<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885</id><updated>2009-11-27T01:01:06.937-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Is anyone capable of driving in this city?</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default?orderby=updated'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;orderby=updated'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>27</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-648382036223399349</id><published>2009-11-14T03:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T03:58:08.419-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A not so crazy friday the thirteenth.</title><content type='html'>A guy gets on the bus holding a jar full of pennies. "Does this machine accept pennies?" he asks. "It sure does" I reply. Five minutes later he has finished putting the last penny in the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;farebox&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. "Do you often walk around with a jar of pennies?" I ask. "Nope. This was a last minute thing and I didn't have any other change" he replies. Alright, fair enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stop and let three really drunk (and when I say really drunk, I mean REALLY drunk) native girls on my bus. Of course, they've all forgotten their pass and have no change. "Don't worry about it, just make sure you have change next time" I tell them. They go and sit at the back of the bus and immediately start drinking from a mickey they've brought on. I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;could have &lt;/span&gt;pulled over and demanded they get off but I was scared &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;shit less&lt;/span&gt; of them. They were big enough to squash me with their thumb. So I decided to ignore it. A few stops later I hear screaming from the back of the bus. The drunk girls have gotten into a fight with an elderly &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Asian&lt;/span&gt; woman. I have no idea who started it or what it was about and quite frankly, I didn't care. I pull the bus over and the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Asian&lt;/span&gt; woman goes to get off when one of the drunk girls trips her causing her to fall flat on her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, my goodness! Are you okay?" I ask. They all ignore me and continue screaming. The woman gets up and leaves the bus while yelling "UGLY! UGLY! UGLY!" I guess it was one of the few insults she knew in English. I drive away. Meanwhile the drunk girls are laughing hysterically at what just happened. When I'm about a Kilometre from where I dropped the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Asian&lt;/span&gt; woman off, I pull the bus over and announce that this is the drunk girls stop. "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Wha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;? No it's not. We have to go further." they exclaim. "NO! I don't tolerate that sort of behavior. You'll get off now or I will call the police." I retort. Luckily for me, they took my threat seriously and disembarked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's all that happened.  I was quite &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;disappointed&lt;/span&gt; to say the least.  I mean with my track record, I was expecting a werewolf to get on and start eating the seats or something.  Boring nights suck!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-648382036223399349?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/648382036223399349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=648382036223399349' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/648382036223399349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/648382036223399349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/not-so-crazy-friday-thirteenth.html' title='A not so crazy friday the thirteenth.'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-7154106846509899793</id><published>2009-11-21T03:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T03:40:44.141-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Look at me!  I can pick up anyone just because of my career!</title><content type='html'>"Wow!  Your bus has more buttons and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;gauges&lt;/span&gt; than an airplane" a guy on the bus says to me.  "No it doesn't.  I have four &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;gauges&lt;/span&gt; and about thirty switches.  Have you ever been in the cockpit of an airplane? I ask.  "Of course I have.  I'M A PILOT!" he says proudly.  "Are you now?  Who do you fly for?" I ask.  "Well, I'm actually still in school" he replies.  "How many hours do you have?" I ask.  "Almost twenty." he says.  "Good for you.  It's a good start." I say.  "I don't understand you.  Most girls rip off their clothes as soon as they hear I'm a pilot." he replies.  "Sorry, but that doesn't do it for me.  I've wanted to be a pilot for a long time and I know a lot of pilots.  I have inside information most girls don't.  Pilots are poor (at least for the first few years) and they're never home." I say.  "Yeah, well I know the phonetic alphabet" he says.  "So do I.  I was the radio dispatcher at a heliport." I reply.  "Does this mean you won't go out with me just because I'm a pilot?" he asks.  "No, I didn't say that.  What I'm saying is I don't really care what someone does for a career just so long as they like it and are financially, emotionally, spiritually stable." I reply.  "Yeah, well, you're just a bus driver.  You can't make any money doing that!  You're a wannabe pilot.  Driving a bus around pretending your flying.  You're &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' pathetic." he says.  "Look, I love my job.  I know one day I will get my pilots license, it's just the timing is wrong right now.  How bout you give me call once you get your career off the ground and maybe I'll consider going out with you (HA! Yeah right!)." I say.  "BITCH!" he states and then storms off the bus! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In hindsight maybe I was a bit of a bitch but he deserved it.  Anyone who thinks they can get anyone they want just because of what they do for a living is a douche-canoe!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-7154106846509899793?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/7154106846509899793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=7154106846509899793' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7154106846509899793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7154106846509899793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/look-at-me-i-can-pick-up-anyone-just.html' title='Look at me!  I can pick up anyone just because of my career!'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-908419634680524125</id><published>2009-11-21T03:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T03:12:40.791-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who let the dogs out?</title><content type='html'>I pull into a stop as a woman and her &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Rottweiler&lt;/span&gt; are passing the bus.  The dog suddenly goes crazy and starts barking hysterically at the bus.  The woman loses her grip on the leash.  The dog &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;beelines&lt;/span&gt; it to my front bumper and starts gnawing on it.  "Ma'am, your dog is attempting to eat my bus" I say.   "I know!  Isn't it cute?  He's just protecting me from the loud, noisy bus" she &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;replies&lt;/span&gt;.  She then starts talking to the dog in a baby voice.  By this time, the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;rottie&lt;/span&gt; has just about torn the bumper off and I'm starting to get a little bit frustrated.  "Ma'am, get your dog off the street and away from my bus NOW!" I tell her.  "Well aren't you a grumpy bus driver?" she says as she pulls the dog away and gives me the finger.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-908419634680524125?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/908419634680524125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=908419634680524125' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/908419634680524125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/908419634680524125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/who-let-dogs-out.html' title='Who let the dogs out?'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-1842532942214494238</id><published>2009-11-21T02:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T02:58:24.631-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fantabulous Friday Flattery.</title><content type='html'>A guy gets on the bus dressed head to toe in Ed Hardy.  He takes one look at me and says "How you doing?  Nice tatts.  Wanna go out sometime?"  "Sorry, I'm married" I reply. &lt;br /&gt;Real reasons:&lt;br /&gt;1. I HATE Ed Hardy clothing....HATE it enough to capitalize HATE.&lt;br /&gt;2. Anyone who tries to pick up a chick by asking "How you doing" is an idiot.&lt;br /&gt;3. Assuming that because I have tattoos, I have something in common with him.&lt;br /&gt;4. Shortening tattoos to tatts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Downtown an older business man gets on the bus.  He gets right in my face and says "Finally, a cute bus driver".  "Thanks" I reply.  As he gets off the bus, he comes back up to the front and says "Cute and one of the best drivers I've seen in a long time.  Your boyfriend is a lucky man". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on I overhear two guys talking about me. &lt;br /&gt;Guy 1: The bus driver is hot eh?&lt;br /&gt;Guy 2: She is.  You should ask her out.&lt;br /&gt;Guy 1: No man, I can't date someone who's a better driver than me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my last run of the night this guy stands at the front of the bus and begins talking to me.  "I was just out at this night club and it was awesome"  "Yeah?  I haven't been there in years" I reply.  "How old are you?" he asks.  "26" I say.  "Well, you're young at heart.  That's all that matters" he says.  &lt;em&gt;Young at heart?  What the fuck?  I'm young, not young at heart.  Stupid punk ass teenager! &lt;/em&gt;  As he gets off the bus he leans into me, pulls out a camera and snaps a picture of us.  "You're hot.  I'm putting this on my facebook" he tells me.  "Go right ahead"  I say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes it's more fun to drive the drunks around the city than to be one!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-1842532942214494238?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/1842532942214494238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=1842532942214494238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/1842532942214494238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/1842532942214494238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/fantabulous-friday-flattery.html' title='Fantabulous Friday Flattery.'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-5620552453965265104</id><published>2009-11-11T04:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T06:31:50.961-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids - Drop out of school....Become a bus driver instead.</title><content type='html'>A woman gets on the bus with her daughter (maybe 8 years old) in tow. "Mommy, I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I'm sick" the daughter whines. "Darling, you have to go to school that way you can get a good job. You don't want to end up being a bus driver do you?" the mother replies (I'm assuming she thought I couldn't hear her).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough already! Reality check. Being a bus driver is a great job. We have a multitude of people working for us that have post secondary education...doctors, pilots, lawyers, etc.... I work for a company that treats me like gold. Their greatest asset isn't the 1.4 million dollar buses but the people that operate them. I have fantabulous benefits, the second best pension plan in the country and on top of all that I make more than triple the minimum wage. Still not enough to convince you? How about this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At about 1:30 am I'm not in service, heading back to the depot. I'm travelling on a four lane road with a van in the left lane slightly ahead of me. Suddenly a black Chevy Malibu comes flying out of nowhere and comes right up to the bumper of the van. Without a turn signal or any extra space he cuts into my lane. This has to be one of the most reckless/stupid ass moves I have ever witnessed in my entire life. Both the van and I were travelling at 60 kms (I know I was speeding. My bad) and there was about half a car length between us. In order for this guy to get between us he had to kiss the van's bumper and nudge me out of the way (always a good idea to try and nudge a bus out of the way). Luckily an accident was avoided because both the van and myself saw this idiot and the van sped up while I hit the brakes. Not even thirty seconds later an undercover cop put on his lights and sirens and took off after the douche bag in the Malibu. The Malibu screeches around a corner and down a side street in an attempt to lose the cop. The cop follows. As I pass the intersection, I slow down and crane my neck in an attempt to see this idiot getting a well deserved ticket. No such luck. The Malibu turns down another side street with the cop in hot pursuit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About five blocks later I just about t-bone a car that pulls out in front of me. Guess who??? The Malibu is back!! Seconds later the cop comes up behind me, lights and sirens going chasing that jackass for all it's worth. Unfortunately I have to leave the chase to go back to the depot but for the ten or so blocks I was involved in it was awesome!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that's why kids you should be a bus driver. Think about it for a while. Do you really want to go $50,000 into debt just to get a piece of paper you can frame and hang on your office wall? You'll get a piece of paper once you finish training here as well...actually, I don't even know where mine is. But regardless of that fact, your life will resemble an action movie a lot of the time. You'll get a lot of great stories to impress your friends (and those of the opposite sex). The point being, it's way cooler to be a bus driver than an office guy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-5620552453965265104?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/5620552453965265104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=5620552453965265104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5620552453965265104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5620552453965265104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/kids-drop-out-of-schoolbecome-bus.html' title='Kids - Drop out of school....Become a bus driver instead.'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-9048936357596574725</id><published>2009-11-09T00:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T06:18:59.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Worst night EVER</title><content type='html'>It started out by me getting asked out by two homeless guys. It's not a big deal, I get asked out by the homeless a lot. Normal guys don't find me attractive, it's just the bums.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm downtown and this woman runs in front of my bus, causing me to slam on the brakes and honk at her. She wants my bus and unfortunately I have to pull into the stop because there are other people waiting for me. The jaywalker tries to get on and I tell her she can't get on and she has to wait for the next bus. She's an older &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Asian&lt;/span&gt; woman who can't speak &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;English&lt;/span&gt; very well. We end arguing for about two minutes. I finally relent and let her on the bus. This guy gets on after her and says to me "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE TROUBLE, YOU &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;FUCKIN&lt;/span&gt;' BITCH! YOU'RE A &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;FUCKIN&lt;/span&gt;' BUS NAZI!" I look at him and refuse to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;acknowledge&lt;/span&gt; him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He goes and sits at the back of the bus. He then tells everyone what a bitch I am. It gets to the point where the entire bus hates me. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Every time&lt;/span&gt; someone new gets on the bus, the rest of the passenger proceeded to tell them how I'm such a bitch. Meanwhile, the woman I tried to refuse service to speaks up. "I understand your rule for not eating on the bus but you can't make up your own rules. You have no right to refuse service to anyone" "Actually, I can refuse service to anyone I want. It's my bus and if I don't feel comfortable with the passengers, I can kick them off." I reply. She starts arguing back. I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;interrupt&lt;/span&gt; her stream of insults by saying "Look, it doesn't matter any more. You're on the bus, I don't want to argue with you anymore."