I remember thinking, “Too late.” Bad decisions usually are.
Riding the bus to school was one of those things I did for a short time. In elementary school, I was always within walking distance. When in high school—and if you’ve been following this blog for a while, you’ll already know—I was right around the corner from it. Middle School was the short two-year stint I spent on that yellow smell hole (I know what I wrote).
There isn’t much that I recall about the details of that afternoon. I know what kind of a turn it was. The look of abject terror and confused panic in the eyes of all those who participated unwillingly. The anger of the bus driver. The dejection of those punished. It was a confusing series of unfortunate events.
“A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it.”
—Agent Kay, Men in Black
It’s true. Mob mentality. Mob mentality is a dangerous event. All it takes is one idiot to make a suggestion, an even bigger idiot—with more enthusiasm—to second it, and the next thing you know: “Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… MASS HYSTERIA!” —Peter Venkman, Ghostbusters.
But it’s true and we all know it. Any sane human with an ounce of logic would never participate in some of the worst moments in history if left to their own devices. And yet…
I was in the seventh grade. School was over and the two town’s worth of middle school children had collected onto a bus to be delivered home. See, there were three small towns that shared the middle and high schools. The two larger ones had their own elementary and the third smaller town (when driving through, if-you-blink-you’ll-miss-it small. seriously) bused to the closest. So, while there wasn’t a mighty mass of middle schoolers, there was still a bevy in the bus. It was full.
Between Ephraim and Manti there is a long, straight stretch of boring road that allows those who have been freshly educated to let their brains fall out, while on the way home. Maybe that’s why the floor is always sticky…? Regardless, it was on one of those warmer Spring days where someone had an idea. A stupid idea. A really stupid idea. A really, truly, tremendously stupid idea. Then, it was seconded.
Sure, I know I repeated myself a few times in that last paragraph, but, I feel it is imperative that you (dear reader) fully grasp—or at least attempt to—the seriousness of how completely lacking of intelligence the idea was. Looking back on the whole fiasco, I cannot—for the life of me—understand how nobody had the brains to call us out and suggest that, “Hey, that’s stupid!”
Our bus driver was an crusty, old man who did not seem to enjoy his job. He wasn’t friendly. He didn’t smile. He just opened the doors and let us in or out of the bus. No more. No less. One day, Eli (a friend of mine) made a comment that just stuck with me. In fact, I would later use Eli’s idea when I had a long, straight stretch of highway. I’m off-topic, sorry. So anyway, Eli mentioned that we (the children on the bus, in general) were pretty awful—himself included. He also thought that it would be terrifyingly funny if the bus driver, Ken,—just to shut us all up and get us to behave—would take the toolbox that always sat next to his seat, place it on the gas pedal, then jump out of his seat, into the aisle (facing us), and then yell at us to be good or else he’d toss us off the bus while still driving.
“Just imagine it…” We all did. We also all got the shivers. The ‘We’ used here refers to the ‘cool kids’ (and troublemakers) that sat at the back of the bus. Yeah, I was a ‘cool kid’ for a brief time. The idea could have worked. As I have already mentioned, the stretch of road between Manti and Ephraim is very straight. At the time it was a single lane and little to no traffic at any given time of day. The bus driver could have done it. Having a very visual mind, I thought of it instantly. I could clearly visualize that old man jumping into the aisle, arms raised with hands in claw-like positions, his face set in a sinister, snarling sneer… phantasmagorical, man… phantasmagorical.
“Hey, that’s stupid!” it was said… We just didn’t listen. Nope, we didn’t. She tried to warn us. We didn’t care. Some didn’t even hear her. The ambient noise was bad. Anyway, it was too late. Playground rule #7: Majority rules. We had the majority and we were going to make her resistance work for us.
I know, that the last paragraph is slightly out of story order. Forgive me, please.
