Several Tons of Glass and Metal and Exploding Chemicals can Weave and Soar

“Bus Wars … gimme those Bus Wars…don’t let them end. Thank you very much.” A nod to Bill Murray via another nod at engadget.

Yesterday, in my excitement over a chest mounted microphone, I forgot to tell the story of the greatest bus commute ever taken.

To give you an idea of what goes on with the busses here, I’m going to describe the picture heading today’s entry. I took the picture from my seat on my bus this morning. There is a bus in front of me, one to my right, and one in front of the bus to my right. There are other busses near me not shown in the picture. Fleets of these busses race through the city all day, each of them bound to converge upon certain points along the sidewalks to pick up or drop off passengers.

Because it’s cumbersome for the drivers jockey with each other to stop at every single stop, it’s the responsibility of us waiting passengers to spot our bus and flag it down if we want it to pick us up.

So yesterday, I was waiting for what seemed to be an excessively long time for my bus to arrive when a flock of busses flew around the corner and approached my stop. I spotted mine: “583 Cosmo Velho,” but before I could signal to it, another bus stopped in front of me and blocked the line of sight between me and 583’s driver. I ran forward to get in front of the blocker but the blocking bus moved forward with me and I watched 583 race by and down the road.

Left to mouth my english words of frustration on the sidewalk, I stood with my head down, resigned to wait another eternity. But then I looked up. The driver of the blocking bus waved for me to hop on. I told him, frustrated, that I was going to Laranjeiras, that his bus wasn’t going there. He said “get. on.”

That’s not true, he didn’t say that, but it’s the idea, and I did get on.

Between the rumblings of the transmission and the screeching breaks, he assured me that we’d catch the 583. I couldn’t believe it. Somehow, between picking up and dropping off more passengers and obeying traffic signals, he managed to weave through little cars, trucks and other busses until he cut off the 583 and pinned it against a curb.

Dazed, I jumped off the bus, flashed an upward thumb at my driver and said joia. Which is to say, I said “jewel” which is kind of like saying “awesome” down here.

I feel bad for not being more effusive with my thanks, but I could hardly believe he’d done it. This is what it means to ride a bus in this city. This is what you can do if you can drive a bus in this city.

In celebration, Bill Murray sings Star Wars.