Phantasmic Links 7.16.07
6:15 AM Sunday morning found my dad, our band's bass drummer, and myself in the parking lot of a local church along with 20 other people taking a trip with us out to Pennsylvania. There was no sign of the bus, and fifteen minutes later he arrived a half hour after the time he was expected.
It was one of those big tour buses, a Harran #120, and the driver pulled up, opened the door, and sat there. So we helped the women, children, and old guys open the doors on the side of the bus and load up their coolers and bags, then we closed the doors. If we didn't secure something properly, whose responsibility would that be? Maybe it's just me, but I would think the driver should get out and check all the doors. That's always been my experience when traveling on that type of vehicle.
Once loaded up, he proceeded back down the hill he drove up to meet us, stopped at a traffic light, then proceeded to back up. Beeeep. Beeeeep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeep. I thought perhaps we had forgotten someone. He pulled back in the parking lot, cut across to the next street, and drove down another hill to the main road. Rather than make a left though, once again we heard the familiar beeping as we shifted into reverse.
“Don't you have any streets that aren't hills in this town?” asked the diminutive mustached man, his first words since picking us up. I don't understand why he thought the bus would tip over when he'd driven up the same road earlier, but maybe with passengers he was concerned about the added weight. After a convoluted trip through some back roads to avoid inclines, we eventually got back on track, making one more local stop to pick people up before getting the rest of the band in Brooklyn.
After that, things went smoothly. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and when we finally arrived at our destination, a Padre Pio shrine in farm country in the middle of nowhere, I questioned our band leader's assertion that the job was “near Philadelphia”. I just checked the distance, and at roughly 53 miles we were an hour away from Philly. My leader's sense of direction is a tangent from the main rant, of course. At this point, the bus driver was somewhat redeeming himself. He got us there safely, and even drove some of us up the road to a nearby church so we could go to mass before playing in our procession. Coming home, he made even better time, and I commented to my dad that after a rough start, he turned out to be all right. I spoke too soon.
We dropped our first batch of passengers off in Brooklyn, and when we neared our second dropoff point, I overheard the man behind us talking about how the latch wasn't working in the overhead compartment, and he couldn't get his camera out. As people disembarked, he called up to his wife to let the driver know about the problem, so he didn't leave with the man on board, and to see if had a screwdriver or something to fix the latch. Some of the guys had pocket knives that weren't doing the trick, and after studying a compartment that worked, I understood what we needed to do. I almost got it with a longer knife, but it started to bend. Meanwhile, the driver made his way to the back of the bus to be horrible.
“What's the problem here?”
“My camera is in there, with all my pictures. I need to get it out.”
“I don't have any tools. You should have kept it on the floor.”
“You don't have anything on the bus to get this open? I'm not leaving without my camera.”
“Tough. I don't have any tools. I said you shouldn't have put it up there. You'll have to wait until I get back for the mechanic to open that.”
“You don't carry anything on here? I have to wait for my camera to go back to wherever your headquarters is?”
“WHAT'S THE MATTER??? DON'T I SPEAK-A ENG-A-LISH?? I SAID I DON'T HAVE ANY TOOLS!!!”
“Hey, don't yell at me! I just thought you'd have something for this and I didn't want to break it. If I have to, your door is coming off.”
“YEAH?? IF YOU BREAK IT, YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR IT! THIS IS MY BUS! MY BUS!!!! WHAT I SAY, GOES, AND I SAY YOU'LL GET IT LATER!”
“YOU'RE A F***ING A**HOLE!”
Some people gasped, and the driver looked like the old man had physically struck him. It was all I could do to keep from applauding, because the driver's attitude was ridiculous. I was skeptical that he'd go for a three hour drive out of state with no tools of any kind, and certain he was just tired and wanted to go home. I continued working on the door while the driver grumped back to his seat, threatening to leave while I threw “sir”s at him left and right. “Sir...Sir! Just give us one minute, sir.” Sometimes excess politeness, even with a tinge of sarcasm, can diffuse an attitude. Meanwhile, the old man's daughter told him she'd get the address and information and get the camera back to him, so reluctantly he disembarked.
The remainder of the trip was in relative silence. There would be the occasional murmur, but I think a lot of us didn't want to upset the driver after his outburst, at least until we were safely home. He muttered “WhatdotheyexpectMEtodo” under his breath a few times, running lights and taking turns a little too quickly.
