By damommy
I never had a full-time job until my youngest was a high school sophomore. I did a lot of part-time jobs, mainly for fun.
The first one I had was driving a school bus. I was supposed to fill in for six weeks when a friend had broken her arm. I went on to drive for fifteen years, and also substitute in classrooms.
That first year, my youngest was still a baby, so I hung a papoose seat on the driver’s seat, and he rode in that. As soon as the motor started, he promptly fell asleep. Well, except for the few times he would hold onto my long hair as I drove down the road saying “let go of Mother’s hair” several times.
I enjoyed driving the bus, and I always had good discipline. Everyone got a seat and sat down. No hanging out the windows, walking around, or screaming.
When I moved to another town, they’d never had a woman school bus driver, so I was an oddity to them. That first time, everyone was standing up, yelling, and walking around. Also, the bus was very overloaded. I turned off the motor and told the principal I couldn’t move the bus while it was overloaded. He was quite surprised by that, saying they’d always done it that way. I was to hear that phrase many times for a while. I told him if something were to happen it would come back on me, not the school. They were a little put out with me, but they got another bus to take the overload. A bus should have only seventy-two passengers, and there was at least ninety on this one.
The students were surprised they had to sit down and not hang out the windows. Pretty soon, I’d hear whispers of “get a seat - she makes you sit down.” They liked me after a while, and we had some really good field trips. On my first field trip in that town, they gave me what they called the misfits. They were all boys. They asked me questions like was I afraid of the big kids like them. I weighed only ninety-eight pounds at the time and stood five feet tall. I told them how embarrassing it would be for anyone their size to beat up on a woman my size. They were a very gentlemanly group, and I couldn’t understand why the teachers had said they wouldn’t get within a mile of that bus.
In fifteen years, I only reported two incidents. One was a 6’2” senior boy who was kicking band cases, and when I told him to stop, he stood up and took off his belt. It had one of those big, wide buckles, and I could almost feel it hitting me. I had to look up at him, but I told him if he hit me, he’d better give his heart to God because his butt was mine. No one was more surprised than I was when he sat down. His punishment was to sit behind me for three days. How inhumane. (He was a teacher’s son.)
In another story, I’ll tell you about the second time.
There were some scary times, too. It was back in the day when buses had standard transmissions. I loved it. There was a rhythm of shifting gears, turning on the lights, opening the door, etc. One trip we took to another town was on a winding downhill road with a sheer drop off to our left. The brakes went out on the bus, and all I could do was pull the gears down in “granny” gear. We made it to our destination and got them fixed there.
One year, we had tornadoes flying over us everywhere. I had to get them home safely, but halfway through the route, the bus broke down. Luckily, my sons knew where I would be and came to find me. They drove back to town and got us help, and everyone got home in one piece.
Occasionally, they would pull little tricks on me, like the time we went to an ice cream parlor on one of our field trips. Someone told the staff it was my birthday. It wasn’t. The next thing I know, here comes the staff banging on a bass drum and clanging cymbals, singing Happy Birthday. For years after that, when I saw any of those students, they’d say, “Remember that time we told them it was your birthday?” They thought it was hilarious!
I was always lead bus in any convoy we might have. One year, our high school band went to the regional contests and won first place. As we approached our town, a police car was waiting on us. My heart was in my throat because I thought something had happened to my sons. Turned out, we got a police escort into town in celebration of our win!
Sometimes, one would ask if they could call me by my Christian name. I’d tell them when you’re as tall as I am, then you may. That didn’t last long. Some of the twelve year olds were taller than me, so I had to resort to telling them when they were married with children, then they could call me by my Christian name.
Parents were the biggest problem. Everyone thought their precious could do no wrong. One day, a father came to school when the students were getting on the bus to go home. He said his son was being bullied, and he would straighten everyone out. I had to tell him it was his precious who was the troublemaker. Also, he could not step on my bus without my permission. As I told him it would cost him $10,000 fine and a year in jail because it was considered piracy, a teacher was headed for the phone to call the sheriff. He quickly changed his mind. Everything was good.
Teachers were the second problem. On one trip, the teacher had the kids coming up one by one to give her lunch orders. I pulled over on the shoulder and stopped. When she asked why, I said I can’t move the bus with people walking around, but I would sit here until she had all the orders. She wasn’t happy about that, but, hey, as I said, any accident would be considered my fault. I had an excellent driving record, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Most important, I didn’t want anyone hurt on my watch.
