Meltdown on the bus

©2012 Lydia Hinshaw

 ORMOND BEACH, FL -- I know better than to say "never" but I believe Friday was my last day driving the Y's after-school bus.  I gave my notice in writing.  I closed out all my paperwork.  I even cleaned out my locker, so I won't be showing my face around there for a while, the better to avoid the Y's guilt-trip method of recruitment.

 My (former!) bus route covered a total of six miles.  I was reminded daily of how many problems 40 children can crowd into the brief inbound half of that distance. 

 The kids, for example, are not allowed to eat on the bus. This is for financial as well as health reasons.  Someone (me) has to be paid to clean up any messes left behind by spills.  And things must be cleaned up daily, as we live in  a state where humans are badly outnumbered by ants and roaches, all of whom can suss out the most microscopic bit of potato chip from great distances.

 Yet daily I faced a parade of children boarding the bus with telltale sucker sticks poking out of their mouths.  Or opened bags of assorted junk foods in their hands.

 They always had a good reason.

 My personal favorite:  "I'm not going to eat it on the bus, I just want to look at it.''

 I worked late cleaning up on three of my last four days.

 Friday was the grand finale.  The kids appeared to want to give me a big sendoff, even though I hadn't told them I was leaving.

 Just before he boarded the bus at the first of my two stops, a second-grader managed to acquire at least six treats which I've since learned are known as "frozen pops."  These are concoctions of sugar, water and food coloring frozen into a water-tight plastic sleeve.

 To eat one, you cut or tear off the top and squeeze the bottom so the icy mixture moves out of the opening.

 All six of the frozen pops in my young passenger brought aboard in his backpack were open and ready to eat.  Don't ask.  I have no idea who opened them.

 The high here Friday afternoon was in the 80s.  The bus isn't air conditioned. You know where this is going. 

 Neither I nor my co-worker who rides along to supervise the children knew about the frozen pops until we were alerted by another passenger.

 "Those things are melting, dude!"

 By the time we reached our second stop, the frozen pops were forming a drippy, sticky mess in the kid's backpack, his seat and the floor.

 My co-worker took the child off the bus and helped him transfer the melting-pops, and the ruined school papers in his backpack, into a trash can.

 All this drama meant we were several minutes later than usual arriving back at the Y. 

 If only we could have arrived just 60 seconds sooner!  I was already in the Y driveway when another child threw up.  A lot.  The seat, the floor, two other children and one of their backpacks got sprayed with vomit.

 My child-care partner and I donned gloves and collected a mop, trash bag, paper towels and a bucket of bleach solution.  Between us, we got the bus cleaned up. When I left, he was still working on cleaning the backpack, and the kid was inside, still throwing up.

 I've worked for the Y off and on for six years now and most of it was enjoyable.  But this time, I think I'm cured.