Thoughts on a Little Public Bus in St. Martin

Sophie Johnson
Jul 30, 2017 · 5 min read

My legs were getting stuck to the seat. I didn’t dare move, though. I stayed pressed up against my mom, who was in turn pressed up against the window of the stuffy white van. Hearing “white van” almost certainly elicits an “uh-oh” type feeling. Yet what I learned in this particular white van, a public bus, in Maho, St. Maarten falls on the opposite end of the spectrum. With every slam of the sliding door, I had the chance to look into a different life. For an hour I was hypnotized by the rigid stick shift, and the strong personality that gripped it. For an hour I documented each character into the notes app on my iPhone. For an hour my eyes were opened just as wide as my ears.

Introducing the first subject of my analysis… Drum roll please. Petulant Mom (P.M.). There were four or five rows of seats in this van to Maho Beach, yet when P.M. joined us, she chose the very first seat, in the very first row. And although there were twelve or so empty choices, she plopped herself right by the door. Mind you, it was that one awkward seat where everyone walking in has to lap dance over you to find a spot of their own. AND, just to add to the situation, it looked like our P.M. had gone shopping. Her arms were draped with big bags, that dilated her radius more than I have ever seen, even in math class. A little while later, the door slid open, and the first poor soul had to perform their aerobatic stunt to finagle a way past P.M. After noticing this hassle, the driver turned around and asked politely for P.M. to move to a seat farther back, so that new passengers could come in easily. P.M. lived up to her name by replying with a short, “I like this seat. No thank you.” The driver rolled his eyes, and started to insist, before P.M. budded in again. “I will not move.” She whined about how she was tired, and so the driver gave up. I understand the feeling of liking a seat, having a place you feel most comfortable in, yet the selfishness and stubbornness of P.M. bothered me. I was thankful she left us before I needed to attempt to scooch by upon my exit.

One of the poor survivors of P.M.’s stubbornness was Sassy Woman (S.W.). S.W.’s deal was that she was very bothered by the fact that the lights weren’t on in the van, given it was getting dark out. Her stop was soon, so she was trying to rummage through her wallet to find some Euros for the driver. Getting extremely frustrated, S.W. started going off at the driver complaining, “How do you expect people to pay if you’re making us ride in the dark? I can’t see anything so maybe I just shouldn’t pay you, would you like that?” Although my goal was to blend into the wall the whole van ride, I knew I had a flashlight on my iPhone with the click of one button. So I swallowed my pride, turned my flashlight on, and pointed it at her wallet, putting my most innocent, “Don’t hurt me” face on. Practically just noticing I was there, S.W. looked at me, and smiled. “Thank you sweetie.” I felt proud I could spare the driver of an ounce of aggression thrown at him in that hour.

The monetary conflicts didn’t stop there, however. Meet Feisty Girl (F.G.), who reminded me a lot of S.W. I’m quite surprised they weren’t friends, to be completely honest. Their eyes rolled and their lips pursed the same way. As F.G., a girl about my age, was getting off, she handed the driver some Euros and said, “I need one dollar back.” The driver seemed to disagree, presumably counting the money differently than F.G. had. The two went back and forth, each yelling at the other a little more, a little louder. F.G. then turned towards me and angrily asked “How much money do you see here?!” After taking in my clueless expression and my white skin, she turned towards the Caribbean man sitting next to me and asked him instead. The Caribbean man agreed with F.G., but the driver was so annoyed, he started pulling away with the girl hanging halfway out the door. “Get out of my bus,” he kept saying. F.G. then pulled her ultimate petty move. She started threatening to let go of the door and fall out of the van, saying that then the driver would have to pay her hospital bill. The driver, annoyed, threw a dollar at her, she slammed the door, and that was that. He kept shaking his head and cursing how he had been robbed. But as the schoolgirl left the van, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much that dollar probably meant to her. That dollar was worth more than any American has probably ever thought about it being worth. That dollar very well could be going towards buying food for her family that night. The crumpled up money in my back pocket felt heavier the whole way home.

As these personalities filled the van, I found myself sliding closer to my mom, who was sliding closer to the window. My last victims of analysis were a darker skinned family of three, that had an adorable little girl. Upon getting in the van, there were three empty seats next to me. The girl started to sit in the one closest to me, but then switched with her mom after seeing that I was a quite different looking stranger. I chuckled, and for some reason it didn’t bother me. I had done the exact same thing when I was younger. In movie theatres, on planes, I would always make my mom sit next to the weird looking stranger. And as I sat there, two seats down from the little girl, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was the weird looking stranger. This bus ride threw me for a ride, and not just one around the island. For the first time in my life, I was a minority. The difference? Enough to make you write it all down in the notes app on your iPhone.

Sophie Johnson
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