I almost quit one year after reading about a school bus being hit by a train, but my supervisor talked me out of it. He asked if anyone would try harder, or be safer than I would be. Of course not. However, that first field trip after that, I shook for a long time down the road. I got over it before long.
Oh, I could tell you many more stories, but I won’t bore you with any more right now. They were good times. Thanks for reading.
By the way, I could parallel park my school bus.
| Author Notes |
Christmas of 2021, my grandson gifted me a subscription to Storyworth, a place to write about memories and other things in one's life, and make into a book. Each week, a question is sent to my email. I didn't really get the hang of it until near the end of my subscription. Luckily, he gifted me again on Christmas, 2023.
Helen (lyenochka) has been after me for some time to share my life stories on FanStory. I hope you find some interest in these stories. |
By damommy
This is one of the two times I told you about when I reported someone to the school instead of handling it myself. Not bad for fifteen years of driving and substitute teaching. It was when I was substituting in gym class. The assignment was to go out and play ball. One boy kept swinging his bat while he waited to be up, and it was going to hit someone. I told him to stop, and he didn’t. Finally, I asked him to give me that bat, and when I reached for it, he looked me in the eye and dropped it. He did this a couple of times until I told him to put the bat in my hand. Now. He pulled it back as if he was going to hit me, but he did give it to me. I could see it in his eyes how badly he wanted to hit me. When I reported him, he was suspended for a week. He was a senior, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to graduate with his classmates, plus he’d never return to school the next year.
I spent hours calling the principal. I kept telling him if I wasn’t that upset about it, he shouldn’t be, and that boy would not finish school. In the end, the boy wasn’t suspended, thank goodness, and he graduated. He told my son years later that he wouldn’t have gone back to school had he been suspended.
Once I substituted in a first grade class. Never again! One little boy with the most annoying, whiney voice would say, “Teeee-cher, that’s not the way Miss --- does it.” If he said it once, he said a dozen times. I’m not a big fan of small children in groups. They can overwhelm me in a flash. I never got used to the little girls going to the restroom in groups. When I checked a stall once, there were seven in there! They thought it was normal and did it all the time.
Later, I subbed in a sixth grade class. When I went in the room, one boy told me they would give me a run for my money. I responded that “they don’t grow ‘em that bad.” I was wrong. By 10:30 a.m., I couldn’t remember ever having been out of that room. That was it for middle school.
I loved subbing in the high school. Especially any boys’ group. Girls can be tricky. I once told a girl very nicely to get her book out and get prepared. Forty years later, whenever I see her, she still gives me that look – “Eat death, sister.” Getting along with the boys was always easy for me. I guess because I had all boys, and being a bit of a tomboy myself, I could relate to them better. If you have differences with a boy, it’s all over in a minute and no grudges held. Girls can hold a grudge into eternity.
All in all, I enjoyed substitute teaching, but I’d rather be driving the school bus.
I was asked to teach a GED class at a drug rehab center, and that was certainly interesting. I found them all to be eager to achieve that diploma. They were fun, too. We were covering weights, and when they got them all right, one man said I “should have known a bunch of drug addicts” would get that one right. His words. That was funny. However, what wasn’t funny was one boy who had graduated from high school and couldn’t read. I couldn’t believe it! It was sad because he wanted so badly to learn everything I offered. I called his school and asked how in the world they let out a student who couldn’t read. The answer? No child left behind. I found him a tutor, and the last thing I heard from him, he was doing very well.
As with my school bus discipline, I expected the same in the classroom. And got it. I think it was because I was so much smaller than they were, and they felt sorry for the little freak. Hahahaha. Really, it was because they never knew when I might go berserk and throttle one of them. Whatever the reason, I enjoyed it, but not as much as driving the bus.
I shouldn’t tell this on myself, but here goes. After teaching one day, I went to my car and discovered my keys were locked inside and the windows were up. The shop teacher came out to help and coat-hangered the button up on the passenger side. I collected my keys and went around to get in the driver’s seat, only to discover that window was down. I never told anyone until now.
Senior students could leave the campus for lunch if accompanied by an adult. Did you know you can pack nine teenage boys into a Chevy Chevette?
