When I was a little kid our bus stop was at the end of our street, and more than just a place to catch a ride to school (or, more frequently, to just barely miss catching a ride to school) it was the first place where I interacted with a large group of peers, most of whom were not necessarily my friends.
Some weren’t my friends because they lived on the other side of the busy road that intersected with our sleepy street; a road which we were forbidden to cross, and which roared with traffic each morning as we waited for the bus. Some of those kids weren’t my friends because they were much older, and it was unthinkable for 3rd graders to interact with 5th graders. 5th graders were big, and they sat at the back of the bus and used curse words. And some of those kids weren’t my friends because they were jerks who liked to make fun of me because I didn’t have a Starter jacket, or because I didn’t have Reebok Pumps. We all waited for the bus together, and most days it seemed like that’s all we had in common.
We were a perfect representation of modern society using mass transit. Many people arriving at different times, some rude and inconsiderate, some trying to blend in with the background, all strung together by a common means of transportation. The metro is the big yellow school bus for adults.
So as I drove to work this morning and passed the bus stop that I pass every day on my way to work, I was a little bit shocked at how the kids were working together to accomplish a common goal. They had lined up according to height, with the tallest students at the left and the height diminishing to the right as the diagonal line of elementary school students faced the street and gesticulated toward the oncoming traffic in unison, making the universal field-trip sign to get truckers to blow their horns. A quick pumping of the fist pulling an invisible cord connected to an invisible airhorn that was sounded in absentia by the passing traffic, including me. A quick honk was more than worth it to see them laugh and cheer.
I can only imagine that the people sleeping in the houses nearby wondered what all the honking was about.
Kids today: no sense of factionalism.
It’s the goddamned communists that are ruining our youth.
That was a perfect representation of my childhood, too. Thanks for makin’ me think of it ACW.
Also? New word of the day: gesticulate
you honkey.
What a great story!! And yes, it reminded me of my youth as well. You depicted it perfectly!
Thanks for the smiles - honk, honk!
it’s all fun and games till you run them down like neat little dominos.
no wait, that’s still fun.
what? dominos = game. it’s true.
This tit-bit reminded me of all the people from my childhood. Specifically those, of who I have compiled a list, that I have not yet forcibly sodomized with an Air Jordan tennis shoe in a public setting.
Yes. When the revoltion comes, they’ll all get a shoe in the ass. I like to think I’ve much more flair than, say, your average run-of-the-mill Charles Whitman.
But enough about me.
people to kill: billy madison
I’m impressed that they lined up from tallest to shortest… How could you not look at such a synchronized group of individuals and NOT honk your horn?
Some of the university students at the end of my street have taped a makeshift, cardboard sign on a telephone pole. It reads: YOU HONK, WE DRINK.
I didn’t hear much honking, but I did see a lot of drinking.
My heart was warmed by this story.
This was, indeed, a touching story. Of course, it would have been better if you’d included the part where you honked while adding them to your hood ornament collection — shortest to tallest.
Did I miss it again? “Honk if you love honkey Day?” Sheesh, I’m always a day late and a dollar short…
When you mentioned the kids making fun of you I imagined a little kid with brown paper bag on his head and thought “Well sure, a kid with a bag on his head is going to have a rough time of it.”
My bus stop was often so cold you had to show up exactly on time. We’re talking 20 below or colder. That was miserable.
Oh god, the bus stop…. When I was in junior high, I had to wait in the dark for the bus with all of the stoners. Those kids scared me back then, but in retrospect I realize they were too busy digging around for cigarettes, littering, and discussing the best place to hide one’s stash, to notice me.
But your post brings up an important point - one day when I do finally buy a real grown up house, I will make sure it’s not located next to, across from, or otherwise near a school bus stop.