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Every time&lt;/span&gt; someone gets off the bus, they either give me the finger and/or say "Fuck you bus &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Nazi&lt;/span&gt;!" Now, don't get me wrong, I can handle abuse. It unfortunately happens all the time. It's just when you're being insulted by over a hundred people within the span of half an hour and you know you were right in your actions, it starts to hurt. I made it to the terminus without any major crying jags or fist fights, although I was close numerous times. I get off the bus, have my cigarette, do some meditation and ten minutes later I'm ready to drive again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I'm turning off of the bridge that leads out of downtown a taxi starts drifting into my lane. I slam on the brakes (with a full standing load of drunks...they all flew into the windshield!) and lay on the horn. He keeps moving and hits my front bumper. I stop the bus and watch as the taxi aka &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' ass drives off. Now there is no way in hell he didn't notice hitting a bus. I pull the bus over and inspect the damage. The bumper is intact without a bit of paint on it. No damage! Fuck this shit, I'm not even going to call this accident in. There's no point, the taxi's gone and the company will never even know that I was hit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get to the end terminus, put the wheel blocks behind my rear wheels and go to the washroom. I come back to see a homeless guy in the process of stealing my wheel block. Just to clarify, this is a chunk of wood, and it's absolutely worthless, he won't be able to sell it on the street. "Hey what do you think you're doing? That's my wheel block!" I shout. He looks back and takes off running.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' hilarious! A wheel block. What the hell is he going to do with it? Name it and keep it as a pet? Use it as a pillow?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-9048936357596574725?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/9048936357596574725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=9048936357596574725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/9048936357596574725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/9048936357596574725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/worst-night-ever.html' title='Worst night EVER'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-5295804727596493507</id><published>2009-11-11T04:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T04:49:27.054-08:00</updated><title type='text'>An oldie but a goodie</title><content type='html'>This happened a few years ago but it's by far my favorite bus story&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It had snowed so there were quite a few snowbanks around.  I was driving for a tour bus company at the time.  My bus was full of middle aged Australian tourists.  We arrive at our destination when two of my co-workers pick me up and throw me &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;mercilessly&lt;/span&gt; into a snow bank.  I'm lying on my back wondering if I've lost all respect with my tour group when I hear a few comments...."Oh, my goodness, are you okay dear?" "What big brutes you work with".  Suddenly I hear "Don't worry about her, she likes being on her back!" coming from a 65+ year old man.  I start laughing so hard, I can't even pull myself out of the snowbank.  This was the best burn I've ever &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;received&lt;/span&gt; and the fact that it came from an &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Aussie&lt;/span&gt; old enough to be my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;grandfather&lt;/span&gt; made it even better!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-5295804727596493507?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/5295804727596493507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=5295804727596493507' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5295804727596493507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5295804727596493507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/oldie-but-goodie.html' title='An oldie but a goodie'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-8643877244953354284</id><published>2009-11-11T01:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T04:30:31.811-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The third (and hopefully last) assault</title><content type='html'>This happened a few months ago and I'm completely over it so don't get freaked out or feel sorry for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a typical night at work. I was asked out by a few bums, insulted a couple of times and had a few close M.V.A.'s. The route I was doing turned into a downtown night bus and I got a half hour break before I turned into the night bus. I pull into my terminus and get out to have a smoke. I know, I shouldn't smoke. But anyways I hadn't seen anyone when I pulled into the loop. As I'm smoking this guy comes out of now where; I guess he was lurking in the bushes or waiting in the bus stop which isn't visible from where &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; parked. He's about thirty and kinda hot, he looked like someone I'd go on a date with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He starts walking towards me and I assume he's going to walk past me so I move off the sidewalk with my back towards him. The next thing I know is he's grabbed me from behind. It's almost like he's giving me a bear hug, except he's grabbing my boob. At this point all that's going through my head is "are you &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' kidding me? Again?". He wasn't a very good &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;assailant&lt;/span&gt; because he had left my entire right arm free which I used to elbow him in the ribs many times. Sometimes it's good to be skinny with sharp elbows!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I had elbowed him a number of times he gave up and ran away. I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;beelined&lt;/span&gt; for my bus, locked the doors and pressed the emergency response button. Although I was shaking so badly it took about five tries before I managed to actually hit the button. Communications calls me and I explain that I've just been attacked. They ask if they need to call the police. I say "Well the guy's already gone and I'm not injured so I don't think so." They then tell me a supervisor is on his way and he'll be there in about 15 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five minutes later the supervisor shows up. He explains that he drove 140 &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;kms&lt;/span&gt; to get to me. He also berated communications for not calling the police. Even though this guy is gone, the police need to be there, so he calls them. Meanwhile another driver shows up. The supervisor tells him to stay with me while he drives the streets looking for this &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;douche bag&lt;/span&gt;.  Five minutes later the supervisor comes back and informs me that he couldn't see this creep at all.  Meanwhile the police show up (five cars) and transit security. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I explain for the millionth time what happened while the police get the dog out to do a search of the area.  They also inform me that they have a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;helicopter&lt;/span&gt; with infrared technology to help spot this guy.  They inform me that there's a known rapist in the area and he matches the description I gave them.  I'm pretty shaken up and can't stop crying but at the same time, I'm finding humour in the whole situation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. This guy was the worst attacker EVER!  By leaving my arm free, I was able to fight back and get away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. This guy was so desperate to get laid that he waited at a bus stop in the hopes of seeing a female driver instead of going to find a crack whore who'll give him sex for five bucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The fact that I had been assaulted twice before.  I had frozen in those situations but was more prepared for this one.  I fought back!  YES!  Gold star for me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I got a search dog and a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;HELICOPTER&lt;/span&gt;!!!  That makes for a good story!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end they didn't catch him.  They took my jacket for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;DNA&lt;/span&gt; and it's &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; not like &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt;.  I'll be getting my jacket back in about a year or so.  The company booked me off my work and booked my boyfriend (now ex) off as well so he could comfort me.   That's part of why I love my job so much, they will bend over backwards to help out their employees. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to work a week later but found I was so paranoid that I couldn't drive.  I did one trip and then booked off again.  It was at the point where I only felt comfortable with my back up against the wall (even in my own apartment).  