Buckle up Buttercup

I am an entrepreneur and I’ve been self-employed for the majority of my working career in sales and marketing. I don’t set an alarm clock and I make my own schedule. The 9-5 working people think this sounds glamourous. I’ll admit, the promise of hope and opportunity knocking rocks me to sleep every night. I count on fear to wake me up every morning. I operate with a moral compass, but I know that I live in a ‘eat what you kill mentality,’ in the business world that is. And it’s tough. I won’t sugarcoat the hardships, especially in this economy. In many aspects it is still a man’s world. The agendas, the greed – the innuendo women face on the daily. I’m sure men face these challenges as well, but this story is about me, and my lack of judgement.

Sometimes you have to channel the insomniac of creative license and think outside the box, explore avenues of income and employment. Especially if that job has benefits. Not booty-licious benefits. The adult kind of benefits. The really important stuff.

My biggest business expense has and always will be the cost of health insurance. Seriously, the monthly premiums are outrageous and it's mediocre coverage at best. This is not the humorous part of this article. I’m getting to that. First I need to share the background so you can understand my motivation, commiserate with the desperation that would lead me to make these choices.

One winter day in 2015 I decided I would take the plunge and made the call. A lot of my colleagues were doing this one thing that only took a couple of hours a day which left plenty of time to get my other work done. In theory it sounded like a plausible solution.

In theory.

This course of thought is the trifecta of regret in cascading dominance: poor decisions, bad decisions, WTF was I thinking decisions.

I would drive a school bus. I would drive that big yellow school bus in the morning and in the afternoon. If I could do that, I’d have a little (not much at all) extra spending money but more importantly I’d be eligible for state benefits, i.e. health insurance. The platinum package, baby! I could go to a doctor and not incur a $95 co-pay. Prescription drug coverage? Yes, Please! And even better, dental and vision insurance were included! I could say Hasta luego to my Dollar Tree reading glasses and get my teeth cleaned at a real dentist. Essentially for free.

I would learn that it was not free at all. The price paid would be in the currency of salty tears. There’s no CashApp for that. There is no free lunch.

Getting started was easy for me. I was not intimidated with operating the machine. Luckily, I grew up as a tomboy with a father that had a tractor dealership. I was driving a bulldozer when I was five years old. Not for hire, silly. I had to wait until I was twelve for that. My father was worried I wasn't tall enough in the seat to be perceived as an adult if someone (law enforcement) happened to see me digging a trench pond.

I’m serious. Kids in my day got to do stuff. A lot of stuff. My generation was raised by parents that needed a reminder at night that they even had kids. A Public Service Announcement from the era of my youth is notorious. Its message: ‘It’s Ten P.M. Do you know where your children are?’

It's $hit like this that made Gex X what we are. The original FAFO kids. The ones that will stuff you in a trunk then help other people look for you.

We don't scare easy. And we don't back down to a challenge. Cause what's the worst thing that could happen to us? Go to jail? Please. That'd be a vacation. Three hots and a cot with cable TV.

But then again, how many actually drive a school bus for a living? Or as a side hustle?

Once I called the school bus depot garage, I had an appointment that day to be evaluated for my driving performance. That very afternoon. This should have been a red flag in itself. I mean if it was an easy gig, there should have been a wait list. Am I right?

Over the course of the next two weeks, I trained. I toured around the practice yard, stopped efficiently at every 'dummy' mannequin, well within the stopping parameters of the 'safe ten feet away' to prevent accidents. I did several solo trips in the practice yard under the watchful eye of my supervisor via the CCTV on the bus. I memorized the safety manual so I could do a pre-trip and post trip physical inspection of the bus. When I was ready, a state examiner came to the garage and I demonstrated my newfound knowledge of correct tire inflation, axels and the like. There were eighty eight (88!) items to check on the pre-trip. I knew them all. The final test was driving on the road with the inspector, who made sure I knew what to do at a railroad crossing. (You stop - for thirty seconds, even if there's no train.) The other big rule is that the driver maintains a speed of five miles an hour under the posted speed limit. Do those things, and they'll give you a school bus key.

I passed the field test, was given the paperwork to get my CDL at the DMV and complete the background check.

