Memoirs of an embittered bus driver

Part 1: The meaning of life

The meaning of life... A question that has eluded anyone that has asked it. From the lowest fool to the most wise phylosopher king, none have manged to get an answer to the ever present question in humanity's mind. But this modern age that has, for better or for worse, bestowed us with an answer very quickly. Work. The meaning of life is to be a useful unit of labour for the betterment of society. To join the faceless masses of the workforce and become another number. A sacrificial hero for the economy, the new god of the new age. And after a long time i had to join the workforce and become a new sacrificial hero that would exchange his life for money. A reminder of my economy teacher saying “During your first years of your work life, you will live to work. Maybe later you can afford to work for a living”.

I have taken a good number of jobs through life and developed many useless and partially useful skills. Translator, waiter, tour guide, hotel cleaner, truck driver... Until, out of circumstance and necessity i became a bus driver. My stint as a truck driver was short but very comfortable and when i was unemployed my cousin approached me with the offer that if i got the bus license and i took the exam to get the PAC (Professional Aptitude Certificate) for passengers he would give his dad, the boss of the company, a good word in my stead and i would land a nice job. Looking back i remember my idealistic views on labour and how work is. Anyone would say “what a fool i was” but not me, since i was warned at the Driving School about this with the on point words “If you become a bus driver, you are either a masochist or a retard”. I certainly know to be the second.

When i started in this gig i thought things would be easy going. I spent a couple of days on the bus with other drivers as they taught me the places to go and how things went. The children looked at me in awe and in general the ambience was nice and easygoing. But it was just an illusion to rope me into the hell i was soon going to delve into, meaning that the illusion shattered quickly. The 60 or more hour weeks, working on weekends for 10-12 hours, constant changes in the routes and shifts, the screams, the anger, the useless complaints, frustration and depression... We all talk about thankless jobs but this one is certainly thankless for how important it is. Like many other jobs that are equally thankless but extremely necessary.

My first months were more or less good as they broke me slowly into my position and despite my initial mistakes and nervousness, i did well. Those days look like they were the memories of a different man. The days where a bright eyed and optimistic man that greeted people with a smile are gone and now i'm less than a shadow of what i was. A jaded, tired and expressionless man that looks like he's about to tear someone's arm off for the horrible crime of saying “good morning” and every monday he’s more caffeine than human. I thank God for giving me an inmense well of patience to draw from because even after the people and children i drive around nearly drove me insane i still keep my head down when others get on my case for nothing. Mainly because i don't want to get into hot water over opening my mouth.

The first 3 months of this job sucked out any passion and care i might have for this job and after the 2 months out of work in summer, i returned refreshed. It just took 2 months for me to return to the state i was before i left. I performed my job with a degree of professional disdain that would make HR departments seethe in anger, being efficient and good at my job but garnering complaints from countless people over my behaviour. Some days i was so thoroughly angry that it was hard to sleep. Many days i considered taking up new vices in order to cope, like drinking myself to sleep or start smoking pot. But both would hamper my creative efforts so i decided to stay concious and angry. And through all of this, the greatest pleasure i could get through the day outside of going home would be to inconvenience someone. Whenever my actions, words or attitude would cause someone to seethe or be displeased my heart would swoon and i would be satisfied. The anger in their faces, a frustrated sigh, shouts saying “I'll complain to your boss” knowing nothing would happen... Those, like many other sounds, were music to my ears.

I've truly grown tired and jaded with this damn job. And while anyone will say that a job where i remain sitting for 9-12 hours a day is not tiring, it really is mentally draining. Many days i would be mentally exhausted and physically sound, making sleep very difficult as my body wouldn't take that going to sleep at 10 in the evening was acceptable. And while in many other jobs where we all look for any chance to slack off and take a breather when nobody is looking, unfortunately driving a 9 and a half metres long beast of a vehicle requires your full undivided attention. The slightest lapse in your attention can lead to many problems: skip a stop, overlook passengers that want to leave and much worse things. I still remember many days where my brain would barely register what i am doing and when i realize what is happening, i wouldn't remember what i was doing to begin with. This along with nearly constant headaches due to stress, incessant screams and lack of sleep, made me very ready to accept my fate with a smile if a tweaker with a pocket knife decided to rob me.

Yet i will say that not everything has been dragging my soul through hell every day since there are small moments of beauty in the inmense sea of misery that is work. Many days i had to drive through the mountains, allowing me to see many cute wild animals. Krestels on light poles, some small foxes by the side of the road, a boar and her piglets early in the morning... Yet the best were 3 tiny partridges that got scared seeing the minibus going up the road. 2 of them jumped away while the last one ran with its tiny legs for a short while before it jumped away. And also sometimes i would drive up the top of the mountains, having an extremely great view of the valley and the sea on clear days. A beautiful sight i would never get tired of. Truly, the only good things in this job outside of getting paid and going home.

This is just a preface to the real meat and potatoes on the life of an embittered bus driver. And i hope you enjoy my many misfortunes since when you tell them back, even yourself get to laugh.