As the bus got into town and began its weaving, swerving, and swaying around the corners of its route, an idea formed in one of the ‘cool kid’s mind: “Ever notice how much the bus leans when Ken turns? He goes too fast. Wonder what it would take to get the bus to tip over?” Suddenly, we were all interested and began to watch the pitch at which Ken took his bus route turns. They were fast and sharp. We all knew the route. We all knew what was coming. A sharp turn. A very sharp turn. Then, the idea came. Once quickly discussed, we had to act fast. Time was now against us.
The idea was simple. Stupid, but simple: Tip the bus on a turn.
In order to make this work, we needed as much mass to one side as possible. We needed as many kids as possible. The plan was passed up and down both sides of the bus. Almost 100% agreement. Nobody would exit the bus for a few more stops. Sure the bus still would, and those not wanting to be part of the plan could freely leave. It was about to be chaos, but, it wasn’t going to be anarchy. We may have been unruly rascals, but we weren’t monsters.
Once we had our numbers we decided on a turn. It was going to be a harsh left coming up. Unfortunately, there was a trio that didn’t want to participate and they had not gotten off yet. This is important because one of them was heavy. Very heavy. I know, this is not kind in any way. I acknowledge that. It doesn’t change what went down that day. That person (who shall remain unidentified by name) was not going to shift sides with the rest of us. Fine. Now we were monsters.
Without letting that trio know what we were up to, we passed the new plan up and down both sides. As we did this, that trio watched and believed the situation to be resolved and over with. They believed because we wanted them to. In the instructions, we told everyone to glance at that group and glare. We also told them the plan was to execute the weight shift to the left for the upcoming—and sharper—right turn. It was going to be glorious. Glorious.
The sibling trio felt safe and secure. The bus began its turn to the right. The lean of physics kicked in. The command was given as any mutiny might: “NOW!” We all moved. All except the unwilling.
In one swift upheaval, bodies surged to the left, like a tsunami, taking all their property with them—instruments in the overhead racks included. We needed the mass (we thought it through—almost). And, as the bodies shifted, the screams of the unwilling erupted and were quickly silenced by the cacophony of voices squealing, plastic banging about, bodies slamming the seats wrapped in vinyl (and duct tape), hands slapping metal poles, and all the general chaotic sounds of children being stupid. So stupid. So very stupid.
Her eyes got so big. So big. The one who didn’t want it to happen. I saw them. She was two seats behind me and on the other side. When I rose to my new seat, I took a moment to scan the ranks. Her face reflected what I imagine anybody’s face would display when they—being unprepared—looked Death right in the eye. I quickly looked away. I wasn’t going to let it bother me that day. I needed to focus on what I was going to see. I—for a brief moment—by chance, had a position all to myself. I was right next to the window glass. I saw the ground rise up, toward us. I suddenly and fully realized what we had done. I had to move. Too late.
How it was done in such a short span of time, I’ll never know. What I do know—from years of movie editing—is that a lot can change in a few precious seconds. As the bus turned, blind orders were issued by unknown commanders and even more blindly followed. Bodies spread out and filled in gaps to get more mass closer to the side of the bus and away from the center of gravity. Before I knew what was going on, I had four bodies behind me. When the bus landed, my skull was going to be smeared along the street while shards of glass pre-shredded my flesh.
So, that’s why she screamed… Fair.
As the ground grew ever so much closer, the realization of our lack of intelligence grew. Sadly, it was too late. The mob had won. There was no backing down. This was either going to work, or it wasn’t. Currently, it was working. Then, at the last possible second, with what I can only believe to be the hand of God interfering, the bus righted itself and completed the turn. Safely.
“Hey, that’s stupid!” it was said… We just didn’t listen. Nope, we didn’t.
Ken immediately stopped the bus, stood up, and yelled at us. Everyone who participated was obligated to disembark. In a bigger city, all those who skipped their stop or had yet to reach it would have been seriously adversely affected. In our small town, it would only add five or so minutes to their walks home. And, because it was unclear to Ken who gave the command or who was a willing participant and who was not, he couldn’t punish any of us. However, after that event, we watched that toolbox all the more vigilantly, waiting for the day…
Almost Heroes 