulls and Rottweilers that frighten the masses, my nemesis back then was the German Sheppard.  Knowing the yard was occupied, I was now trapped.  I peered under the car to see if the coast was clear.  Too late!  Someone was coming.  I begged with Rin Tin Tin not to bark…so we know what he did.  His howl was loud and strong, like the fire alarms that sounded in the neighborhood to alert the volunteers.  The feet approached the car and I gave in to my somber situation.  I was prone and my head looked up for mercy…only to see my friend’s grade school brother.

He informed me that when I hopped the fence, all the others panicked.  They came out of their hiding places and Nassau’s finest had their hands full rounding them up.  The fence’s rattle was the smallest of us following me.  I guess between flip-flop boy and a 7 year old the cops decided not to pursue, they had bigger fish to fry.  But we were still not out of the woods.  We couldn't retrace our steps, we would have to go forward.  I held the boys hand like I was taking my younger sibling for a stroll.  We were mostly Irish kids in the neighborhood so we were easily interchangeable.  We just whistled past the bus yard.  With all the commotion in front they never gave us a second thought.

Later that day the news was all over the neighborhood.  Everyone involved had received Juvenile Delinquent cards…well, almost everyone.  My parents had no doubt I was part of it.  They must have wondered how flatfooted the officers were to allow me to escape in flip-flops.  I think they were just happy they did not have to pick me up from the police precinct.

I guess I couldn’t have taken the bus home…