I've got my orange crush

(Thanks for the title, REM.)

I write a fair bit and post on LinkedIn most days.

But I fully appreciate that many If Darrel was a Cat subscribers don’t frequent LinkedIn as much as I do.

So, here's what I've done:

I’ve collated three of my most popular recent posts for you and >crushd< them into one belt-busting bonanza newsletter edition.

(No, really, don’t mention it, Dear Reader. It’s my pleasure...)

BLOWN AWAY

Arriving at Redcliffe Station in plenty of time for my next service—a winding 291 to Midland Station—I seized the opportunity to take a (rather urgent) bathroom break and grab a bottle of Zero Sugar Coke from the vending machine. (The machine was more polite than some who board the bus—but that's a whole other story.)

As I wandered back to the bus, slurping on the very welcome cold beverage, the friendly orange hi-vis clad station supervisor waved me over.

"You're doing a 291 next, am I right?"

"You're right," I replied with a smile.

"Well, there's a man in a wheelchair who's been waiting at the stop for over half an hour. The previous 291 failed to pick him up for some reason."

'Great,' I immediately thought to myself. 'A disgruntled passenger before I even leave the station. I hope he cuts me some slack.'

I returned to the bus with furrowed brow, fired up the engine, and changed the numbers for the new route. Then I took a deep breath before driving slowly around the station, pulling up at the stand where the aforementioned man in the wheelchair was waiting, ready to board.

'Here we go, then...' I thought, internally bracing myself for impact.

I lowered the ramp and opened the bus door...

The man in the wheelchair, immaculately dressed, ascended the ramp...

"Thank you so much for your help, driver," he said with a warm smile.

No anger.

No frustration.

No sarcasm.

Just a thank you.

What's more, when we eventually reached his desired destination, the man thanked me all over again. And having descended the ramp, he turned his wheelchair around and gave me another smile with a thumbs up.

I was completely blown away—I'd expected the combination of the man's disability and a long wait for the bus to have made him anything but grateful.

Really, Darrel, how wrong could you have been?

It also made me realise how rarely I'm grateful for what I have—and how much I take nearly everything for granted.

The man in the wheelchair taught me that gratitude comes not from my circumstances, but from within myself—and I get to choose how to react to any given situation—positively or negatively.

Thanks for the life lesson, sir—you're an inspiration!

AN IMAGINARY CONVERSATION

She was the archetypal schoolgirl.

Pigtails, happy-go-lucky smile, dental braces. Not to mention the somewhat overpowering sickly-sweet scent that pervaded the bus each day she boarded this week.

But it wasn't the schoolgirl that caught my attention. Rather, it was her father.

Each morning, he'd stand and wave his precious daughter off from the other side of the road before returning to his house.

I imagined a conversation with the man, wanting to assure him that I took the safety of his daughter incredibly seriously, and that she was in safe hands while travelling on my bus.

Everyone who boards my bus is someone's son, daughter, mother, father, grandma or grandpa. It's the one thing, above all others, that I hope never to forget as a bus driver.

Because everyone matters.

SLICK TRICK DICK

As I was about to indicate right and vacate the bus stop just outside the shopping parade on Kooyong Road, a loaded silver shopping trolley suddenly appeared directly in front of the bus, blocking my escape.

The trolley had been deliberately 'parked' there by an older gentleman who wanted to board the bus—but at first I thought he was going to attempt a hold up:

"Stand and deliver, driver—your money or your life!" I imagined him growling, menacingly pointing his cocked pistol in my face.

"Okay, Mr Turpin, h-h-hold your horses," I'd then nervously pant in reply, "here—take my money bag—I think there's all of $3.40 in it—fill your boots!"

Anyway, I digress...

The trolley itself contained four reusable green shopping bags—four very heavy green shopping bags, it turns out—since our very own Dick Turpin could only carry two of them onto the bus at a time.

So, on stepped Mr Turpin with his first two shopping bags.

"Thank you for waiting, driver. I won't be a minute..."

I wanted to say, "You gave me little choice!" but instead I just smiled and said, "No rush, my friend." (I also wanted to add, "within reason"—but thought better of it.)

He placed the shopping bags in one of the luggage holds, then alighted the bus to collect the remaining two and move the trolley out of my way.

Once on board the bus again and having placed the third and fourth shopping bags in the luggage hold, Mr Turpin stepped forward and tried to scan his SmartRider—which, quite predictably, didn't work.

"Hold on, driver—I have another one here somewhere..."

"Erm," I quickly interjected, "could I ask you to look for it while seated, please? I need to keep moving."

Responding to my request (thankfully), Mr Turpin took a seat and started rummaging in his pockets for the elusive SmartRider. (I honestly can't recall whether or not he actually found it in the end, but hey.)

When we eventually reached his desired destination, I imagined the whole scene playing out again, but in reverse. However, Mr Turpin had clearly discovered a hidden stash of energy somewhere within—for he somehow managed to alight the bus while carrying all four of his shopping bags.

"Thank you, driver," he said.

And, just like that, he was gone.

I've gotta hand it to you, though, Mr Turpin—that was one slick trick (Dick) with the shopping trolley—one I certainly won't forget in a hurry.