With therapy and talking it out, I eventually returned back to work three weeks later.  My supervisor asked if I wanted to switch to day shifts but I refused.  I'm not going to let one ass ruin my job.  I'm a night owl, I love working at night.  I don't want to deal with traffic, and the drunks and the crazies are more fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when my supervisor accused me of being a vampire.  So I hissed at him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' love my job and the company I work for.  How often can you hiss at your supervisor and get away with it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-8643877244953354284?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/8643877244953354284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=8643877244953354284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/8643877244953354284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/8643877244953354284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/third-and-hopefully-last-assault.html' title='The third (and hopefully last) assault'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-5523892349621202177</id><published>2009-11-09T00:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T15:21:37.572-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I know it's been forever and a day since I last blogged. I'm sorry for that, but I'm blogging now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's my first day back at work and I was hoping that it would be a chill, relaxing day. Unfortunately god hates me and I can NEVER have a normal day at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, I'm leaving the terminus; I have an hour and a half left in my shift when suddenly I lose primary air pressure. I'm on the on ramp about to merge onto a six lane street. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;I pull&lt;/span&gt; the bus over, shut it down and wait for it to build air. Nope, god really hates me. I end up losing secondary air pressure. I then call communications. Twenty minutes later they answer the phone. Their response is for me to bleed all the air out of the bus in the hopes that it'll build air from scratch. I tried explaining that the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;compressor&lt;/span&gt; isn't working and regardless of what I do, the bus won't build air pressure. They're &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;adamant&lt;/span&gt;. "Just try it, and it'll probably work".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I block the wheels and bleed the air out. Eventually the brakes dynamite (when you have low enough air pressure the emergency brakes &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;automatically&lt;/span&gt; apply. They're spring brakes so unless you have enough air to release them, you're hooped.) I wait six minutes (normally it takes less than three to build the air up to 110 psi) and the air pressure is still 40 psi. At this point I'm half an hour behind schedule and the bus behind me is leaving. I get off my bus and guide him past me. He has about three inches to spare between my bus and the curb but he made it by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I call &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;communications&lt;/span&gt; back saying that the air hasn't built at all and the bus is now stuck. I have about an hour left in my shift, communications &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;replies&lt;/span&gt; that they'll send a replacement bus and to run it out. That's bus talk for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;continuing&lt;/span&gt; on and pretending that you're on time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time I get my replacement bus I'm an hour late. I pick up a total of six people. It costs about a thousand bucks to send a replacement bus out, plus they had to pay me the overtime. Was it really worth it? I wasn't the last bus, I wasn't leaving anyone stranded. Sometimes I don't understand the people who are in control. It would have saved them about 1500 bucks if they had sent me home early.  And I would have gotten to go home early which is always great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-5523892349621202177?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/5523892349621202177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=5523892349621202177' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5523892349621202177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5523892349621202177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-know-its-been-forever-and-day-since-i.html' title=''/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-284210555475926636</id><published>2009-11-09T00:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T00:41:25.379-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Touchy feely</title><content type='html'>This woman gets on my bus and immediately starts speaking &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Hindi&lt;/span&gt; to me.  Just to clarify, I'm white, like a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' pasty white with green eyes.  I don't look &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Indian&lt;/span&gt; at all.  She then starts pinching my cheeks and pulling at my ears all the while jabbering in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Hindi&lt;/span&gt;.  I try explaining that I only speak &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;English&lt;/span&gt; but she ignores me and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;continues&lt;/span&gt; on with her monologue in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Hindi&lt;/span&gt;.  She eventually starts shaking her finger at me and then gets off the bus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm assuming she put a curse (or a hex) on me.  Which is super awesome because I've &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; been cursed before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-284210555475926636?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/284210555475926636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=284210555475926636' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/284210555475926636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/284210555475926636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/11/touchy-feely.html' title='Touchy feely'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-7953704610644664668</id><published>2009-09-19T02:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T02:22:14.412-07:00</updated><title type='text'>FYI</title><content type='html'>I'm going to be adding some posts from the past back in here, so please bear with me if you've already read them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-7953704610644664668?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/7953704610644664668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=7953704610644664668' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7953704610644664668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7953704610644664668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/09/fyi.html' title='FYI'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-7477332452773196690</id><published>2009-09-12T03:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T04:19:03.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My mom thinks I'm cool!</title><content type='html'>Friday night.  Everyone's drunk except for me.  For some strange reason, everyone thinks I'm the coolest bus driver out there.  Why?  Beats me.  Maybe because I'm so laid back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some guys get on the bus and start taking off their clothes.  One guy tells his friends to cool it or they'll get kicked off the bus.  I get on the intercom and say "It's okay, you guys can strip just so long as you keep your skivies on."  Then one guy comes up to me and remarks "You're really attractive, just not right now."  OUCH!  And I thought that drunk guys thought that every chick was hot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get to the point where I have a full standing load; I couldn't cram anyone else on even if I had a cattle prod.  I make an announcement:  "Squish in.  Get close to someone you don't know.  We're going for a new Guinness record.  How many people can we fit in bus."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my last trip (where I only go downtown and then back to the depot instead of out into the boonies), I make another announcement.  "Can I have everyone's attention please?  In case you didn't read the sign, this bus only goes downtown.  If you need to get elsewhere, you're going to have to transfer buses.  Let me know where you want to be and I'll direct you in the right direction.  Now if anyone is drunk or has drank at least one drink, please remain seated at ALL times.  