Monday, October 5, 2015

Late Arrival

Did I ever tell you about the time I got on the wrong bus? No? Well...

I think I must have been in about third grade. I rode the bus to school, and home of course—usually the same one. Except on this day.

For some reason that I can’t remember, my class was running late and let out a few minutes past the normal time. When I got down to where the busses lined up, the area was full of kids. I was on one corner and my bus was parked on the opposite corner, a block away.

I did a pretty good job of cutting through the bustling crowd but with still a few feet to go, I saw my bus, the first one in line, start pulling away from the curb. I didn’t panic. It wasn’t that far to my house, I could walk and sometimes did. But walking would get me home late and I hadn’t told my parents I would be walking. I knew if the bus showed up and I didn’t get off, they would be looking for me. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten into trouble, once they learned why I had missed the bus but there’s always that small chance; that fraction of time that I would be missing that might prove me wrong. At least that was my logic on the matter.

So, since I didn’t feel like going back to the office and having someone call my parents, I just got on the next bus in line. At this point everyone reading this is probably thinking that wasn’t real smart, but seeing the kids who were getting on, I knew where the other bus was going—out of town. And to get out of town, it would go past my house.

Well, things worked out very well, or so I thought. As we neared my house, I went to the front and told the driver I’d gotten on the wrong bus and needed off at the next street. Problem was, he didn’t know me, didn’t know where I lived. And, he said, he couldn’t just drop me off. Great!

That little set-back was easily remedied though—if I hurried. We were almost to my house.

I pulled out my homework assignment—with my name written on across the top—and showed it to the driver. Then, I pointed to the sign by the side of the road. Satisfied, the driver stopped the bus and let me off.

What was on the sign? Well, my dad’s name. The sign was for our church, which is also where we lived. And since my dad was the pastor... you get the picture.

So, I thought my little genius plan to guarantee that I wouldn’t get in trouble had worked. I was home, what could go wrong? Well, it turns out that a bus traveling to the country, passing my house on the way, gets there a LOT quicker than a bus making the rounds in town and finally getting to my stop. Almost an hour quicker. And my parents weren’t home. And the door was locked. And I didn’t have a key. So, I went next door to play.

And then, my parents got home. And my bus arrived. Neither of which I saw.

They found me a while later. Let’s just say I was wrong about not getting into trouble for missing my bus. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at Amazon Profile - Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.


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