Bussers Can’t Be Choosers

I worked in a large South Florida City with a world-famous beach. However, I worked downtown, which, at the time, consisted mostly of office buildings and a few restaurants. The bus terminal was also downtown. This resulted in people (invariably young men) getting off of the Greyhound bus, expecting to be at the beach, which was somewhat far away.

Every day, I would leave my workplace and walk to my mom’s office to catch a ride home. I would be stopped by these lost (and I suspect broke) people and asked for directions to the beach.

I would point out the bus stop and tell them which bus number to take. I would offer them bus fare, and I was never turned down. I wish I had given them money for fast food, too, but I was young. They were so appreciative.

One day, I was stopped by one guy who asked where the beach was. I pointed out the bus stop and told him the number. Before I could offer him the fifty cents, he spotted a bus that was far down the street. I couldn’t read the sign.

Guy: “What bus is that?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Guy: “You don’t know much.”

Me: “I know where I am.”