Riding the Lynx

“You, Sir. At the back. Will you please get down from the bus?” The driver’s voice came out loud and clear over the intercom.

 “Who? Me? No, I won’t,” replied the tall fellow with the dread locks and dark sunglasses, his large gangly frame sprawled all over the seat. His voice too was equally loud and clear.

“I’m asking you once again to get out of the bus, Sir. Or, do you want me to call the Sheriff?’ The stockily built bus driver’s tone was as polite as before, even if his words certainly were not.

“Go ahead,” replied the tall fellow laconically.

The yellow Lynx bus was parked at the curb, its doors open.  The driver picked up his phone and one could hear him talking in a low tone. Now began the wait. Five minutes, no action yet.  Besides the dreadlocked fellow, there was a white woman with two children in front, a Latino type guy with a heavy belly, somewhere in the middle, and a pretty black teenager at the back.

Ten minutes now, and still no sign of any cops. The driver was starting to feel fidgety and he picked up the phone again, putting it down a moment later. The tall fellow at the back was as sprawled all over his seat as he had ever been and now he was gabbing away in a thick guttural voice over his mobile. Cool cat - that’s what he appeared to be.  On the other hand, the driver was looking plainly anxious - after all, his standing as a figure of authority was at risk.

Fifteen minutes now, and a police car could be seen cruising in the opposite direction, a bald policeman peering at the bus as his car passed. A minute later, and a young blond policeman was at the front door of the bus. The driver got down and talked at some length with him.

Then, finally, some action. The cop boarded the bus from the rear doors and said, “Hey bud, come on,” pointing to the laconic fellow and gesturing for him to get out of the bus. “Hey man, I’m talking on the phone. Wait.” Man, this guy sure was cool.

But, of course, this wouldn’t get him anywhere with a cop in this country. “Come on bud, outside.” The cop’s tone was insistent and carried a ring of authority.

On the curb, the dreadlocked guy could now be heard saying, “I got my rights you know?’ Maybe his bravado all along had been for the pretty teenager’s benefit. One couldn’t but notice that even if his words sounded cocky, his tone was definitely of a more whining nature. The sight of another tall policeman standing on the curb with his hands folded across his chest couldn’t have helped uplift the dreadlocked Jimmy’s confidence, that was for sure.

Well, all that waiting and all that promise of some great action came down in the end to nothing. Zilch. The offender, who probably hadn’t paid his fare, went off on foot after the policeman had fed a few words into his ears. The now smug faced driver got on the bus, closed the doors and carried on down to the next stop.

Although one did feel a bit letdown by the way the above scene ended, it must be said that it was one of the very few times a ride on a Lynx bus had elicited some promise of adventure. On most rides, one has to make do with less interesting fare, and this becomes a tedious task on longer journeys. The other day, however, was a bit better than usual, at least as far as live entertainment was concerned. Live, because on many of the buses you will find a television bestowing on you, the passenger, ‘transit entertainment’. Well, it is interesting for perhaps the five minutes it takes to hear the headlines, after that one would have to be a real wreck to call it ‘entertainment’. ‘Gardening with P Allen Smith’ - now is that entertainment?

Anyway, coming back to the other day - it was a Thursday, and don‘t know why, but there were bunches of attractive looking girls all over the bus to Kissimmee. All of them were specially decked out and some were far too underdressed for the air-conditioning in the buses. A few goose pimples on bare arms and bare shoulders could be clearly seen. One girl, in particular, had on a skimpy halter top tied behind with two strings, her shapely ebony back a delightful sight for sore eyes. Her companion was as scantily dressed, her bare shoulders tattooed with a jumble of strange figures while her upper arm was tattooed with the figure of a curvaceous nude. The tattoos starkly visible against her milk white skin.

Many of the other girls, there could have been perhaps a dozen, were dressed in all black outfits that were revealing and figure hugging. Now, such a setting, one can also imagine the tittering and giggling and shrill cries that such groups will always result in, could have been more than enough to while away a few hours’ travel, but, like mentioned before, it seemed to be a special sort of day for Lynx travelers, particularly on Route Four to Kissimmee.

