I’m Late, I’m Late

By Michael La Mont
Contributing Writer

Bus engines hum, the clock ticks. The busiest time at the bus depot is about to begin.

It’s 2:43 p.m. and the dispatchers are giving the two-minute warning. The once-chattering people go their separate ways and the passengers-to-be   form orderly lines.

The downtown bus depot, aka the Ground Transportation Center aka the GTC, is situated among signs that read “Wells Fargo” and “Bank of the West” and “Alerus;” and still others that say “FORUM” and “ABC Adult Book Cinema Fargo” and “Twin City Army Store.”

Take a look at the people and you’ll notice that the bus depot may be the most diverse place in Fargo—if not the entire state of North Dakota. The people at the bus station are as varied as the signs. If you were filling out a census form for the bus station you’d probably find yourself checking every box in the “Race” section and then you’d have to spell out even more races, letter by letter, in the “and so on” section.

“This is the final call for boarding. All routes will depart in one minute,” says the dispatcher. Most routes are scheduled to leave the depot at 15 and 45 minutes after the hour. Despite the fine weather Moorhead Route 2 is running late and won’t depart for another 10 minutes.

This means that some passengers will miss their transfers at the bus shelter sub-station located in front of the Courtyard Marriott on 11th Street in South Moorhead and will have to wait nearly 30 minutes for the next bus. This is the nature of public transportation around the world. Even people taking buses in Tokyo sometimes have to wait 30 minutes for the next bus or train.

Route 2 finally glides into the terminus and the packed bus empties. Moorhead Route 6 is the only other bus there and won’t leave until 3:15 p.m., so the orphaned transfers will bide their time.

Route 2’s driver invites the next group to board the bus. Most people swipe or scan cards to cover the fare, yet even in the time of microchips and magnetic strips the sound of clanging coins isn’t uncommon. Once everyone is aboard, the driver takes the rare opportunity to leave his post in order to do…something. Route 6’s driver takes a good-natured jab and says something like “Hey, where are you going? You’re already late,” probably echoing the passengers’ not-so-good-natured sentiments. Less than a minute later the driver is back with snack-filled arms and takes his seat. Dispatch gives the go-ahead and with two honks the driver backs out a few feet and puts it in drive and the anticipation ends.

The drive around the backside of the terminal is short and the light is green and the engine roars. NP Avenue is soon a memory and the driver takes the Second Street underpass and proceeds up the small hill onto Main Avenue going west. The Statue of Liberty is holding torch and tablet on the right, but this isn’t New York City or Tokyo.

There is a real social stigma about public transportation here. It’s only for the freaks, geeks and students who don’t have cars. This attitude starts around 10th or 11th grade, when kids turn 16 and some get cars and others don’t. A car is a sign of social status. If you ride the bus, there’s something wrong with you, at least according to the stigma. What if you are the one driving the bus?

While some drivers are still wearing the winter uniforms, navy blue slacks and jacket, Route 2’s driver is wearing the summer style: teal-colored t-shirt and navy blue slacks. Bus drivers in Tokyo also wear navy blue uniforms and do a seasonal change of clothing. The only major difference is that Japanese drivers are required to wear white cotton gloves and a cap similar to a New York City beat cop’s.
Route 2’s driver enjoys his job. He calls out each stop like a baseball umpire calls the third strike. Ehhh-HOOORNBACHERS,” he says, interrupting the relative silence on the bus. The only constant sound is coming from the fans whirring in back. Somebody tugs the yellow cord suspended on either side along the bus’s windows to signal that they want to get off and an electronic chime rings. The people at the Hornbacher’s bus shelter wait patiently for all the passengers who have reached their destination to disembark before they get on. It’s only common courtesy. As people leave the bus, many thank the driver. It’s only polite.

The doors close and the driver signals that he will enter traffic. By law other cars must yield the right of way; two cars pass by on the left anyway. The driver honks and tells them what’s what about courtesy and the law.

The next two stops are at MSUM and they are two of the busiest on the route. College students in the area ride without paying a fare because their universities pay for them. However, there is talk that the free-ride program may soon end due to current budgetary woes. Most passengers get off at MSUM, but almost as many board.

The bus is passing Concordia College’s athletic field when a middle-aged woman says to the driver, “Do you work tomorrow, Troy?”

“Yes, I do,” says the driver. He radios the other buses that stop and wait for transfers at the Courtyard Marriott substation to say he has transfers. “None of these guys are responding,” the driver says. “I think they stepped out for some fresh air.”

“In about a month we won’t see no college kids no more,” the woman says, continuing the conversation.

Small talk with the driver isn’t uncommon here despite the sign in the front of every bus that says, “PLEASE DO NOT TALK TO THE DRIVER WHILE THE BUS IS IN MOTION,” in red letters. In Tokyo people don’t talk to the driver unless they are asking for directions or about a transfer. They don’t even thank the driver as they exit the bus. In fact there’s almost no talking on the bus at all in Tokyo. Here strangers will strike up intensely personal conversations without a second thought.

Two women at the front of the bus are talking about medical problems. The older one is holding a clear plastic bag full oranges and apples and offers it to the younger woman. The younger woman takes it willingly and gives her thanks and says her daughter has been eating too much red meat lately. The older woman says, “Good, now I don’t have to carry them around.”

At the Marriot substation, no other buses are waiting for transfers. The driver apologizes and says the next buses will come by in about 30 minutes. More than half of the passengers get off, and more than half of them thank the driver in spite of the situation.

The driver takes a left onto 28th Avenue South and the bus runs parallel to I-94. Nothing much happens until the 11th Street MSUM stop. It’s just a calm, relaxing ride. The bus fills up again with students. Many of them greet the driver with hellos and take their seats. A group of the students take their seats and switch to their native language. Others just stare out the window looking exhausted.

“Ehhh-HORNBACHER’S.” This time two people will board the bus, one of whom had gotten off at the first Hornbacher’s stop. This time he has a bag of food in one hand and a cane in the other. He looks to be in his seventies. He is talking to the driver but the words can’t be heard. He is pointing across the street.

One of the passengers says, “C’mon, we’re already late!” and slaps his hand down on his knee. The man decides to board the bus and a woman comes running up just in time to get on.

The driver turns onto Main Avenue going west. “Eighth Street…Uhh-DAIRY QUEEN.” The bus is packed and people are sitting arm to arm. Some chat, others look at their wristwatches and note that we are still late. Most passengers will miss their transfers at the bus depot. The bus is pacing a train as it runs along on the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge connecting Moorhead and Fargo.

The bus rolls through the underpass a second time and up the other side. Route 5 has already left the bus depot and drives by and 2’s driver gives a “What happened?” shrug. Another missed connection.

The bus approaches the terminus. The dispatcher clears the bus for entry. The driver says, “And finally the GTC. If this is your final destination we hope you had a good flight. We always fly low; we never fly high. I’m sorry we didn’t make any transfers this time. Thank you.” Everyone leaves the bus this time. The next group of passengers is waiting in front of the bus.

Questions and comments: .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)