Chapter Nineteen: Hey Bus Driver

Chapter 19: Hey Bus Driver

Like my students and faculty, thoughts, visions and problems related to busses spill over from the school day into my evenings, nights and early mornings.

It is 8:00 pm and I am at Publix. My cart already has bag salad and tofu and I am staring at Lean Cuisine dinners when my cell phone rings. It’s transportation coordinator, Shasta. I am surprised because Publix is usually a dead zone for cell service; I think Shasta mentally willed this call to go through. She is crying. Shasta is tough and doesn’t cry. My concern level is high; I stare slack jawed at the frozen dinners trying to figure out what’s going on. Shasta’s sentences are hurling through the cell phone like scrabble pieces. I keep working to arrange them into something recognizable. My fluency in Shasta-speak is failing me. I am able to translate two key facts: the mother of a student, Preston, just verbally assaulted Shasta by the side of the road and the scene was so dramatic, commuters stopped to offer assistance.

Preston is a white, curly haired, fourteen year old eighth grader with a chronic disease that requires medication. When we registered Preston we met with him and both his parents to discuss his health and their concerns. Although Preston’s parents are divorced, his Mom and Dad both attended the meeting. Preston’s mother’s words and voice expressed a lifetime of frustration and anger. She is a very large woman and her physical presence matches her aura. She sucked all the air out of my office as she vented regarding the failings of Preston’s previous schools and her demands for my school. Preston’s father barely said a word; he once tried to hush his ex-wife causing her to momentarily redirect her anger at him. He shrank backwards into the chair.

Reading between the lines I suspected Preston was a master at manipulation and had managed to deflect punishment for his misbehavior by blaming teachers. Preston did not seem mischievous, rather he seemed profoundly sad. Shasta, Lynne and my bus drivers were sent for training on how to handle Preston’s medication and condition.

Pressing the cell phone hard to my ear, I try to fill in the blanks of Shasta’s tale. I think back to the bus departure scene. We had two busses in the shop for repairs that day and one in for required regular maintenance. Shasta teamed with driver Audra because by combing busses we had too many students on Audra’s bus. Drivers were supposed to contact parents prior to departure to tell them students would be late due to the game of musical busses, but it is likely they didn’t reach all of them.

Shasta’s choppy voice continues as she tells me that when Nishonda was getting off the bus at her stop, she punched Selma hard in the face. Selma’s face was bloodied and Shasta radioed for the Lakeboro Police feeling it was necessary to report the event as an assault. The Police dispatcher told her they were too busy to come so she had to escalate with 911. Finally, a squad car was sent, but this additional delay meant the bus was very late getting students home.

After Nishonda’s assault on Selma and after the Police arrived, Shasta and Audra continued the route and finished dropping off all their students. As they pulled away from the last bus stop, a car sped past, swerved in front of them and stopped to block their progress. Preston’s mother leapt from the car irate, red-faced, screaming and cursing. It seems she was frightened when it got late and Preston still wasn’t home, so she jumped in her car and went out in search of Preston’s school bus. Her fear turned to anger when she cornered Shasta and Audra. That was when two Good Samaritan drivers stopped to offer assistance.

I work on calming Shasta. I tell her the situation is over now and Preston’s mother has gone home. I promise to handle Preston’s mother in the morning. Reassured, she hangs up. I pick vegetable lasagna and head to the check out.

The next day, after the morning staff meeting, we are surprised and unhappy to find the students from Ellie’s bus milling about in the parking lot, 30 minutes early for school. Shasta hunts down Ellie to investigate and my phone starts ringing. Parents and students report their bus sped past the stop this morning without stopping or even slowing. I often receive calls from students who are late to the bus stop and try to blame the driver for coming early, but this is a new twist. Shasta delivers her investigative report: Ellie is going through the “change of life” and had to hurry to a bathroom. She skipped five stops and dropped off her students half an hour early.

Shasta finds this explanation acceptable. I do not. I coach her again on how to have a discipline meeting with Ellie. This won’t be the first mostly unsuccessful discipline meeting: Ellie has a habit of adding time to her time sheet, usually in 30-minute increments. Shasta does not like to conduct disciplinary meetings with her drivers.

Ellie is still on the bus

We hire two new bus drivers, Kelli and Carolyn. Carolyn and her husband are renting a place in my apartment complex. To save time in the morning, Carolyn keeps our bus secured in the vehicle storage area the complex offers primarily for boat owners and semi-truck drivers. The road through our complex is a one-mile loop. When I take my daily predawn run shortly after 5:00 am, Carolyn often drives past me in our bus. We wave. This interaction feels particularly satisfying. It is weird, but all is well and right in the world if one of my bus drivers and I connect in the dark.