Something on the Inside of the Bus!

Nearly all American school children have been forced the experience of having to ride around in those large yellow coffins known as the bus. The joyous time children would have driving along in what was essentially a hallway with wheels, the bumping of the wheel well, and the chipping of teeth on the seat in front of you when the breaks were applied. Over the years I attended public school, there were many a trip where we took the mustard eyesore, whiter it was riding home, or going to some abandoned concrete structure for a field trip.

Though I would sometimes receive a ride home from my parents, I would usually ride the bus home during my elementary school tenure. Though I don’t remember my specific bus driver from second and third grade, but I do vividly recall my driver from fourth and fifth grade, as she was fit to be tied woman both years. I’m not sure if this is her name, but I think she was Miss Maybry, or possibly Mayapple, or at least that that’s what the nametag above the windshield read. Her face was not unlike a melted snow monkey, but that might also be my memoires muddling up the truth, but she wasn’t the nicest lady in the world.

Everyday, at three when the school day was done, we would have to go into the gym to wait for the busses to pass though and let children on. Whenever my bus came along the teachers would usher us out to the bus, where the driver would give us a stone-grimace as we would walk on-board, and hang our heads in shame. Once we were all loaded onto the bus, the door would close, locking us inside the iron rectangle, preventing our freedom to escape. Seeing as we were children, we did feel the need to talk to one another on the ride home, but apparently our volume level was too much for Miss Mayparade.

As we were driving along we would talk, and make some noise, but apparently it was far too much for the driver, as she would slam on the breaks in the middle of traffic and yell at us. So after slamming my head on the metal bar supporting the seat in front of me, I would look up at the blurry vision in front of me and see her face turning back and screaming “Sit down and shut up!” perhaps she always mad because she never got to watch Oprah as it was on while she was working. So, the bus route would take twice as long as she would make us quiet down if our noise level ever got above ten decibels.

Yet, despite her constant shouting and threatening us with garden rakes, she was nice to us on one occasion. It was the Friday before Halloween, and we were all eager to get off the bus, and go home were our parents would yell at us instead. But on that particular day, she would say happy Halloween and give us a zip lock bag full of commercial brand candy. Seeing as we were children, we happily accepted the gift, and went on our merry way, not realizing the fact that this was the same woman who spent most of her days screaming at us, and was likely trying to poison us with her candy. The bus held fifty children that day, only three survived.