And that was it. The entire effort was a breeze.

The only thing they didn't prepare me for was driving with a bus load full of students. This is where the story gets interesting.

I was licensed and dangerous, ready to cart the loving little tots to and from school, my honor as they pursed greatness in academia.

One does not start off as a full time school bus driver. You begin the odyssey to kick ass health insurance by operating as a sub, or substitute driver. This is generally compared to a substitute teacher, given a bit more difficult as a substitute bus driver has to control the chaos with their back turned to the little Judases going forty miles an hour (if the speed limit is 45 MPH).

I would be remiss if I did not mention that the Transportation supervisor adds a bureaucratic factor. When you're on the sub list, they start you off driving in areas of the county where you're least familiar. At least, that was the way the local depot made decisions. In other words, I could not drive in the school district where I lived. I can only assume that driving a route where I live would have been too easy, if I knew where I was going and was familiar with the territory.

No, to achieve full time school bus driving greatness, one must excel in the unknown with a screaming pack of children. That's how you prove yourself. Do that for a period of time and you'd eventually get a regular route. You'll be bald and dependent on Prozac by the time that comes, but hey, the medicine won't cost you out of pocket because h-e-l-l-o, you've got health insurance.

As a substitute driver, you don't know the route. This can be problematic. The morning pickup would be easy, stop when you see a kid standing at a mailbox. Done.

Also prohibited is using any sort of electronic device for GPS. Not that a route planner would be very helpful. Most people didn't have their street number visible on the mailbox. (Note, are you one of these people?)

In training, the supervisor offered two possibilities as for knowing where you're going.

Option A: Read the regular driver's written directions. I can liken this solution to reading a social media post from someone who does not know how to communicate. Giving directions is an art in itself. Be succinct and factual, the two critical components of driving directions. My first set of instructions included a commercial dumpster as a landmark of where to deposit kids on one stop. The problem with this is that the house that was under construction was finished and the dumpster picked up, so...

You could not use a phone with GPS navigation because that was illegal and a distraction however reading the lackluster information filled pages was allowed while driving the school bus. Safety first!

Option B - pick a kid that knows the route and they'll tell you where to stop and where to turn.

The average school bus weights 7 tons or 14,000 pounds. It's not easy to stop. They don't corner on rails and are rarely air conditioned. This equates to a heavy fast-moving hell on wheels form of transportation.

I got the first call to fill in on a Wednesday around six o'clock. I would be driving the next day, the afternoon route for an elementary school. Grades 1-3.

I logged into the portal and downloaded the route directions. I went a step further and actually drove my car along the route for a while. It was futile and a waste of time. The directions did not make sense.

I decided I'd have to try Option B. Pick a kid that knows the route.

Where could that go wrong?

Let me tell you.

One young lady, I'll call her Jane, was older than most of the kids and volunteered to be the guide. And Jane did great, a real life saver. Once the children were seated and somewhat quiet, we began. Under Jane's observant eye, she navigated me for the first couple of stops. Unfortunately, Jane's house was the third stop. I pulled the handle to open the suction door. As she skipped down the steps, I had a tear welling in my eyes. Jane smiled at me and gave me a pep talk. She said 'I hope you make it back'.

Another young lady stepped forward and sat in the seat behind the driver's seat. She said she knew where to go. I had no choice but to trust her.

Elementary aged children are good at lots of things: staying in the lines when coloring, they know their ABC's, some multiplication. One thing they suck at: depth perception. And staying focused.

My fill in was nice enough. She told me with great delight that Billy was the next stop. I remember asking her how far it was to Billy's house? She assured me it was a long way. I ramped the speed of the bus, and thirty seconds later the fill in navigator squeals that I just passed Billy's house.

It was at this point that I knew how screwed we were.

I remember looking in the rearview mirror and seeing all of those faces staring back. I had counted them as they loaded. I had sixty-seven kids to get home. Every time one got off, I clicked the clicker. Only the most tech savvy gadgets are offered to keep track of children.

Getting Billy to his destination was easy. He lived on a country road and there was no cars behind me. I started to back up the bus when his Mom's van parked behind me. I know it was Billy's mom because he told me through his own tears. Maybe I stopped too fast. Maybe I scared him when I didn't stop at his house? He ran down the steps of the bus and didn't look back.