If you stand up, you will fall and then I'll have to fill out paperwork and I really hate paperwork.  So do me a favour, and keep your butt in the seat.  If you're so intoxicated that you feel that you're going to puke, let me know BEFORE it happens and I will pull the bus over immediately and let you toss your biscuits.  I'll even pull over in the middle of the bridge, that's how much I don't want you to puke on my bus.  If anyone is asleep, you need to wake up now.  This bus goes downtown and then back to the depot and if you wake up at the depot, it's not my fault and you're S.O.L.  Thank you for your understanding and patience.  Have a wonderful evening!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a standing ovation for that announcement.  I guess most drivers aren't so upfront about stuff?  Or people are just drunk and thought I was trying to be funny?  Either way, I didn't have any pukers or sleepers and everyone thought I was awesometastic!  YEAH ME!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-7477332452773196690?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/7477332452773196690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=7477332452773196690' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7477332452773196690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7477332452773196690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-mom-thinks-im-cool.html' title='My mom thinks I&apos;m cool!'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-7543502772121301838</id><published>2009-09-12T03:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T03:55:53.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Smells like teen spirit</title><content type='html'>Normally, I drive the routes that go through the bad parts of town. As a result the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;clientele&lt;/span&gt; mostly consists of crack whores, bums, vagrants, winos, ex-cons, and everything in between. To say the least, the stench is unbearable. I drive with the windows open, fans on but that does little to combat the smell. Occasionally, I'll come home and my boyfriend will remark that I smell like I'm homeless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you haven't smelled this particular stench, you won't quite understand but I'll do my best to describe it to you. Combine the smell of a dump, a sewage treatment plant, sweaty gym socks, unwashed hair mixed with motor oil, stale &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;alcohol&lt;/span&gt; that has begun to grow mold, cat urine, garbage, rotten food and any other obnoxious, revolting scent you can think of. That's what my bus would smell like and then it would &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;permeate&lt;/span&gt; my clothing making me smell like that, hence why my boyfriend commented on my scent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the last week, I've been driving a new route that takes me through the richer part of town. Seeing as it was Friday night everyone adopted their finery and bathed in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;perfume&lt;/span&gt;/cologne. It got so bad, that I felt like I was in a department store suffocating by way of Channel number 5. It got to the point where I almost wished for the homeless smell over the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;perfumed&lt;/span&gt; smell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Unfortunately&lt;/span&gt; God hates me and heard my prayer. A homeless man got on the bus (he's actually gotten on everyday at the exact same time...8:37pm) carrying his bag containing a six pack of toilet paper. Everyday for the last week he's gotten on with his six pack of T.P. You know when your house/car/little brother gets toilet papered, and you wonder who did it? Well I've solved the mystery. It's this guy. Believe me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, he gets on and immediately the bus smells like a overly &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;perfumed&lt;/span&gt; dumpster. Why can't I just have a bus full of people who don't smell of anything? But like I previously mentioned, God hates me and wants to torture me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mission accomplished God. I survived this. What are you going to do next? Go ahead, try it, make my day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-7543502772121301838?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/7543502772121301838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=7543502772121301838' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7543502772121301838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/7543502772121301838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/09/smells-like-teen-spirit.html' title='Smells like teen spirit'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-5742632846405786658</id><published>2009-09-12T02:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T02:28:22.332-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fish heads, fish heads, roly, poly fish heads.  Fish heads, fish heads, eat them up.  Yum!</title><content type='html'>Actual conversation between two males aged 30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy 1: Who would you do if you could do any &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Disney&lt;/span&gt; character?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy 2: &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Mulan&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt;. She's hot and I like &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Asians&lt;/span&gt;. You?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy 1: Ariel from the little mermaid. I get ya on the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Asian&lt;/span&gt; thing but I tend to go for the redheads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy 2: Oh, yeah. I forgot about her, I'd do her too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My internal thoughts: You guys do realise you're talking about a mermaid...meaning her lower half is a fish. She most likely has NO vagina...unless of course they're talking about her after she's turned into a human.... Wait a second, why am I even pondering this? We're talking about animated characters here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-5742632846405786658?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/5742632846405786658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=5742632846405786658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5742632846405786658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5742632846405786658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/09/fish-heads-fish-heads-roly-poly-fish.html' title='Fish heads, fish heads, roly, poly fish heads.  Fish heads, fish heads, eat them up.  Yum!'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-5656050381675659817</id><published>2009-09-11T02:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T12:23:28.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bus drivers are not hair dressers or bar tenders...we do not want to listen to your problems!</title><content type='html'>Guy: Hey, my girlfriend's mad at me. Can I ask you some advice?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Ummm&lt;/span&gt;...I'm really not the best person to ask. I'm not a normal girl. I can't even remember the date my boyfriend and I started going out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy (ignoring me): My girl's pregnant and she asked me to pick up all of this facial stuff for her but I had to go way out in the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;suburbs&lt;/span&gt; to get it. Now she's pissed because I'm coming home so late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Huh? I don't understand. She asked you to get stuff for her and you &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;trekked&lt;/span&gt; way out there to get it, when you didn't have to and she's mad? She should be happy you made this long journey to get the stuff for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: So should I get her a monkey or something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: A real monkey?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: No, a stuffed monkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: A stuffed animal? Aren't stuffed animals for kids?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Nah, girls love stuffed animals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Really? I'd punch a guy if he got me a teddy bear. I'd rather a case of beer. But like I mentioned before, I'm not the best girl to ask. Obviously you know her best, so you should do whatever you think will make her happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Thanks for the advice. You're a lifesaver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: No worries.