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UER Forum > Journal Index > The fall of the house of Usher. > The Magic Bus (Viewed 1911 times)
The Magic Bus
entry by CaptOrbit 
8/24/2007 6:46 PM

Part I, The Magic Bus

When I was in school I drove charter buses. I had just taken a job for a medium sized charter service having quit my last job because the owner was a bit shady for my taste. This company seemed more promising. My second run for the new company was simple, take a load of Kraft sales reps from Cincinnati to Indianapolis to see a basketball game at the RCA dome. I was given $50 to fuel the bus, an MCI 102A3 with orders to then drive the bus from the far south western edge of Hamilton county to the far north eastern edge make my pick up and then proceed back west toward Indianapolis, I would obviously then run the same route on the way back. Who knows already what's wrong with this picture?
I asked the owner of the company how he expected any bus, much less a full sized MCI to make the trip on so little fuel? He assured me that despite all of my previous experience, (and common sense) THIS bus would do it.

After I let of my passengers at the RCA dome, a quick calculation revealed that we would run out of fuel going home, most likely on the desolate stretch of I-74 somewhere near Batesville Indiana. I wasn't to worried though, I had about two hours to fix the problem. I was relaxed enough to even get some dinner at a Subway.

With about an hour to go I called the owner asking for a fuel card number only to be told to put the fuel on my personal credit card. I told him it was in my car as I only used it for emergencies, he said “Then pay cash.” I said only brought enough for some lunch and I already had spent it anyway. I suggested taking up a collection from the passengers and having them deduct it from the bill. To which he responded, “Only if you want to lose your job. They are not to know about this.” “Well, what do you want me to do then?” I asked. He sighed deeply before stating in the most condescending of tones, “I think it would be pretty obvious, drive around and find a place that sells diesel, and doesn't make you pre-pay, and where the clerk isn't likely to be paying attention.” I could only stammer. “But...but... What! Are you crazy? This bus has YOUR last name written in letters two feet high on both sides and plus your phone number on the back! and you want me to do a drive-off? His tone had now switched from condescending to cold. “I want you do your job and get that bus back here. It’s your fault you're in this mess. Now fix it I don’t care how. Just do not under any circumstances let the passengers know there's a problem. That would be very ill-advised on your part.”

So there you go if that's not shady, I don’t know what is


Part 11/2 (I was asked why I didn't just leave)

I Couldn't, I was stuck in Indianapolis with a bunch of sales reps who had turned out to be actually really decent, They had even offered me an extra ticket to the game. I didn't want to do that to them.



PS Here are the specs on what I was driving. You tell me how far $50 will take you. (MCI 102A3)
http://en.wikipedi...ch_Industries#Past

Part II The long drive home...

I sat in an empty parking lot across from a busy gas station on the edge of downtown Indianapolis, the diesel pumps were wide open, and on the outside lanes, had it really come to this? I reached down to the panel and flipped on the master power, then pressed the start button , and far behind me the massive diesel rumbled to life. A few seconds later I was seeing the gas station getting smaller in my rear-view mirror, no it had not come to that, and as long as I was in charge it wasn't going to.

After the game I picked up my passengers who I was glad to see were in a pretty good mood and pointed the bus toward I-74 and home.

The raucous singing and laughter that had filled the back of the coach for those first few dozen miles leaving Indianapolis had now become more subdued, most of the passengers had fallen into quite conversation or were just simply watching the darkened farmland roll by . I was however watching something else. The gas gauge had the smallest sliver of black between the needle and the E when we had left downtown Indianapolis, now that sliver was gone, the needle was resting directly on the E. A mileage sign indicated that we would soon be coming up on Batesville, my calculations had been right. Another sign advertised that there was a truck stop coming up in two miles. I turned on the over head map light to one more time check the fuel gauge (most of the instrument lights didn't work, including the fuel gauge light.) It was now or never, I would have to tell them. As I switched off the map light I felt a hand on my shoulder, looking up I saw the group's leader standing in the aisle beside me. “We've noticed how often you’ve been checking the gauges.” He said, “Be honest with me. It’s the oil pressure isn’t it?”

I had never set out to make bus driving a career, and I haven't, but when I take a job I try to my best to do the job right and to be a professional. Telling this man the bus he had charted was about to run out of gas and worse yet I had no money to replace it with was about all my professionalism could stand, it was just so lame.

I sighed. “No it’s not the oil pressure, we're almost out of fuel, and I don’t know quite how to say this, but I don’t have any way to pay for more.” To my surprise rather than blowing up he looked relived, “ Well THAT we can fix.” then he turned and called back to the other passengers “It’s not the engine, were just out of gas. Come everybody ante up. A few bucks apiece and we’ll be fine.” As I turned the bus down the exit ramp to the truck stop he was again at my side counting a small handful of bills. “I’ve got 37 dollars, will that be enough?” I told him we should be fine. It would get them home, but secretly I wondered if it would get me back to the garage too. Luckily it did, but only just.

I instructed the group leader to deduct the $37 from the bill no matter what the owner said. Back at the office park where I had first picked the group up the leader was the last off, as he passed he pressed a bill into my hand. “You did a good job out there. Thanks for not letting us run out.” As he stepped off I opened my hand. It was a fifty.

When I got back the garage was empty so I parked the bus and went home. The next day I went to collect my check, luckily Kraft hadn't yet called to dispute the bill. Before I even got to the building the owner was making a bee-line straight for me. “How’d you handle that situation last night?”
“I took care of it” I said.
“How?!” He demanded.
“I took care of it’s all you need to know, now where's my check?” The owner looked rather incredulous and said that it was in the office, “but know this, if I find out you told them about your little problem, that money’s coming out of your next run.” As I walked to the office he shouted after me, Don’t bother showing up tomorrow you’re suspended until I can figure this out.

He called be about two weeks later to ask if I could do another charter trip for him, I told him to "F**k off."



[last edit 11/4/2010 5:09 AM by CaptOrbit - edited 10 times]
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