Aug 29 2008
Bonus Anecdote: Bell Bottomed
“Hey. Hey! Hey, guy in the wheelchair!”
I looked up from my book to see the bus driver looking at me expecting an answer; a few of the passengers were looking at me too. I had no idea what he wanted. Then I saw that the lift was deployed and everyone was waiting for me to get off.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, you wanna get out here now? You pressed the bell, you’re holdin’ up my bus.” One of the passengers agreed that I was holding up the bus, and there was a general air of public transport irritation directed at me for not already being on the lift getting off the bus. That was unfair: I hadn’t pressed the bell at all.
That part of me that gets embarrassed easily by fuss and bother quickly calculated if I was near enough to my destination to just get out and roll from here, thus escaping the situation quickly, but it was too far, so I answered: “No, I didn’t press it. I want 9th and Judah, like I said.”
“GodDAMN!” He angrily hit the controls for the lift. “Holdin’ up my bus!” There was that ‘my bus’ again, that special possessive feeling that San Francisco bus drivers have for their vehicles.
A few people grumbled, but then we were on our lurching way again, and I could nervously return to my book.
Then the ‘lift requested’ bell rang out again, and I still hadn’t pressed it. The driver spun round in his seat, still driving. “Now you want off? Now, here?”
“No!” I protested. “I didn’t press the bell. It just rang.” At this point, I would happily have gotten off and rolled the fifteen or so blocks home just to be away from all the stares and the driver’s anger. He turned back around, realized he’d overshot the next stop, braked hard and pulled in, muttering to himself.
No sooner were we away from the curb than the bell rang again, this time twice in a row. “Stop hittin’ that bell!” he roared, and “I’m not touching it!” I shouted back.
He stopped the bus and stood up. “If you press that bell one more time…” but he never got to finish. The bell rang again, and he could see that it wasn’t me.
We glared at each other, then both looked at the bell, and both got it at the same moment. There was a woman leaning against the seats that flipped up to make space for the wheelchair, and her behind was right on the bell. We stared for a moment, and then she realized we were staring at her and looked down. The blush spread across her face fast, and she yelped an apology and fled to the back of the bus, leaving the driver and I to stare at each other, nothing to direct our annoyance at.
“9th and Judah?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you press that bell again.”
“I. Didn’t. Press. It. Yet.”
“I’m just sayin’.” He seemed determined to get the last word. I let him.
After that, I made sure to rest a hand near the bell so no-one would lean against it. Anything for a quiet life.
4 Responses to “Bonus Anecdote: Bell Bottomed”
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The sad thing is that the whole situation sounds like it could have been avoided had the driver just ~listened~ as you told him your stop. It sounds like you repeated it multiple times - seems unlikely that you’d change your mind after stating it that often.
I forwarded this post to the firm responsible for the ergonomic design of the interior of the 1964 series of MUNI buses. No reply yet.
Great idea. I need to think of doing that more often: I’ve only sent out the links to the restaurant and gallery reviews so far. Thanks.
I wonder if they’ll reply!
Kalilea, you’re quite right. Unfortunately, this driver was either a very poor listener or had a very poor memory…
The root of the problem is that the drivers of the San Francisco buses are so often on the defensive due to their stressful schedules and the verbal attacks of various passengers that they more readily believe that everyone’s behaving badly.