If only all the parents were as efficient as Billy's mom. Just pick your kids up yourself, people. I did save her the trip of going all the way to school. I almost got him home.

I had a little chat with my fill in. I specifically asked her to give a little more notice of where to stop and turn. She agreed she would try.

We made a few stops and got better as we went.

The fill in was focused, dead set on doing a good job. I was thankful for her dedication. After all, she was helping for bragging rights.

I noticed a gravel truck was riding my bumper, so I decreased my speed to get them to back off. It worked, I could see the gravel truck's headlights in my rearview mirror.

The fill in informs me that the normal bus driver would turn up ahead. I see a the gravel road in the distance. I point at it, and ask her to confirm that I turn there.

She acquiesced. I proceeded to make the turn on the gravel road, the semi truck following close behind. Road is too inferior a description, it was more like a lane. The gravel truck follows the bus and turns right behind us.

I ask my fill in where's the next stop. She looks up from her notepad and glances out the window. 'I meant to tell you. Miss Sheila turns at the gravel road but she just turns around. We don't have any stops back here.'

I slam on the bus brakes and as kids scream, we come to a dead stop. Apparently this is frightening to a child. The gravel truck driver lays on his horn. Not that he was going to ram into us, he just didn't want to be delayed.

The lane we're stuck on splits a field in the center, with a mountain of rock up ahead. That's when I remember about a rock quarry in the vicinity. I pull into a driveway to get out of the gravel truck's way. As we turn into the driveway, tree branches invade the open windows. Kids are screaming. I am sweating.

It turns out that a school bus driver must have permission to use people's driveways. It only took a few minutes for the homeowner to rush outside and scream at me that we were not supposed to be in his yard.

We are stuck. The gravel lane is maybe ten feet wide. A huge ditch is on the other side of the lane, meaning that if I can't get this bus turned around, I'll be forced to call the maintenance shop for a tow. On my first day.

I pull the air brake, and it makes the dramatic shhhhhhhhhhh sound. I start to breathe, in and out, karma sutra style. Anything to calm myself. I have the presence of mind to radio the garage and tell them the predicatment. Muffled laughter assures me they can bring another bus if needed. The supervisor also mentions that some parents have called asking where their kids are.

I stand and face the children. I tell them that I can get them home, but need their help. And by help I need them to be quiet as a mouse and let me think. They nod and for the first time on the bus, there's quiet. I take my seat, and as I snap the seatbelt in place I think to myself buckle up buttercup.

It had to be divine intervention. Cosmis bliss. Somehow I managed to do a thirty one point turn and get that bus out of the driveway without going in the ditch. The homeowner watched the entire time. When we were facing the way we came, I looked over at him. He nodded in approval and started walking back into the house.

The kids were much more obliged to be helpful and quiet after our soirée on the gravel road. The fill in got more help from other kids, each pointing out stops and turns well in advance.

I've seen a lot of beautiful sights on my travels. The Grand Canyon at sunset. The beauty of Redwood Forest. But neither of those were as majestic in appeal as that trailer park looked where I could drop off at least fifteen kids at one stop.

As the afternoon evaporated, one by one I dropped a child at their home. Parents standing in the yard. Some waved. Some waved with one finger. The inconvenience of being late, off schedule.

At last, when I looked in the rearview and only one face greeted my stare. It was the quiet boy, the one with his foot in a cast. I remember when he hobbled up the steps of the bus so long ago.

Wide eyed, he smiled as he told me we were getting close to his house, his stop. I apologized to the boy for the delay in getting him home.

He just smiled back and said it didn't matter what time he got home. He'd already missed Blue's Clues anyway. This remark hit me hard, cause he'd already had to deal with a broken bone and now some wanna be school bus driver made his miss his favorite TV show.

I have to laugh about it now. And hope the kid got his cast off and streamed the episode. I knew after that horrendous day of school bus driving that I'd just have to stick with my mediocre health insurance. At least my job doesn't make me an alcoholic.

Most days, anyway.

Besides, if I stayed on as a substitute school bus driver, they'd have no choice but to play the PSA again. Over and over.

It's 10P.M - do you know where your children are?