Asshat. That was the word that popped into my head, and there's no two ways around it, that's the most fitting description. The Asshat Driver.
I've never seen this driver before, and doubt I'll ever see him or his mangy bus again. But if I do, you can count on me moving in the opposite direction.
Why?
Today, on my regular route to the library, this driver was pulling out of a bus stop. Right then, a woman came puffing up alongside, trying to catch it before it left completely. Some other passengers on the starboard bow and I called "Driver, driver." as is traditionl to alert bus drivers to this sort of situation, but he just took it in through the side mirrors and drove on.
Well, up until a couple of bus stops later I was ready to give this fellow the benefit of the doubt. That is, until he pulled the same trick again on a young boy.
Some of my fellow passengers began to volubly question the bus driver's motives, and I personally counted off "two" on my fingers to myself. Evidently this rankled him, as he started hollering at the lot of us (and possibly me in particular--I had no intention of asking for clarification), because if he (paraphrasing) "started doing that then everybody and their grandmothers would soon be packing the bus."
Oh, puh-leaze. It was two lousy people, two people who had probably already started congratutalting themselves in their minds on overcoming their near-lateness. I've seen drivers refuse to pick up passengers when the passengers were begin to resemble sardines in a can, and more often actually accept more when the situation was even worse. This guy had a bus with plenty of legspace and, lacking the most basic common courtesy, he did not want to give it up.
As I disembarked, I resisted an urge to toss my apple core at his stupid head.
Asshat.

TODAY'S BOOK: "Rabble in Arms", by Kenneth Roberts ((c) 1933)

Labels: biographical