When we arrived, I began to worry about my instrument. My dad had carried his as I had done on the ride up, but there was very little leg room so I'd put it in an overhead compartment for the return trip. I took a deep breath, and tried the latch, getting it open. The 10-year-old grandson of the man who lost the camera even joked as he passed by, “you don't wanna get anything stuck up there.” “Yeah,” I said, “I was worried for a minute.”
Meanwhile, our bass drummer stepped up and played hero. Miraculously, the driver actually got off the bus this time, and stood there watching everyone unload their stuff from underneath. The drummer marched with purpose to his car, got a screwdriver, and marched back on to the empty bus. We watched as he worked on the door, but couldn't quite see through the tinted windows if he was successful. As he came back toward us we asked what happened. He got the compartment open, but it was empty! He checked the one across from it, and there was the camera. He gave it to the guy's daughter to return to him, so all was well. After the fight, I feared what condition the camera would be returned, if at all.
It was a funny and ironic conclusion to the story. Honestly, a retired firefighter deserved more respect, even if the driver was tired, and even if the camera turned out to be in a different compartment after all that. He probably shouldn't have swore, but the guy was asking for it, and it was a fair assessment. He really was a f***ing a**hole.
Worst Bus Driver Ever.
Thanks for reading all of that, if you didn't skip ahead to this week's PHANTASMIC LINKS:
Forget about waiting for the DVD; you can see a deleted scene from the new Die Hard movie right now. I can't imagine why they went with a different take on that. Hat tip: B13.
You can check the safety of your car here and here. HT: Donna W. via Darrell.
Can you click your way through 25 challenging levels at the Temple of Zoom?
Bumblebee's ‘77 Camaro mode is for sale. I think I know someone who'd buy that, too. HT: Darrell.
Speaking of robots, here are some Transformers that didn't quite make the cut.
Well, that robot movie doesn't make the list of the top 100 biggest grossing films, at least not yet, but it's interesting to see which ones did. I've seen about 80 of those. And while I liked the movie, I was surprised to see House of Wax on there until I realized there was another one in 1953. I'm usually more diligent about watching originals with remakes, so now I have to see the first version. HT: Curt.
Hitler is banned from XBox. Sturm und Drang und Hilarity ensues. HT: J-No.
This little German found the previous clip very funny. HT: Darrell.
911 receives a call about an escaped elephant. I swear, nothing interesting ever happens in my neighborhood.
My childhood love of stuffed animals is finally combined with something else I love. I swear I'm not thinking about getting one; that wouldn't be creepy at all. (some sections slightly NSFW)
Here's a more wholesome collection of comic book panels... or are they?
A skull a day keeps...something...away...
Bomb Wars is as much fun single player as it is against online opponents. I like the ‘80s retro feel.
Geico denies Optimus Prime's claim. Neanderthals. Prime isn't treated much better at his local BK. I swear, robots get no respect.
Have a link to a game, movie, article, or anything else you think might be “phantasmic”? E-mail me and it just might appear in an upcoming PHANTASMIC LINKS!
Labels: Phantasmic Links
posted by MCF at 12:16 AM
3 Comments:
What an awful story. I have had an even worse bus trip than that one. One day I will tell it on my blog. It's the exact opposite: Nice bus driver, drunk passengers.
Nothing good ever happens on a bus!
When I was driving a taxi, there always seemed to be drivers like that bus driver (too many, actually) and drivers like me, who went out of their way to be helpful and polite (not enough, actually).
One guy, Mark, had been driving for about 25 years. He clocked in at about 300 pounds and always seemed to have a bit of an attitude. We were sitting in a parking lot one day and having a chat, when he got a call to a local laundromat. He said he hoped it was just someone using a payphone in front so that he wouldn't have to wait for some "stupid old lady to load up her laundry".
I asked him if he ever helps ladies with groceries, laundry, etc., and his reply was, "Are you kidding? I just roll up, start the meter, pop the trunk and wait".
I really wanted to point out that perhaps he wouldn't weigh 300 pounds if he got out of the car once in awhile, but I'm too polite.
I marvel at people like that, who with a clear conscience would let an old lady lug heavy stuff or not hold a door open at the post office. People like that suck, but you Rhodester, you're all right.
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