The old woman at Second Avenue and 34th Street poked at the cross town bus with her wooden walking stick until the bus driver made the bus kneel. It was a so-called “kneeling bus,” which means the front of the bus can dip down with the assistance of hydraulic lifts. After the bus knelt down, a big platform covered in rubber flipped down to the sidewalk level so that this woman could board the bus.
I didn’t mind, since I was right behind her and could climb into the bus on a ramp. It had been irritating waiting for the hydraulics to finish their work, but overall I didn’t mind.
I was standing inside the bus, clinging to the overhead metal railing. Some out-of-towners asked me how they would know when the bus was at Fifth Avenue or Seventh Avenue. They had noticed from their previous bus rides that the buses tend to go speeding right past their stops without the bus driver saying anything. I assured them that the cross town bus usually stopped at all the avenues without skipping any.
Anyway, somebody started to make a noise in the back of the bus. I couldn’t see who was making the noise. I don't think the young man standing next to me could see any better than I could, but he said loudly, “Someone’s having a heart attack.”
I looked at him and said, "It's just a joke."
But the woman with the walking stick, who was seated behind the bus driver, immediately got on her cell phone and called 911. I had to listen to her speaking with 911 for about the next 10 minutes. She was trying to get the bus driver to take her cell phone and speak with 911, but he wouldn’t do it.
“Is it a man or a woman?” she shouted. The young man next to me replied, “A woman.” The old lady with the stick said into her cell phone, “It’s a woman having a heart attack.”
It was highly unlikely that the young man standing next to me and the old lady seated near the bus driver knew each other. It was also highly unlikely that there was someone in the back of the bus having a heart attack. I bent my neck and looked back there a number of times, but all I could see were rather perplexed faces looking in my direction for some answers.
Somebody pushed through from the back of the bus and started yelling at the bus driver, telling him what to do. The bus driver ignored this man, who in reality didn’t have anything to do with anything.
The bus driver got up from his seat and went around outside to the doors at the middle of the bus. He asked if anybody back there needed assistance. There obviously wasn’t anybody having a heart attack at the back of the bus.
A woman left the bus by the back door at that point, but she was not sick.
Then the bus driver returned to the front of the bus, climbed into his seat, and said, “This bus is going out of service. Would everybody please exit this bus.”
I bent down and said to the out-of-towners, “Best to leave this bus.” I was going to say “Best to leave this darned bus,” or "What a wild ride!" something like that, indicating that it was obvious that the passengers on this bus were not behaving properly.
We all filed out of the bus and some of us entered another bus that was immediately behind us.
But then someone noticed that the original bus was now back in service. To confirm this, one of the tourists, a young woman with long black hair who was wheeling her luggage behind her, turned around and asked the bus driver if the bus was back in service, and he said, “Yes.”
Only half the passengers wanted to get back into the first bus. That was good because it was no longer overcrowded.
Somebody said the woman who had been causing the trouble was now gone, and I thought the woman with the walking stick was the one making the trouble, but the woman with the stick was still there. To tell you the truth, I don’t think she had ever gotten off the bus when instructed to do so. She had decided to become a fixture on that bus.
Needless to say, as soon as I found a chance to get off this bus, I did so. I had planned to go all the way to Seventh Avenue with one of the tourists, just to make sure she arrived there safe and sound, like a big sister. But I said to myself, “This is ridiculous. I’ve got to get off this bus. The tourists can take care of themselves. They probably have more patience than I do with this nonsense."
"New York City must seem like a form of entertainment to them," I thought.
Some Questions for Discussion:
1. We have an extensive bus system in New York City. Some buses come every 45 minutes, but cross town buses come almost continuously. What is the average time waiting for a bus where you live?
2. Our predominant culture in the U.S.A. dictates that passengers on buses and subway trains remain seated quietly and keep their thoughts to themselves. However, because of the ethnic mix found in NYC, some people like to make loud announcements and have very lively discussions on the buses. This is a culture clash. The majority does not appreciate loud speaking on public transportation. Do you have a story you could tell about a culture clash?
3. I had the feeling that those who were participating in the 'Occupy the bus movement' were having a good time disrupting and obstructing the transportation system. Perhaps they were modeling themselves on the anarchy of the Occupy Wall Street movement. In any case, they were causing chaos, and I don't know how the bus driver put up with this. Using your own words, how would you cope with chaos or anarchy of this kind?
Copyright © 2011 Barbara A. English
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