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In the past semester, the bus installed an automated message system (as well as some hidden cameras, but that's a whole 'nother blog). The first time I encountered the message system came as a bit of a surprise. I had just concluded a short phone call and the bus PA system said to refrain from calls or loud conversations on the bus. I wondered, "Had the bus driver pushed a special button to tell me to shut up?" But a few minutes later I heard another random announcement and felt a bit less targeted. One such announcement goes like, "If you see something, say something. Immediately alert the bus driver or call 911 if you witness any suspicious behavior on buses, bus stops, and transit centers."

The first time I heard that I probably snorted in derision. If I called every time I saw suspicious behavior, I'd never get anywhere. One time someone left a shopping bag on the bus. I told the bus driver, but he pretty much ignored it.

Recently, Eric and I boarded the 19 bus. This bus passes from the airport, through industrial areas, past the Institute for Human Services (IHS), and on into the trendier Waikiki. The IHS building invariably has about a dozen homeless people sleeping on cardboard around it, with about as many other people standing around. As such, on the 19 bus you get a fragrant mix of tourists, homeless people, and blue collar workers.

A general survival rule for me is to pretend not to notice anything on the bus. Wear sunglasses and keep an emotionless state on your face, looking nowhere in particular, and especially not at anyone else. That doesn't mean I'm not perceptive. I want to give the appearance that I'm not paying attention to anything. However, I'm quite aware of everything going on around me.

I learned that lesson on a bus trip to Disneyland back in 1996 or so. Coming back from a rain-soaked day at Disneyland, the steamy bus of students were all in a somewhat grumpy mood. There was no way I could get any rest on the rocking and jarring bus ride, but I leaned my head onto my upright arm, giving some apparent sense of relief. Something told me I shouldn't let my guard down though, so I took my weight off my arm and kept my eyes slightly open. Sure enough, some bimbo, hoping to relieve her own boredom, purposefully shoved my arm out from under my head hoping I'd fall down and go rolling down the aisle. However, while my arm fell down, my head remained at its previous height, cocking to the side to ask, "Why did you do that?" She just went back to staring out the window, disturbed that her amusement had been denied.

Back on the 19 bus, I noticed two passengers start to get close to fighting. One man stepped off the bus near the IHS, while the other one remained on the bus. The one remaining with us stepped aggressively toward the exit door, as if he were going to follow the departed passenger out of the bus. The two exchanged f-words through the closing pneumatic doors. The bus pulled away from the stop. A couple minutes later, that passenger, with his almost shoulder length white hair, and Jimi Hendrix shirt, slammed his fist into the thick plastic divider between the exit ramp mid-bus and the adjoining seating area. Had it been glass, his blow could've cracked it. However, the 3/8" thick plastic merely bounced his fist back at him. The man continued his aggravated posturing. The bus driver was oblivious.

I glanced over and noticed Eric was dialing 9-1-1. I began to ask, "What are you doing?" but then reasoned his response was justified. Eventually we'd have to pass that passenger on our way to exit the bus. If I accidentally nudged him with my bag or had to excuse myself to go around him, that could be the straw that broke the camel's back sending him into a violent anti-haole rage. You never know. He told the operator it was a non-emergency call for police, described the irate passenger on the bus, and gave the bus details. About ten minutes later I heard the radio ring up at the front of the bus as the bus administrators tried to reach the driver. The bus pulled to a stop in front of Ko Olina marina and waited.

Shortly thereafter I noticed flashing blue lights around the bus and three police officers came up and boarded the bus. They walked midway into the bus and called out loudly, "Did someone call 9-1-1?" No one said anything, not even Eric. I don't blame him either. The irate passenger was between the police officer and us back at the back of the bus. After not getting any response, the police left, allowing the bus to continue on its way with the irate passenger still on board. After a little while, Eric called 911 back and told him what had happened. I moved in closer to block the view of Eric talking on the phone. He told him that he didn't feel comfortable admitting to calling with the person between him and the police. The operator told him that if he needed further assistance to call back.

Fortunately, the irate man departed at Ala Moana shopping center, which was before our stop. He didn't depart soon enough though. Just prior to his leaving, the smell of excrement started to spread through the bus. People started covering their noses and mouths. Thus, we didn't need to deal with getting past him to get away. Alas, we had to deal with his lingering smell. Ah such drama on the bus. I swear, I didn't board the correctional center's bus by accident.