This Is How I Roll

Students:
     But first, the requisite disclaimer: The opinions expressed herein, though reasoned and insightful, are not necessarily those of any of my employers, family members, friends or acquaintances.
     It's said that true career fulfillment is found by discovering what you love to do, then making that your vocation. Ardent followers of this space already know that I now derive a fraction of my income from driving a school bus for a local firm. Those in my innermost circle know that I'll do damn near anything for a buck driving America's future leaders helps pay the bills provides fulfillment that was absent during my last disastrous career choice tenure in the insurance industry. Thus, the song that is in my heart must be shared with you, dear readers; so, sit back and enjoy my tales from the open road - some of which are loosely based on real events, or events that could have occurred, with the balance being pure fabrication.  


    

 I should begin by providing some frame of reference for you civilians: I have three daily "runs" - one in the morning and two in the afternoon. There are roughly 80 students altogether, representing all ages/grades, from kindergarten to high school seniors. These runs combine for a total of 80+
 miles each day. This is one of the longest schedules they have; clearly, my employer quickly recognized the need for utilizing the most skilled wheel man available, and assigned me this open road, high wire act. My trusty steed is a fairly late model Thomas Freightliner C2. Weighing in at nearly 30,000 lbs., she provides me with a disturbing sense of machismo all the power I need to safely ferry the wee ones to and fro.  
    My morning run is mostly elementary students, with a few middle school and senior high riders mixed in. It is this group that vexes me most; you see, the young'uns are the worst most interesting. Maybe it's the age, maybe it's the sugared cereal, maybe it's that their behavior most closely resembles that of feral cats. Gerbils have longer attention spans. They do, however, provide me with far and away the most entertainment of any age group. Some examples:
The Demon Insect Invasion - As the younger children sit nearest the front, and obviously, nearest to me, I'm acutely aware of their breakneck-paced mood swings. When the 2 young girls seated close by began to shriek and cry, I naturally assumed that one of the rowdies seated behind them had, once again, entangled his power ranger in the hair of one of the little darlings. Not so, I quickly learned, as one of them stammered through her tears, "There's a bug on the seat!" Naturally, I quickly and coolly addressed the situation, snatching up the offending Stink Bug and throwing it out the window! Tears were dried, order was restored, and we continued on our way.
The Chemical Weapon Incident - As you all know, passing gas is about the most hilarious thing a 3rd grader can do - although it seems that boys find this much more amusing than girls do. Nonetheless, the most attention-starved child I've ever seen, proudly demonstrated his sense of humor in this way during a run last week. As it was still chilly, no windows were open, thereby quarantining the offensive aroma inside the bus, where it hung like a 2 day old helium balloon - neither rising nor settling to the floor - staying at nose height for about 5 miles. Of course, reactions to this were mixed - roughly in thirds; 1/3 were elementary school age boys who thought this was the most hysterical thing they'd ever experienced, 1/3 were elementary school age girls who's reactions would be more appropriate if the world were ending, and the remaining 1/3 were older students, feigning indifference, but their smirks revealed the charade.
     My afternoon runs are substantially less raucous. While the din of my morning run most closely approximates that of the floor of the stock exchange, my first afternoon run is the complete opposite. These students are all high schoolers, and while this age group owns a well deserved reputation for rowdy, stupid and offensive behavior, they do not demonstrate this during the ride. In fact, they barely demonstrate anything at all. Within seconds of entering my magic yellow tube, they immediately log on, tune in, tweet, text, or whatever they're doing, barely uttering a word thereafter. I call it my "ship of the dead", as it reminds me of the good old days in the cremation business. Their silence is only broken when I force them to acknowledge my cheery "Good afternoon, welcome aboard" or "Have a great evening" with a barely managed and intelligible grunt in response. I do that because I can - it amuses me.
     My second afternoon run is much less interesting. I receive transfer students from other busses, and take them home. These trollops range from kindergarteners to high school seniors. There is very little remarkable about this group. As you might imagine by the age disparity, their interaction is nearly non-existent, and when they make any sound at all, it's generally ignored by the remaining students on the bus. I don't think they like each other; in fact, I'm not sure any of them are likeable at all.
     The authorities provide me with all I need to do my job. In addition to the aforementioned Freightliner, I'm given paperwork aplenty with all the students names, phone numbers and bus stop locations, to ensure that I'm well informed. My favorite piece of equipment however, is the CB radio that each bus is equipped with. Purportedly, our lifeline to the dispatchers at the terminal, it serves more as entertainment; think, old-time radio. Some drivers are like me, only transmitting when it is absolutely necessary; most are not. The CB can be very useful to provide traffic updates regarding accidents, road closures, etc. Oddly, it is used more as a social network, with drivers chatting each other up about all sorts of malarkey - using special CB lingo such as "10-4", "copy that", and constant requests for a "10-36" (this means, what time is it?). For Pete's sake, cant they just ask what time it is? What's the big damn secret, that they have to use code?
     Oh well, enough shop talk. Next post, I promise to return to really important things, like what I'm doing, when I'm doing it, with whom I'm doing things - you know, stuff you probably couldn't care less about all want to know. With the 2014 Killa Flotilla merely weeks away, you should expect nothing less.
Iucunda quam me tibi.