Family · Life

Mr. Bus Driver

Paul is licensed to drive a school bus (also a semi with up to three trailers, which I cannot imagine doing because THREE TRAILERS ARE YOU KIDDING ME) and he subs in for the local school system. He hasn’t been called on much this winter, but apparently everyone was sick earlier this week, and he got up at o’dark thirty and went off to the bus lot.

While he warmed up the engine, he was taking a picture to remember which one was his parking spot (I’ve done this. In multi-level parking garages, but hey, the principle’s the same.) when he realized he could capture a self-portrait of sorts.


I thought it was pretty cool.

That afternoon, he did a different route and dropped off a bunch of elementary school kids. It was his first time on that route, so the kids were helping him with the stops. “That big white house!” they yelled, and he pulled up and dropped off the occupant. And so they went, slightly chaotic but getting it done.

“The brown house!” someone yelled, so Paul slowed down.

“No, no!” the chorus cried. “Not that brown house, the next brown house!”

“This one?” Paul asked, and stopped when he got an affirmative. The little stop sign went out; he opened the doors. And waited.

After a decent pause, he looked back and said, “Coming?”

And the kids all shouted, “No! They’re not on the bus today!!”

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