I didn’t have as many adventures in the classroom as I did on the bus.
| Author Notes |
Christmas of 2021, my grandson gifted me a subscription to Storyworth, a place to write about memories and other things in oneā??s life, and make into a book. Each week, a question is sent to my email. I didnā??t really get the hang of it until near the end of my subscription. Luckily, he gifted me again on Christmas, 2023.
Helen (lyenochka) has been after me for some time to share my life stories on FanStory. I hope you find some interest in these stories. |
By damommy
After a devasting divorce, a lupus flare-up that took me down to eighty pounds, and a two-month hospital visit, I went to work for real, even though I received alimony and child support. I needed something to do.
The first job was part-time with a national accounting firm. I had nothing worthwhile to put on a resume, but this was in 1984, and they were willing to teach me word processing. I stayed there for about a year, and it was the dullest job I ever had. The bad thing was the woman I worked with in a very small room was very moody, and I never knew what her mood for the day would be. Also, any mistakes she made, she laid off on me, even accounts I wasn’t allowed to work on.
I went to an employment agency again, and they sent me to a job that turned out to be ideal. The company had just built an executive suites building, and needed a secretary. I jumped on that.
The position was meant to have three women working, but I was the first one in the new building, and no tenants had moved in yet. I was to be secretary to all twenty-eight businesses, and do all their work and answer their phones. When the building was full, I had thirty-seven phones to answer, all with a different name. I’m proud to say I never lost or dropped a call. I need to mention that before I married, I’d worked on an answering service with one hundred clients to answer for. I’m sure that helped get me this job.
We grew to be like a little family. We had potluck lunches fairly often, and I was always sure to invite the spouses, went for birthday lunches, and almost any holiday, we had a huge spread in the conference room.
Once, we kept trying to take one of the tenants out for his birthday, and after several attempts, we finally went without him. We told him we’d had a great time at his birthday lunch, and he thought it was funny.
One tenant worked for some company (I forgot what it was), that everyone teased her about being connected to the Genovese family (Mafia). One day, a man we didn’t know came in and set a black boxy briefcase down and hurried off. Immediately, everyone in the building was alarmed. Turned out, he was simply going back to his car for a forgotten item.
Well, they never hired those other two secretaries. As I said, since I was there first, I was able to grow and keep up as the building filled up. I had the perfect system worked out. There was a variety of businesses, including an industrial engineer, a company that dealt with housing for railroad crews, a former FBI agent turned private investigator, just to name a few.
After fifteen years with us all together, the company replaced me while I was in the hospital. When the tenants were told I wasn’t coming back, they all moved out of the building and brought their work to me to do from home. They paid me very well, and kept me going until everyone retired. I’ll be forever grateful to these friends. We still stay in touch frequently with lunches and phone calls.
When I went to the EEOC in complaint of unfair termination, I was told I could bring only my attorney with me. The company brought everyone they knew, apparently, plus their attorney was a childhood friend of the mediator. I had lost before I got there. The mediator wouldn't even look at the glowing letters I had from my former tenants. I still want to meet that wonderful woman in those letters. Bless their hearts. I had some triumph, though. It was the first time in the company’s history they had to sell a building. That was even in the Arkansas Business newspaper.
I knew these people were my friends, but losing that job was a blessing in disguise. It showed me how wonderful these people were.
After everyone retired, I went to work as a funeral director, and that’s a story for next time. Thanks for reading.
By damommy
In 2002, I went to work at a funeral home as a secretary. I was responsible for writing obituaries, printing the folders handed out at the service, etc. One day, they were short a driver and needed someone to drive the hearse. I asked to do it, and they wanted to know if I could handle driving with a deceased person in the back. I responded that I’d spent years driving seventy-two live ones behind me, so I thought I could handle it.
That was the beginning of my final career of being a funeral director. I ended up doing the work I had been hired to do, plus working with families making arrangements; driving a limo or the hearse; making removals from homes, hospital, nursing homes, etc.; dressing the deceased; working visitations, funerals, and graveside services; and often playing the organ. There were times when I came back from the graveside and had to get on the organ for another service. Busy, busy, busy.
There were a couple of services when no one attended, and the only ones there were me, the priest, and the gravedigger. Sometimes, the deceased had requested in their arrangement to be buried without anyone attending.
Occasionally, a fight would break out among families at the graveside. We’ve even had to call the local law enforcement to break it up. These fights could be pretty brutal and bloody.
When dressing the deceased, we cut the back of the clothes to put them on. The first time I had to do that, it was all I could do to make myself cut a nice, brand new suit. It took me a couple of tries before I finally did it.
