Life Lessons

The Racing School Bus Driver Who Needed to Be Stopped

Someone had to be brave enough to do it

For my last three years of high school, the kids in our town were bussed to a newly built school 50 minutes away. We were amongst the first students to attend the new school but were unlucky enough to have a bus driver, Irene, who didn’t believe in speed limits. She raced to school and back, slowing down only to let children on and off the bus.

Back in the 60s, there were no seat belts. We would clamp our hands onto the top of the seat in front and hold on for dear life. No matter how we begged her to slow down, her response was a dirty look in the mirror.

She cut the trip, which should normally take 50 minutes down to half an hour. Once she picked up the last child, she hit the gas, and off we flew, driving up hills and around bends as if she were a race car driver.

On top of that, she yelled at us for nothing and didn’t seem to like her job much. Rainy and icy days made no difference to her, which terrorized us children who were helpless to control the situation.

Irene was in her forties and was what I would consider “country folk”. She had a teenage daughter whom she worked hard to send to private school as she, by her own admission, didn’t have those opportunities as a child.

Having a second job is understandable, but not doing it well was inexcusable! As she put it one day, when we were begging her to slow down, her only job was to get us there on time and safely.

She managed to get us there on time, usually early, yelled for us to leave the bus faster, and then rushed off as soon as the last child exited.

At the end of the school day, she left the school promptly, very often leaving a child behind. Delivering us safely was always a gamble. I guess you could say we were lucky to arrive home intact if our mental anguish wasn’t taken into account.

Complaining to my mother did nothing as she had never learned to drive, so taking the school bus from hell was our only alternative.

By the end of my senior year, Irene seemed to become meaner. If we complained, she would tell us to stay quiet, or she’d drive faster. We were truly at her mercy!

My cousin, who was one grade behind me, was on the bus, too. We confided in each other about our fears. He complained to his mom, who happened to be friends with Irene, but she responded by saying it must be our imagination, “Irene would never do that.” Complaining was futile.

I graduated from high school, started driving, found a job, and was doing well. But I could not forget Irene’s sadistic pleasure in watching us kids suffer.

I hatched a plan — I felt I had no other choice

I only wanted her to think twice about what she had been doing to us.

To this day, I can’t believe I had the nerve to come up with this scheme, plan it, and then actually attempt to put it into motion.

Waiting months for school to reopen was difficult, and when the time came, I would need a reason to be at the school.

“Mom, is it okay if I pick up Sis from school tomorrow? She hasn’t ridden in my new car yet?”

“That’s fine if she’s alright with it!”

Overhearing our conversation, my sister agreed. My scheme was unfolding just the way it was supposed to.

There was no way I was going to let Irene get away with what she had done to all of us and probably still intended to do.

My timing had to be perfect, and I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.

When I arrived at school the next day, I strategically parked my car so I could drive out in front of Irene’s bus when it left. When I saw my sister walking out of the school, I yelled for her to get in quickly.

My heart was beating in my chest, and my head pounded. What was I about to do? Was I that mad at Irene?

Our safety had been in her hands and still that of other kids, but no one would listen.

My sister asked why we weren’t leaving yet, but I couldn’t let her know what I was planning. I could not allow her to distract me. I needed to be the first car out on the road in front of Irene’s bus, and it was going to be a tricky and possibly dangerous move.

Finally, the first bus pulled out, then another. Then I saw Irene’s bus full of kids moving toward me. I stepped on the gas and positioned my car directly in front of her.

I started driving at 35 miles per hour, watching for speed limit signs. That was the only way to get through to her. She would know why I was doing it, and I could only hope she knew what the point of it was.

The roads were narrow and winding with double lines. It would have been dangerous for her to drive around me, and I counted on that. I also figured she would stay stuck behind me until we reached my town to start letting kids off.

My adrenaline was pumping, and I must have been sweating. The whole time my sister begged me to pull over. I could not. I did not. I was determined to teach this lady a lesson, despite the fact it was a terribly devious plan for a new 17-year-old driver to undertake.

At the time, I felt in my heart I was not doing anything wrong, although I question how crazy it was now.

With my hands still shaking on the wheel, I watched Irene in my rearview mirror shaking her fist. I could see her mouth opening as she yelled, saw her eyes bulging, heard her horn beeping, and ignored her hand signals to pull over.

If I had pulled over, my whole plan would have been for nothing, and I would looked like a fool. I had committed to it, and I had to stick it out regardless of the panic I was starting to feel.

Those years of her spitefulness, meanness, and crazy driving were all I had on my mind.

We finally reached a point where she could start letting kids out, and that’s when I drove myself and my sister home, satisfied. I did what I came to do.

In my mind, it was not revenge, just me, a kid, trying to get a point across.

It didn’t take long for my aunt to call my mother and give her an earful, letting her know Irene planned to file a complaint.

Knowing my cousin, his version of the story probably made me look like a spiteful brat, and Irene look like a Tasmanian Devil.

I saw Mom on the phone and could hear my aunt yelling on the other end of the line. Mom nodded and said, “I’ll speak with her.”

When she got off the phone, all she said was, “I knew you were telling me the truth before, but my hands were tied. Don’t do anything dangerous like that again!”

That was it. End of subject. Never to be mentioned again by my mom, my sister, or my aunt — and we never heard another word from Irene.

For once, my mother was on my side.

However, I did find out from my cousin days later, the kids on the bus were laughing and cheering as Irene sputtered curse words under her breath.

Word spread quickly, and some of the parents questioned their kids about the incident with the bus driver. A few of the kids spoke up about the scary ride each day. Irene was reported to the school board, and after a short query, she was terminated.

That lady would never have lasted a day in today’s world!

Unfortunately, many situations don’t get remedied until something serious happens. If my ridiculous, over-the-top act of rebellion helped prevent an accident and saved lives by stopping a woman who put children at risk, then I did the right thing. Thankfully, we never had to find out.

Prompt: Misbehaving at School

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