So, there I was… five minutes behind schedule, coffee already lukewarm, and then I see it! The flashing red lights! The dreaded stop sign arm extending like a mechanical gatekeeper, and suddenly my commute has transformed into an involuntary residency behind the yellow-painted purgatory. Yeah, you know what I’m talkin’ about… the school bus!
Well, I’m convinced this particular bus wasn’t just dropping off kids; it was a Trojan Horse containing a small city’s worth of elementary students. One by one they filed off. Ten, twenty, fifty… by the time we hit the theoretical hundredth child, I started looking for the hidden portal inside the bus that clearly leads to a Narnia-style dimension. Just sayin’… 🤷
You know the song, right? 🎶 ”The wheels on the bus go round and round.”🎶 Well, I’m here to report that the song is a total fabrication. Those wheels were as stationary as a boulder in a Zen garden. The wheels on the bus went absolutely nowhere! And as the driver behind this magical bus with 5,000 kids on board—yeah, I know… slight exaggeration, but it’s my story, so be quiet—it felt like my soul was slowly evaporating into oblivion.
Just when I thought the exodus was over and the road would finally clear, out stepped the last kid. Thank the Lord! But then… ugh… this child was obviously a philosopher-poet who clearly didn’t believe in the linear progression of time.
First, he stopped to contemplate the vastness of the suburban sky, perhaps searching for a sign from the cosmos. Then, right in the middle of the asphalt, he decided it was the optimal moment to perform a masterclass in shoe-tying. It was a double-knot situation… and very technical, and very, very—more like capital “V”—VERY slooww! But the grand finale? Yeah, a worm was crawling near the sidewalk. At least that’s what I think it was. I really don’t know… but let’s go with worm. So, naturally, our young protagonist had to pause for a brief scientific field study.
I’m sitting there gripped by impatience, watching a seven-year-old become the next Charles Darwin while I’m just trying to make it to the airport before my brain pops out my ears. Okay, maybe I’m being a little over dramatic… but remember: it’s my story. 😜
As I sat there oscillating between a sigh and a laugh, I had to check my blood pressure and remember my own DNA. My own kids were always the living embodiment of “Bus Stop Chaos.”
My oldest was the Tactical Specialist; she’d hit the pavement and make a beeline for the front door like she’s being pursued by a swarm of angry bees… or like the school building itself was a ticking time bomb she narrowly escaped. Efficiency personified!
I mean, she’d treat that walk like a prison break where the warden is still in the rearview mirror, eyes on the prize and absolutely zero interest in the local flora or fauna. She didn’t just walk; she executed a high-speed extraction mission, clearly believing that any second spent on the sidewalk is a second she could be spending on the couch in her pajamas.
But then… there’s my youngest. She’s always been more the scenic route enthusiast type. If she’s getting off that bus, she’s performing a one-woman dance routine. She’d zig-zag across the street, stop to twirl around every single lamp post like she’s auditioning for Singin’ in the Rain, and treat the driveway like a red carpet. Some days, I didn’t think she’d ever make it to the front door.
Well, I suppose that to a kid, the walk from the bus to the front door isn’t a commute… but an open-world adventure where every crack in the sidewalk is a canyon and every lamp post is a castle tower.
While this adulting gig has its perks—like eating ice cream for dinner without asking permission—I’ll admit I’m a little jealous at times. I’ve forgotten how to find a worm so fascinating that I’d risk a traffic jam to study it.
And as for those school bus drivers? God bless them! They possess the kind of supernatural, titanium-grade patience that should be studied in a lab. If they can handle a hundred tiny philosophers and a “Last Kid” shoe-tying marathon twice a day without losing their minds, they could probably negotiate world peace before their lunch break. I could use a lesson or two… or maybe five, of their patience 101 class.
Well, I eventually made it to work, and while my boss didn’t exactly care about the worm’s structural integrity or the fine art of lamp post twirling, I officially survived the Great Yellow Roadblock of 2026. Next time, I’m not just bringing a snacks, I’m packing a full charcuterie board—yeah, I had to look up the spelling in ole Webster for that one—a sleeping bag, and a three-volume biography on the history of the world. Lol!
Crock’s Thoughts 