You may find it strange to say, but I loved that job. Helping people in their time of grief was very rewarding, and some families have kept in touch.
One time really upset me. I walked into the room to meet with the family, and found a very young man – all alone – making arrangements for his mother’s funeral. It broke my heart to see him alone like that.
There were humorous times, if you can understand that. One particularly stands out for me. We’d been called to make a removal in this old two-story house, and I took another director with me. When we got there, the policeman told us we wouldn’t have any trouble because the gentleman was about my size.
Moving the family to the kitchen so they wouldn’t have to see us carry out their loved one, we found the stairs were narrow and turned back on itself. There was no way to get a gurney up there. Plus, the gentleman in question was frozen in the fetal position in his bed. You may not know, but dead weight is different from normal.
The policeman told us to put him in the wheelchair and send him down the one-person elevator. That by itself was ridiculous. Also, the family was in the kitchen, and I wasn’t going to move them again.
Finally, I suggested we pick him up in the sheet like a litter, grabbing four corners, and carry him down the stairs. That’s what we did.
When I told my son about this, he said, “So you go down to get him out of the elevator, and he’s not there!” You have to laugh sometimes to ease the tension.
At one service, I went up to escort the family out of the church, but they didn’t want to go until all four stanzas of the hymn they had chosen were played. It’s customary to take them out when the music starts. They weren’t having it.
There I stood in front of all these people while another director in the back kept waving me to come on. I gently shook my head no, and he waved even harder. Finally, he came to stand beside me and ask why I hadn’t taken the family to the limo. I said because they didn’t want to go. We’re talking, but our lips aren’t moving, and I’m standing there smiling like an idiot.
We had a removal service for when we couldn’t get away to pick up the loved one. One day, a young woman working for that service was taking the gurney out of her van when the wheels collapsed. It didn’t hurt anything. The deceased was strapped on tightly. All it did was collapse to the ground. Our managing director at the time was not the bubbliest of people when in a good mood. He was easily irritated, and ranted at the young woman, saying, “That’s just a piece of s***!” He went to get one of our gurneys, and came out with one just as bad that went wonkety, wonkety, wonkety across the floor. I told my colleague standing by me, “Oh, look, Linda, we have our own piece of s***!” He didn’t even look around, and nothing was ever said, but my colleague still tells that story.
I must confess I’m a thief. I’d dealt with a family who didn’t have much, having spent everything they had taking care of both their parents on both sides. They were very humble and almost hid themselves to avoid being seen. The funeral home was always giving discount or services of one kind or another to well-to-do people who didn’t need discounts. This sweet couple couldn’t afford an urn for their loved one, so I stole one for them. No one ever noticed, and I don’t feel a bit guilty about it.
The men who drove the limos and the hearse really irritated me sometimes. They couldn’t turn a corner without taking up two lanes. One cemetery here is an historic one and dates back to carriage days. These fellows couldn’t drive through there without running over something. Once, I had to get out of my limo to get the hearse around the corner. Every time after that, when a service was scheduled for that cemetery, someone would say, “Call Yvonne. She’s the only one who can drive in there without running over a grave.” That was funny.
Once, while setting up for the service, I fell face first into a brick wall. I went ahead and worked the service, with a humongous lump on my forehead causing my bangs to stick out like Dagwood’s, and later, drove the family home. My manager sent me to an urgent care facility where I was told I had a concussion, and I wasn’t allowed to drive for five days. The family was so nice and called me that night to see how I was.
When Katrina hit, every funeral home we owned in Louisiana forwarded their calls to us in Little Rock. There were only two of us working that day, and you can imagine the flood of phone calls we got, especially from New Orleans, mostly asking if their graves were washed away. We were frantically trying to handle all this when a man called and asked us to look up a name. After a lot of effort in looking for this name, I had to confess we couldn’t find it. The caller asked, “Do you know who I am?” Right away, my hackles were up, and I replied I didn’t. He said, in a most pompous tone, he was the CEO of our company. So. I asked, “Do you know who I am?” He said he didn’t. I said, “Good!” and hung up.
You may think I’m a smart aleck. Truly, I’m not. I simply have a weird sense of humor.
I eventually stopped working because of health issues and surgeries.
So many stories. Maybe, if I haven’t bored everyone into a coma so far, I may tell some more later. Thanks for reading.
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