Mano-a-mano with Transit minions

—Toward the end of my 16&1/2 year career of driving transit bus with Regional Transit Service……
I had a late-afternoon Park-and-Ride out to Hamlin (NY).
I always had a 300 “Bendable,” and maybe 35-40 pleasant regulars.
I picked up at Midtown Plaza bus-terminal, and then drove west on expressway. I didn’t start discharging passengers until Spencerport, west of Rochester.
Spencerport, Brockport, Hilton, and finally Hamlin.
A country bus-ride with good clientele, as opposed to inner-city thugs and rip-off artists.
I usually had a few left at Hamlin, maybe the same six I had when I drove the morning Park-and-Ride from Hamlin earlier in my career.
They all knew me as “a good one.” Always on time, never absent, and I warned riders if I was gonna be away.
And I wanna get them people wherever they’re goin’ no matter what. I ain’t stiffin’ my passengers. I rode bus myself once.
One afternoon I had 306 bus. I was returning from Hamlin, not deadhead, but I rarely got anyone.
Cruising along a marked rural two-lane, 50-60 mph.
Suddenly a dark Plymouth Omni pulled out in front of me.
I hit the brake-pedal — NUTHIN!
I pushed harder; again NUTHIN!
I floored the brake-pedal; a full 100-pound brake-application.
306 began to slow. I missed the Omni, but it was close!
I still was on the highway, not off the road, but at least five seconds had passed since I first hit that brake-pedal!
I was so flabbergasted I decided to inform the Mechanical-Department before going home.
Mechanical-Department offices were one floor above the Overhaul-Shop.
“You gotta do something about that 306 bus,” I told ‘em. “I almost creamed a four-wheeler. It wouldn’t stop!”
“Who are you?” minion asked, glancing up from his donut. “You’re just an ‘operator’” (bus driver).
“So I cream the four-wheeler, and you fire my ass!”
“You took out an unsafe bus,” minion said, scattering crumbs.
“If I refuse a bus I found unsafe, you call me on-the-carpet for refusing the junk you assigned me!
I try to inform you 306 is unsafe, and you pull rank on me!”
Again: “Who are you?
That thing will lock up everything. We road-tested it on Mustard Street.”
“Sure,” I said; “five seconds after I hit the brake-pedal. I cover a lotta ground in five seconds!
I’m the dude that picks up the passengers that pay your salary!
If the bus causes an accident, you just fire the driver!”
306 was fixed, but I had to endure noisy management posturing.

• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service (RTS), the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove bus 16&1/2 years (1977-1993).
• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban or rural end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars for a bus-ride to or from work in Rochester.
• My use of the word “ass….” —I normally avoid words like this — decorum and taste. But this is exactly what I said. Such words were part of Transit’s lexicon.