The 10 Bus to Your Demise

Well, I promised you all I'd be a huge procrastinator, so hopefully you're not surprised that it took me this long to post another story.  I think the wait will be worth it...

Today's story is one of intrigue and danger, an edge-of-your-seat thrill ride!  Suspense!  Oncoming trains!

Without further ado...

A few weeks ago, I boarded the 10 to Old Town, as I do every weekday morning.  As I stepped up into the bus, I noticed that we had a new driver, a young woman, who definitely looked like she was just getting the hang of things.

Seasoned bus drivers have a bored but attentive attitude, a sort of detached tolerance for their riders.  Some are friendlier than others, but they all captain their rolling ships with a certain level of comfort, like anyone who's been doing the same job for years.  They occasionally peek in the mirror to assess the level of Crazy they're carrying, but for the most part, pay no attention to their human cargo.

This young lady had none of that.  She was jumpy, and far too interested in each person that got onto the bus.  She constantly glanced back, like she wanted to make sure we were all seated safely and behaving ourselves.  As she approached each stop, she seemed to amp up a little with the anticipation of gliding that monster to a smooth stop right up against the curb, without clipping a parked car.

I plunked down in one of the front side-facing seats and fished out my MP3 player.  I donned my headphones and closed my eyes, drifting off into that magical land of half-sleep that I've become very good at over the past year.

Almost ten minutes went by, and I felt the bus slow to a stop.  Then I felt a sort of commotion around me.  Even with ears blocked and eyes closed, I could tell people were shifting around me, but not getting off the bus.  Then I noticed, behind the curtain of heavy metal pouring into my brain, the unmistakable sound of the railroad crossing bell.

I eased my eyes open to a surreal scene - outside the window across from me, the railroad crossing arm was slowly descending toward the roof of the bus.  The front of the bus itself was about 5 feet past the arm, just hanging over the near edge of the closest track.  A construction worker, there as part of a crew working on the sidewalks at the trolley station, was running toward the bus.

It took me a second to register that the arm hitting the top of the bus was not the major problem here.  Trains were the big issue.  The nearest track, the one we were hanging over slightly, is the northbound track for not only the trolleys, which move relatively slowly, and so would not cause us any major injuries so much as make us all late for work; but the Coaster and the Surfliner, both real higher-speed trains that travel to Carlsbad and beyond.  A northbound Coaster train would surely toss this bus around like a toy.

The driver looked absolutely panicked.  I took my headphones off to assess the situation around me.  The passengers fell into that group mentality that someone would fix the problem.  No one looked overly worried, only slightly concerned, eyebrows raising, but no standing up or commenting out loud.

The construction worker, barely over five feet tall, ran in front of the crossing arm and reached up, trying to stop it from landing on the bus.  We all watched as he stood on his tiptoes, reaching up with his fingers, attempting to hold the arm up, just long enough for the bus to back up behind it.

The driver realized that she couldn't see directly behind the bus to back up.  She had no idea if there was some little coupe or smart car just behind her bumper, which would be effectively crushed by the bus.  A passenger seemed to have the same moment of clarity and jumped up, offering to run back and see how much room she had to back up.  She opened the door and he sprinted out, zipping by the side windows with purpose.

Before our hero had a chance to return, we were saved from any serious tragedy by the southbound blue line trolley.  It hummed by on the far track, on its everyday business, unaware of the hush of held breath within the 10 bus.

We all breathed a collective sigh of relief as the dinging stopped and the arm started to raise.  We all smiled at each other, breaking the cardinal rule of city bus travel that forbids eye contact.  There was a little nervous laughter and some head shaking.  We settled back into our seats.

Our would-be savior, the fellow who ran behind the bus, walked back up, looking pleased that he had made an attempt at saving a bus full of his fellow San Diegans from certain death.  He stepped up into the bus and we all started to go back to our headphones, our homework, our Sudoku.

But!  Before we could touch earbud to ear or pencil to paper, the unthinkable happened - the dinging started again.  The red lights flashing, the arm again started to descend toward the bus.  The construction worker raced  back to the crossing, this time flanked by a taller coworker.  The short fellow pushed from the front as before, with his taller cohort pulling down on the counterweight from behind.  The arm was held suspended, about six inches from the top of the bus.

The driver eased the bus backwards a few feet, getting clear of the arm, which now bounced into place directly in front of the windshield.  Seconds later, the northbound trolley slid by on the nearest track, prompting a flood of nervous, relieved laughter from the passengers.  We didn't exactly have a brush with death; more a brush with some discomfort and inconvenience.  But it was still enough to bond us all once again in some smiling, head-shaking commisseration.

Finally, the arm raised, and the driver, apparently wanting to avoid round three with the tracks, hit the gas as soon as the front of the bus was clear.

The bus was still in reverse.

We shot backwards a few feet before she slammed on the brakes.  We all bounced into each other, knocking shoulders, some of the standing passengers nearly losing their footing.  Our panicked driver shifted into gear and sped out of there, taking the next corner at almost too high a speed, tossing us around again.

The rest of the ride, about five minutes or so, was spent gripping poles and seatbacks, grounding ourselves as she tried to make up for lost time, accelerating with haste and halting suddenly at each stop.

Finally, we reached the Old Town transit center, and our tight-knit band of survivors disembarked.  Some sent looks of disdain to our driver, some others of sympathy.  I passed her as I walked toward my next bus stop, and she made eye contact.

"Don't worry, " I said.  "The rest of your day can only get better."

Off I went, to the 150 Express and my next Bus Adventure.