St. Stephen, or whoever is the patron saint of travelers, must surely have been in a benevolent mood that day. For, lo and behold, at the Florida Mall stop, other bunches of pretty young things, as daring in their outfits as those already aboard, boarded the voyeurs’ Eden, which Lynx 4 had become. Please note too, the ‘bunches’ and please also visualize in your minds the gay and raucous chattering that accompanied their way aboard. 

Most definitely, this particular day’s ride was turning out to be much better than many other forms of entertainment. One couldn’t really ask for more. Or could one? The next stop, and who should board the bus but a bespectacled man of about sixty five and what should he heave aboard, but a large rectangular and wheeled container that appeared to be pretty heavy. This, the container, creating quite a disturbance among some ‘bunches’ on the front, its positioning leading to yelps and yows from slender throats.

 The yelps further resonating at the man’s words, “Sorry, it contains my dog - a Roteweiler. Too dangerous outside.”

Now, what should follow but a veritable stage performance by the kind faced man who declared he was from Oklahoma and that his newly bought second hand car had been impounded by the Florida police because it had Oklahoma plates. “Idiots,” was what this Woody Allen type said they were, his words directed toward a specially inquisitive girl with ebony skin and slightly yellowish teeth, who had started the process of dialogue with her teasingly put question, “Man, what’s this?” meaning not only what was in the container, but what was the reason for hauling about such a large encumbrance. However, it was enough. Enough for Woody Allen to vent out his grievances to whoever wanted to know.

As anybody knows, such a situation usually leads to a lot of sniggering and guffaws from observers which further encourages the protagonists, in this case the Woody Allen like gentleman and on the whole, the other fellow travelers, but in particular, the lead as defined by the one who has started it all and is now honor bound to continue. In short, the yellow teethed girl with the jangles of silver necklaces around her neck. So, here it is, the next question. “Man, what happened to your spectacles?”

“I fell down while my car was being impounded and broke the frame. So, had to tape it.” The Oklahoma gentleman is straight and sincere in his reply. But, what do you know? His answer calls forth a torrent of giggles, laughs and forceful snorts from all sorts on the bus. Gentle smiles from the less ruthless. But, again, what do you know? This further encourages the fellow and his next words are, “You know, the idiots said I had an attitude!”

 “Yeah, right. They are idiots here,” agrees the yellow teethed but pretty girl, this rejoinder soliciting further sniggers from her companions. Then, another bait, “Man, you must hate Florida.”

“No I like this place but if given a choice I would rather go to California.”

“Why, man? Cops better there?” asks the by now acknowledged to be Lynx route 4 travelers’ spokesperson.

The bespectacled Oklahoman leans towards the girl, bending over his oversized container on the aisle, and says, “You know what they say in California? ‘You don’t have to go along to get along.’”

Another very nice sounding sound bite - “People should have some sense of humor, you know?” followed by “It helps you know? It really does,” in response to “Really?’ from yellow teethed but pretty teenager. 

Nice words what? But wait, it seems that now some sort of virus has overwhelmed the bus. Nice words or otherwise, the travelers are reacting with more smiles, sniggers and guffaws every time the old gentleman opens his mouth - this, the reaction, often prompted by the loud hoots of the upfront ‘bunch’.

And, so on and so forth followed the scenes on this Thursday’s Lynx Route Number 4 to Kissimmee concluding finally with the de-embarkation of the last of the bunches at various stops along the OBT (Orange Blossom Trail). Now, as the bus enters Osceola County, the passengers are quiet. The old gentleman finally takes a seat, now vacant, next to his container, and talks softly to his dog inside. Nobody laughs. No one snickers. All have now serious countenances.

Perhaps an expert in human behavior would have found the ride tremendously useful in further enlightening his already enlightened mind. Even so, for the less enlightened too, it made for a terrific ride - one that made further trips on the Lynx most promising.