The officer looked at me strangely. “Okay, well don’t do it again,” he said, shaking his head as he walked away.
Miraculously, I did not lose my job that day. None of the stranded passengers complained to the Transit Authority, and most people understood that I was a temporary bus operator filling in for an employee on summer vacation. In a sense, I was lucky to be given such leeway, not even getting in trouble for the bus I damaged. It was my first day on the job by myself, and I knew that I could only improve from there.
Every week, the CTA assigned me a new route. Some people were annoyed that the bus driver asked them for directions, but most of them understood I was a temporary summer driver covering for bus operators on vacation. I could always count on the older ladies to give me directions. I liked to drop them off near their houses, even if their street wasn’t on my route. “I wish there were more bus operators like you,” they would say.
The old ladies loved me, and always eager to show them respect, I rose from my seat to help carry their groceries onto the bus. Whenever grandparents took their grandchildren to see Chicago and go shopping, I was patient, where other drivers would have hurried them.
“Take your time. I am not in hurry,” I’d say.
Within the first three weeks, some of the ladies mailed complimentary letters about me to the bus depot. When my boss shared their kind words with me, I felt encouraged and sure that I was doing the right thing. My mother had taught me kindness and respect through her own actions, and I felt proud I was carrying her values with me everywhere I went. Besides, why should I give these people a hard time when they may be tired of walking and carrying their shopping bags in the heat?
One morning, about a month into my job, a stocky middle-aged man with a cigar in his mouth boarded the bus. Pointing at the “No Smoking” sign, I looked at the man through the rearview mirror and said, “Sir, no smoking on the bus. Please put out your cigar.”
“Just drive the bus. Don’t worry about me.” The man took another puff of the cigar and continued looking out the window.
“Please put out your cigar,” I repeated.
“Just drive the bus,” he said in a condescending tone, exhaling a mouthful of smoke in my direction.
I knew I must handle the situation to show the other passengers I was in command and he must follow the CTA rule. Flipping a switch on the lever to indicate a mechanical problem, I coasted the bus to a stop on the side of the road.
“Everyone off the bus,” I ordered. “There is something wrong, and I cannot drive any further.”
Once we were all standing outside, I explained that we were waiting for my supervisor to come check the bus. The passengers were angry. They had jobs and appointments to go to, and most of them understood there was nothing wrong with the bus.
“Why didn’t you put out the cigar?” the passengers scolded the man. “Now we’re going to be late. Thanks a lot!”
“I will take you wherever you want to go,” I informed the passengers, “but I will not take the guy with the cigar. You all are very nice people, and I am sorry you have to suffer because of him. But in a whole bushel of apples, one bad apple spoils the rest.” Pointing at the man, I said, “There stands the bad apple.”
The man glared at me. “I’m going to tell your supervisor about this,” he growled.
“Please do so,” I replied, pointing to my badge. “Here is my badge number.”
Muttering under his breath, he stormed off to board another bus stopped ahead of us. Half of my passengers followed him, and the rest boarded on my bus. As the bus driver, I was in command and knew I had done the right thing. I wouldn’t let anyone try to take advantage of me. Besides, the CTA wouldn’t fire me after giving me two weeks of training and receiving complimentary letters from the older ladies.
At the end of the summer, I returned to Knoxville, intent on working towards my master’s in industrial engineering. My favorite engineering class that fall was Advanced Work Measurement, where we learned to observe and analyze workers performing repetitive tasks. The professor dealt a deck of cards among four students, while the rest of us determined how quickly or slowly the professor passed the cards along. As future industrial engineers, we would need to recognize the normal pace of a certain task, so we could set a standard time for that task based on its pace and fatigue factor.
I applied the same focus to my other two classes as well. Instead of going out every night, I stayed home to study, and it paid off. At the end of the semester, I received one A, one B, and one C, a big improvement from the previous semester.
When Christmas break arrived, Paul Kehir invited me to his home in New Jersey. The first night at his house, we sat in the living room with his parents after dinner. Mr. Kehir drank whiskey, and Paul and I drank beer while Mr. Kehir told us jokes. I laughed at all of them, and as the night went on, Mr. Kehir seemed to enjoy having me there.
A day later, I met Paul’s girlfriend, Arlene, when her parents invited us for dinner. Arlene was a pretty girl, and I could tell Paul really cared about her. However, Mr. Kehir was not too keen about Arlene’s parents. Sometimes he made fun of them, but it was light, in the spirit of fun. Mr. Kehir was simply of the joking nature, so Arlene’s parents never took it the wrong way.
Mrs. Kehir liked Arlene, and when we were back at