&lt;br /&gt;Internal thoughts: Why the hell are you thanking me? I gave you no useful advice whatsoever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-5656050381675659817?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/5656050381675659817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=5656050381675659817' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5656050381675659817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5656050381675659817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/09/men-are-from-mars-most-women-from.html' title='Bus drivers are not hair dressers or bar tenders...we do not want to listen to your problems!'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-2477805792477700962</id><published>2009-09-11T03:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T12:21:54.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Caution...this post contains profanity...more than my other ones</title><content type='html'>Guy getting off the bus: Thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Your welcome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: No! I said Fuck you! FUCK YOU!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well in that case, have a nice day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Stop it! Stop being so &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' cheerful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I can't help it, it's in my nature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Fuck you, you &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' fucker. Fuck! Why do I always get &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' stuck with these goddamn chipper &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' people? I hope your &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' bus crashes and you &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' die you stupid &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fuckin&lt;/span&gt;' fuck face!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Bye!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I shut the doors and drove away before he could utter one more "FUCK".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my job so much! That's not sarcasm either. People often ask me how I can handle all the abuse that I get. Really, it's quite easy. I laugh at people in my head, pretend to be offended (so they'll feel satisfied in the insults they've given) and then go home and blog all about it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-2477805792477700962?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/2477805792477700962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=2477805792477700962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/2477805792477700962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/2477805792477700962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/09/cautionthis-post-contains-profanitymore.html' title='Caution...this post contains profanity...more than my other ones'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-1874955164215504371</id><published>2009-08-24T16:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T21:32:23.254-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It all happened in three days.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Wednesday:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pick up a drunk old man who's carrying a shopping bag.  He stumbles onto the bus and takes a seat close to the rear doors.  As I continue driving, I see him pull a beer out of his bag and start drinking it.  I immediately pull over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Sir, you cannot drink on the bus.  I'm going to have to ask you to leave."  I say.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'm fine.  Keep driving woman."  He replies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Nope.  Get off now, or I'll call security and have them escort you off the coach and believe me, they won't be nearly as nice as I am."  I say.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He then stands up, says "I'm done anyways", pours his mostly full beer on the aisle of the bus and urinates himself.    After he gets off, I call dispatch and request for someone to come clean the bus.  They respond by asking me if I can carry on.  Ha!  That's funny!  I've got a bus with urine and beer running down the aisle, I'm not driving this thing until it's clean!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thursday:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A man gets on the bus downtown and asks if I go to 45th Ave.  I reply that I do and he sits down at the back.  As the bus eventually empties out, he gradually moves closer and closer to the front.   Eventually he's the only one left on the bus and he's sitting in the seat closest to me.  A few blocks from his destination, he gets up, stands behind me and starts talking to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I pull into his stop, he stumbles and falls into me.  I saw it coming so I put my arm out to block myself.  I feel his arm snake past my outstretched arm and land on my chest.  He immediately starts grabbing and pinching until he's gotten a handful of my boob.  He then stands up and exits the bus as though nothing had happened.  The whole entire incident with him not even looking in my direction.  It was almost as though he thought that if he didn't look at me, I wouldn't notice what was happening.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Many people asked me after the fact why I didn't do anything to stop him or do anything after the fact.  The reason is, I didn't expect this to happen at all.  I was in shock that it was happening to me.  I couldn't react even if I wanted to.  I just shut the doors and drove back to the yard.  Twenty minutes later I called the assault in but by that time it was too late to do anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the assault, I was left with a large bruise on my chest.  Looking back, I realised that this man was not intoxicated as he had led me to believe.  It was just a ruse that he used in order to grab me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's about eight pm and I'm driving through the rich part of town.  I stop to let about six teenagers on the bus.  A few stops later, I get pulled over by the cops.  There's one car blocking the front of the bus, one behind me and one blocking on coming traffic.  I open the doors and let a female officer on the bus.  "Lock the doors right now"  She commands me.  I comply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"EVERYONE, HANDS IN THE AIR.  SHOW ME YOUR HANDS"  She yells.   I let another cop on the rear doors and together they start questioning the teenagers.  Meanwhile, a supervisor shows up and asks me what's going on.  "I have no idea.  The police just boarded my bus and started screaming orders at the passengers."  I say.  I get up out of the drivers seat to get off the bus when one of the cops yells at me, "Stay right where you are"  I instantly slink back into my seat wondering what the hell is going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About ten minutes later the female officer comes to the front and fills me on what's happening.  Some kids had robbed a jewelery store and in the process sprayed a cop in the face with hairspray.  The officer asked me a few questions.  Where had I picked them up?  What time?  Etc....  Turns out the teens on my bus weren't involved and I was allowed to continue driving.  I overheard the kids after the cops left the bus talking about the robbery and how they knew who did it.  I could have called the police after hearing that but I knew it would be useless.  These teens would never admit who had done the robbery and they had already been thoroughly questioned. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's unfortunate being put in those circumstances.  I had information but I knew it couldn't be used.  Also these teens were part of a gang and I didn't really want to be the one who ratted them out to the cops. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that is just a typical week for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-1874955164215504371?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/1874955164215504371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=1874955164215504371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/1874955164215504371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/1874955164215504371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/08/it-all-happened-in-three-days.html' title='It all happened in three days.'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-4256315576859056979</id><published>2009-08-24T01:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T01:32:53.304-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Creepy</title><content type='html'>I pull up to a stop and an elderly gentleman gets on.  He has white hair, is slightly stooped and carries a cane. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Woah!  