I rode the short bus when I was little. I did not live in the yellow house, however I am descended from the yellow dots. The first day I rode the short bus, I jumped off it. My mother had to drag me, kicking and screaming, to school. Poor Mrs. Ryder went home that night with terrible bruises all over her shins and legs. I think she was happy to see me go when kindergarten class ended that year.
I thought I rode the short bus because the school department didn’t have a big bus to drive way out to our neck of the woods. There were only a few students that lived on the Stow/North Fryeburg line. All of the years riding the short bus to school, I never knew there was anything different about it until I got to junior high school.
“You rode the short bus?” Then the group of kids broke out in laughter.
Did I mention I jumped off the bus on the first day of school? After that, I guess I just rode because I don’t think I had a choice. Maybe I did. My mother or father probably said something to the effect of, “You pull a stunt like that again and you’re going to get an ass whooping so hard you won’t sit down for a week.” I knew what an ass whooping of that gamut was, and I also knew what not being able to sit down for a week was like. So I rode the short bus and didn’t push my luck by trying to escape.
Riding the short bus is a sad stereotype people have laid on other people. I have no problem telling anyone I rode the short bus. People can laugh and make fun of me all they want. Quite frankly riding the short bus was a lot more fun than riding the big bus. People on the short bus are inherently friendlier, kinder, more compassionate, and it’s not as stuffy as the big bus hoity-toity people. So keep that in mind the next time you get to choose the short bus or the big bus.
Hope you enjoyed my S-Blog today. Please feel free to comment about your short bus experiences. Be sure to check out the other bloggers taking part in the A-Z Blogging Challenge for the letter S.