Ode to The Bus Driver

There are but a handful of consistencies that can be counted on across the World.
In no particular order: Fanta Orange. Flip Flops. Bikes made in China.
And The Bus Driver.

I'm not one to lump anyone to another, but this cross cultural likeness is too beautiful to ignore.

You know this man. We all do.

Mighty forearms.
Elbow draped out the window, tattooed from years spent resting in the rubber well of the open window.
Toothpick. Present. Always.

Quick with a smile. Quicker with the horn.

He is not a truck driver - opting for a solitary life on the road.
No, no. The Bus Driver indulges in the company of others.
Each rider, a chance to flex his well-worn charm and wit.
If his bus is equipped with a microphone - he rocks it.

A cigarette at every rest stop.
A loafer or boot kicked up on the tire of the bus.
Happy to small talk while we wait, but when it's time to load 'em up and fly, he's all biz.

Back in the bus, a personal touch flaps from the rearview mirror.
A Manchester United flag or a symbol of the God that keeps him company on the road when we all get off.
Ask him about it. He'll share the sermon.
And for the love of that God, please keep your feet off the seats.

His native tongue may vary from country to country, let's get one thing straight:
He knows what's best.
And if you ask, or if you don't, you're likely to get a little free advice.

And truth be told, you NEED it.
THIS is a man to count on.
He'll take you where you need to go.
He'll point you in the right direction.
He'll chat you up when you're lonely.

Laugh at his rusty jokes.
Smile when you get off.
Give him a good, hard pat on the shoulder, even if touching makes him uncomfortable.

Appreciate this dude.

Thanks, Bus Driver.