On days when it’s not too hot, too cold, or too wet, I take a short walk, just to prevent my legs from shriveling into uselessness. Yesterday’s walk took me to Alaska Junction, but it’s always a one-way walk, so next I walked toward a bus stop, and a ride home.
A horn sounded, and I glanced toward the toot and saw an Access bus — one of the short buses that take disabled passengers wherever they’re headed. It was parked around the corner, and the driver had a sandwich in his hand, and waved with his other hand. I waved back, but didn’t know who he was. A white guy, maybe 40.
He knew me, though. “How you doin’, Doug!”
“Uh, sorry?”
“It’s me, Jo-Jo,” he said, and it all came back.
Some years ago, I was almost a driver for the Access system, but everything went wrong and I never finished the training. Jo-Jo had been one of the other new hires in those classes, and I’d forgotten his face, but remembered the man. He’d aced the training, because he’d driven city buses before being hired. The rest of us had driven nothing but cars.
During the classes, we’d had a few conversations, Jo-Jo and me. He’s a decent guy, so “Jo-Jo,” I said, walking over to his bus. “Yeah, I remember you. The man so nice they named you twice. But how could you remember me?” We’d never gone for a beer or anything, only had two or three brief conversations during breaks.
“I remember that tie-dye jacket,” he said, and I should’ve known. There aren’t many fat old white man wearing tie-dye jackets. “And you were the guy who didn’t take Vivian’s shit.”
Vivian was not a great teacher of how to drive the bus, but that’s a long story best left un-recited. “I took too much of her shit,” I said.
Then Jo-Jo was talking about things people talk about, but I’m not much of a talker, less of a listener, and my bus home was due. After the obligatory brief bits of chit-chat, I asked, “Is Mitch still driving?”
Jo-Jo laughed, and told me what I’ll now tell you, but first let’s introduce Mitch.
He was a nice old man, but by far the worst driver in our class at Bus Driver Academy. Mitch had a hard time keeping the bus in one lane and under the speed limit, and was always unsure on what bus drivers are required to do at railroad crossings — which is basically, just stop and look both ways. Behind the wheel, Mitch was a menace to passengers, pedestrians, other drivers, and himself, and I marveled every morning at class, that he hadn’t been fired the day before.
“Oh god,” Jo-Jo said, shaking his head. “Mitch — no, he only drove for a few weeks, never got past cadeting.” That’s the last part of training, when a rookie shadows a veteran driver on their route. “He ran his bus into a mailbox.”
I shouldn’t have laughed, but laugh I did, and then my bus for home came ’round the corner. “Gotta go,” I said. “Tell Vivian I said hello!”
9/3/2025
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