February 23, 2006

Bus Chick, Transit Authority
Fare-y Tales

by Carla Saulter
Contributing Writer

A couple of weeks ago, on a Thursday evening, I headed to the beauty shop on the number 4. On this particular evening, I was engrossed in the latest issue of Essence and not doing my usual eavesdropping thing—that is, until the driver reprimanded a woman for showing an expired transfer. I was immediately reminded, as I am every time someone has a payment-related confrontation with a bus driver, of that terrible Wednesday, way back in April of 1981, when I lost my bus tickets on the way to school. The driver of that bus, not the best natured or most understanding of fellows, forced me to ride to the end of the line and then unceremoniously kicked me off without so much as a hint about how to get where I was going. Since that incident, I have felt a special empathy for any person who is unable to pay the bus fare and must publicly negotiate with the driver about it.
On the other hand, as a former high-school teacher, I also empathize with the drivers in these payment negotiations. Like teachers, bus drivers must enforce rules. If they’re not dealing with pass the transfer (showing a transfer and then passing it discreetly to a friend, who uses it again), it’s ride and run (jumping off the bus without paying on a “pay as you leave” route) or a tired excuse that has been used at least a thousand times before. Even when drivers believe the tired excuses and promises, it’s hard to let folks slide; enforcing rules selectively is the quickest route to chaos.
So, on the Thursday in question, the number 4 driver waited less than patiently while the woman with the invalid transfer searched her bag and pockets for the one she had “misplaced.” When she produced an even older replacement, he sighed audibly and raised his voice.
“ Ma’am, that transfer is expired.”
“ Oh,” she said. “Yeah. Just a sec.”
The woman took a seat near the front and continued to dig though her bag, this time looking for change. The driver moved on. At the next stop, less than 10 seconds after Expired Transfer had dumped the required five quarters into the fare box, a man leaned in the open doors.
“ I don’t have any money, driver,” he said. “Can I ride for free?”
The driver rolled his eyes and sighed again but let the man aboard. After the man had made his way to a seat at the back, Expired Transfer looked around at her fellow passengers, witnesses to this clear injustice, and demanded to know: “How come he gets to ride for free, and I gotta pay?”
The teenage boy seated beside her tossed his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes and held her gaze for several seconds.
“ That ’s easy,” he said. “You never asked.” n