I got the pretty driver.  Look at you with your rosy cheeks and pigtails.  You're adorable."  He says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stands directly behind me, peering over my shoulder as I start to drive.  I'm quite uncomfortable with people being that close to me since I have been assaulted three times while at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Move behind the red line please"  I state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, that's it.  Order me around.  Tell me what to do."  He replies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Please, sir, I'm asking you nicely.  Get behind the red line for your own safety."  I say&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, yes, yes"  He replies in an orgasmic voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm serious, get behind the red line RIGHT NOW!"  I demand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, yes, yes"  He says in an orgasmic voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MOVE TO THE BACK OF THE BUS NOW!"  I yell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes.  I've been a naughty boy.  You going to punish me?"  He asks while leering at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stop the bus and turn to face him.  Big mistake.  I notice right away he has an erection.  Now this is starting to get really creepy.  It's like he's role playing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"LOOK!  I'VE HAD IT.  MOVE TO THE BACK OF THE BUS OR ELSE WE WON'T BE GOING ANYWHERE!" I scream at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally  he moves to the back of the bus. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I hate being female.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-4256315576859056979?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/4256315576859056979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=4256315576859056979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/4256315576859056979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/4256315576859056979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/08/creepy.html' title='Creepy'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-3836279520713484612</id><published>2009-08-17T03:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T03:39:01.063-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So sorry for the lack of postings...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-3836279520713484612?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/3836279520713484612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=3836279520713484612' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/3836279520713484612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/3836279520713484612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/08/so-sorry-for-lack-of-postings.html' title='So sorry for the lack of postings...'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-2511710593677851518</id><published>2009-07-23T15:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T15:48:58.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If they start dating, they won't need to come up with pet names for each other</title><content type='html'>Girl: It's funny, we talk all the time but I don't actually know your name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: I'm honey.  Nice to meet you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girl: Likewise.  I'm Daisy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-2511710593677851518?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/2511710593677851518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=2511710593677851518' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/2511710593677851518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/2511710593677851518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/07/if-they-start-dating-they-wont-need-to.html' title='If they start dating, they won&apos;t need to come up with pet names for each other'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-920466788698069126</id><published>2009-07-03T03:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T04:30:29.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The good, the bad, and the ugly (passengers)</title><content type='html'>THE GOOD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Male passenger: So you drive the bus in between modeling jobs?&lt;br /&gt;Me: *very unlady like snort and hysterical laughter*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a nice compliment though.  I must say I did drive around the rest of the night with a huge grin on my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE BAD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young girl comes running past me as I'm standing outside my bus.  "We didn't even need to run, he's not in the bus" she says to her posse of friends.  "It's she, and I'll be leaving in about ten minutes"  I reply.  Looking straight at me she says "HE must be taking another break.  I swear bus drivers don't care about the schedule; all they want is more time to drink their coffee, eat their doughnuts and get fatter.  It's not like it's a hard job.  They don't even deserve breaks for what they do". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My opinion (which, sadly, was not voiced because I wasn't in the mood to lower myself to this chicks standards and/or pick a fight with her.  It would be embarrassing for a seventeen year old cheerleader to start crying in front of her friends...oh, no, wait...don't they do that all the time?)  Number one: she's confusing bus drivers with cops.  Number two:  driving, contrary to popular belief, is one of the hardest things on the human body.  If we don't get out of the seat to stretch every once in a while we'll end up with back/knee/joint issues....hell it still happens when we do get out of the seat and stretch.  Number three: dealing with rude, disrespectful people all day eventually will get to you.  WE NEED TO GET OUT OF THE BUS AND TAKE TEN MINUTES TO OURSELVES OR WE WILL GO POSTAL ON THE NEXT PASSENGER THAT ACTS LIKE AN IDIOT! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE UGLY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An extremely intoxicated man gets on board at the train station.  He sits down and not even five seconds later he starts snoring.  "Sir!  Wake up and tell me where you're getting off"  I ask.  "uninteligible mumbling" he replies.  "Look, you need to tell me where you're getting off.  Once I get to the end of the line, there are NO more buses running until five in the morning.  That means you'll be waiting outside for over two hours.  Understand?"  I say.  He snores in response.  "Fine.  Just wanted to make sure we're clear" I say. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I call dispatch and explain I have a passenger passed out on the bus.  The first thing they ask me is if I'm okay driving with him on board because if I'm not, they'll send someone out A.S.A.P.  I assure them that I'm fine and they tell me to drive to my terminus point and then go up thirty blocks and that's where the calvary will meet me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I get to the assigned meeting point, I see two supervisors waiting for me.  As soon as they see me, they're like "You again.  What's with you and problem passengers?"  Is it a bad thing that supervisors, security and police all know me by name?  It takes about ten minutes to get this guy woken up and off the bus.  When asked where he was trying to get to, he replies "the train station (yes, the same one that he got on the bus at!!!)  Apparently he just got on the bus to keep warm!  Rule number one when you're drunk - don't get on a bus at 2:30 in the morning to keep warm, most likely you'll end up stranded in a location farther than where you want to be. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time I got back to the yard (ten minutes to get the drunk off the bus, plus an additional 60 blocks of driving) I was 25 minutes late.  It's not that I mind getting the overtime, it's just that I was extremely exhausted and I wanted nothing better than to go home and &lt;del&gt;sleep&lt;/del&gt; write this blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-920466788698069126?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/920466788698069126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=920466788698069126' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/920466788698069126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/920466788698069126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-bad-and-ugly-passengers.html' title='The good, the bad, and the ugly (passengers)'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-393269565567533435</id><published>2009-06-29T22:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T00:22:38.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Passenger of the week weak</title><content type='html'>Drunk man:  Have you seen my brother?