All I do these days, these lovely days, is drive a school bus. My world is a lot simpler than when I was in the classroom trying to explain the International Date Line to middle schoolers. ("What you mean you go back a day?") Retirement is truly wonderful. But if you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that I've been trying to get a new, or almost-new, bus assigned to me. I've spent 26 years driving buses nobody wanted.
It was supposed to be different this year. I was supposed to get bus 819, an almost-new beauty. But when I arrived for work in August, they had pulled 819 and given it to someone else. I was given 499, a really good bus with, uh, 120,794 miles on it. I complained but got nowhere.
But then yesterday I was told that I was being upgraded to bus 824! Outstanding! A wonderful bus barely a year old. I couldn't start driving it yet because they wanted to give me a quick training session this morning. That's fine with me. I've waited 26 years; another 12 hours won't hurt. But then this morning, I was told that the bus was in the shop and that I'd have to get the training session this afternoon. No problem! So I return this afternoon...where I'm told, "We're sorry, but we're sending 824 back to the manufacturer." "What? Why??" "Well, it's horn honks randomly and we can't find the source of the problem." "When will I get it back?" "We have no idea."
Some days, you just can't win. Hey, some decades, too.
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