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Ummm....  Nope, can't say that I have.&lt;br /&gt;Drunk man: He was on a bus.&lt;br /&gt;Me (looking around the bus): Well, he's not on this one.&lt;br /&gt;Drunk man: Okay, thanks man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then stands in the doorway for a minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: On or off.  Make up your mind.&lt;br /&gt;Drunk guy: Okay, I'm getting on.  I'm supposed to meet my brother on a bus.  Have you seen him?&lt;br /&gt;Me: NO!  Please go have a seat.&lt;br /&gt;Drunk guy: I'm fine standing.&lt;br /&gt;Me: No!  Sit down before you fall down.  This bus won't be moving until you're seated.&lt;br /&gt;Drunk guy: But there aren't any seats.&lt;br /&gt;Me (incredibly frustrated by this point and terribly behind schedule): Yes there are.  I can see at least ten seats available.  Sit down NOW!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He &lt;del&gt;walks&lt;/del&gt; stumbles past about nine empty seats before finally selecting one at the very back of the bus.  As I'm driving along, I notice more and more passengers moving towards the front of the bus away from the crazy drunk guy who is now talking to himself.  As the bus starts to empty out, the crazy man slowly starts moving towards the front of the bus, one seat at a time.  Eventually he's in the seat directly behind me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another passenger stands in the door and strikes a conversation with me before he exits the bus.  "Not too many females that drive at night"  he comments.  "I know, but I prefer to work at night" I reply.  "Get the fuck off the bus, we've all got places to go" the drunk man suddenly shouts out.  "Sir.  He has the right to speak.  You cannot order someone off the bus.  Besides we have plenty of time"  I angrily respond.  "Uh, I was, uh, just telling him to have a good night" the drunk guy says.  I turn back to the other passenger when, much to my dismay, I find him walking quickly away from the bus.  Scared off by the drunk, I reckon.  Seeing as we're a couple minutes ahead of schedule by this time, I decide to get out of the bus and check to make sure all of the lights are in working order.  By the time I get back on the bus, the drunk is yelling frantically at me claiming he's late to meet his brother. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha ha!  Mission accomplished.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-393269565567533435?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/393269565567533435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=393269565567533435' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/393269565567533435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/393269565567533435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/06/passenger-of-week-weak.html' title='Passenger of the &lt;del&gt;week&lt;/del&gt; weak'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-1867533504980622827</id><published>2009-06-29T15:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T23:59:31.994-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Driver of the week weak</title><content type='html'>This goes out to the taxi driver who drove into the side of a bus.  When asked how the accident happened his reply was "I didn't see the bus".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which of course is completely understandable; buses are only 40 feet long thus making them rather difficult to spot, for instance when they're passing a motorcycle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-1867533504980622827?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/1867533504980622827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=1867533504980622827' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/1867533504980622827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/1867533504980622827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/06/driver-of-weak-week.html' title='Driver of the &lt;del&gt;week&lt;/del&gt; weak'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-6190257268243316018</id><published>2009-06-14T03:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T03:59:40.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stereotyping is so much fun</title><content type='html'>There are five types of people who sit at bus stops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The ones who are blissfully unaware of anything happening outside of their own reality(fantasy).&lt;br /&gt;These folks tend to be characterised as those who sit at bus stops, ignore the bus as it's approaching the stop, appear startled as the bus comes to a stop in front of them, and finally outraged when the driver opens the door and asks if they want a ride. "How dare you even ask if I want a ride? If I wanted the bus, I'd let you know. Now let me get back to shooting heroine into my veins."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The ones that are too cool for school.&lt;br /&gt;These people either ignore the bus as it's approaching the stop, or back away and take a sudden interest in reading a poster on the bus stop wall. As you drive past them, you can see them waving frantically, quite often jumping up and down and finally flipping you the bird. "Why the hell didn't you stop? I'm waiting here. You're supposed to pick me up even though, I showed no intention whatsoever of wanting your bus."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The interested ones who definitely want the bus.&lt;br /&gt;As you approach the stop, they stand up and start walking towards the I.D. post. If it's a stop where multiple buses stop, they'll usually accompany this behavior with a wave to let you know that yes, this is the bus they want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The polite wavers who are not interested in taking the bus.&lt;br /&gt;It could be that they had a rock in their shoe that they had to remove or their trick knee was acting up, or a bug stuck in their eye, or that they're official bus stop bench testers. The reason doesn't really matter. They're sitting at the stop, they don't want your bus and they wave you by. I love this type. I wish there were more of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The overly hyper, had ADD as a child, and speaks a mile a minute with hand gestures to match and DOES NOT want the bus in any way, shape or form.&lt;br /&gt;As you're coming into the stop, they wave you by. Unfortunately you have people to drop off so you continue pulling into the stop. By this time the person has stood up, arms and legs thrashing wildly (looks as though they are directing an airplane to land or having a seizure), flecks of spittle flying wildly throughout the air and as you open the doors they state "I don't want the bus". Usually I'll reply with "I got that, but is it okay if I let these people off?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-6190257268243316018?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/6190257268243316018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=6190257268243316018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/6190257268243316018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/6190257268243316018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/06/stereotyping-is-so-much-fun.html' title='Stereotyping is so much fun'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765550002214456885.post-5273637061366144253</id><published>2009-06-14T03:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T03:17:53.051-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And I thought I was lazy</title><content type='html'>I pull up to a stop only to hear "You're late, I've been waiting 40 minutes for a bus".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the next stop (which was two blocks later.  Got that?  Two blocks.) the woman who complained about the bus being late got off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So did you get all that?  A woman who was young, in decent shape, and didn't have any difficulty walking chose to wait 40 minutes for a bus to transport her two blocks across level ground on a beautiful sunny day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5765550002214456885-5273637061366144253?l=busbitch.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/feeds/5273637061366144253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5765550002214456885&amp;postID=5273637061366144253' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5273637061366144253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5765550002214456885/posts/default/5273637061366144253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busbitch.blogspot.com/2009/06/and-i-thought-i-was-lazy.html' title='And I thought I was lazy'/><author><name>busbitch</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18223354055233602050</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='05811103938994913001'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry></feed>