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Why They're Deserting Buses for Cars

"Hey, stranger, it's been months. I thought you'd been avoiding me," said the bus driver, as I bounded up the steps and he swung into the swirl of traffic on H Street NW.

"I was worried that you wouldn't let fat people on your bus," I said, as I swung my bulk into the seat behind the bussie's left ear.

"Fat, slim, long as you got a dollar-ten, my bus is yours," the bussie said.

"You should have been a diplomat," I said.

"Better pay, that's for sure," he said.

"Listen, speaking of pay, I'm worried about you guys," I said.

"Your readers been complaining again about how much those good-for-nothing bus drivers make?"

"No, no. What worries me are the latest statistics from your esteemed bosses. Did you see them? Ridership on Metro buses is down by quite a bit and is expected to continue going down. That is a direct threat to your income, my good man."

The bussie couldn't doubt it, and he didn't. As he crossed 18th Street, he ventured a reason:

"Part of it was the blizzard. Ever since, I've had people get on and whine at me about how they can't count on the bus schedule any more because we missed so many runs during the big storm. Can you believe how spoiled people are? That was the biggest storm in 100 years. It wasn't just buses that couldn't move."

"True enough," I said. "But you guys are like Pepco and the phone company. They expect you to be there. The first chance they get, they're going to blame you and hop back in their cars."

"I can't understand that," said the bussie, as he stopped to pick up three worker bees at 22nd Street. "Do they actually want to drive in rush hour traffic? Do they actually want to pay for parking? I'm not saying this bus is like a limo. But 99.5 percent of the time, we get you there, pretty close to on time."

"You'll never hear me argue," I told the bussie. "But I think it's more fundamental than blizzards. I think a lot of people don't think it's classy to ride the bus."

"How can they say that?" the bussie fumed. "Because maybe they sit next to somebody who sweats in the summer? Don't cabdrivers sweat? Don't the people they work with sweat? Don't they sweat?" And he stomped on the brakes just in time to avoid a Jeep on M Street.

"I think it has to do with patience," I said. "I think people would rather drive because they'd rather be in control. I'm not saying you don't know how to drive, or that they think you don't. But if you're going to be caught in traffic, at least you can tune in your favorite radio station and take a sip of a drink -- or bail out and try another way to work if you get stuck."

The bussie mulled that pearl of wisdom for a couple of blocks of Wisconsin Avenue, then cleared his throat and announced: "You're wrong. Ridership is down because fares are up."

"But everything costs more than it used to."

"I know that. But we made a big mistake here at Metro when we went from a straight dollar to a dollar-ten. That extra dime looked like we were trying to gouge people, like we were saying, 'We know we've got you for a buck, so let's sting you for a dime while we're at it.' I think people really resent it."

"Interesting," I said. "They don't mind the dollar, but they do mind the dime."

"And then we started charging for transfers. Is that the dumbest idea you've ever heard in your life? I mean, here are all these airlines, they know that their best customers deserve a break. That's why you see all these frequent-flier programs everywhere. But here, we got to try to soak our best customers. Makes no sense."

As the bussie passed Tenley Circle, I offered this: "Maybe what you need is a Metrobus Frequent-Rider Plan."

The bussie slapped the steering wheel in enthusiasm. "That's a great idea!" he declared. "Why don't you write about it in that excuse of a column of yours?"

"I just might," I told the bussie. "But I know what your genius bosses would say. They'd say it could only work if bus riders bought a $20 pass, with two extra rides built in -- something like that. And they'd say bus riders don't have $20 to fork over all at once."

"Yeah, that's what they'd say," said the bussie, with the weariness born of experience. "But it wouldn't be any different from the Farecard machines. There, you get a bonus if you slip in a $20 bill, and I don't see Metrorail going broke."

We were within shouting distance of Harrison Street, so saving the world (or at least the Metrobus portion of it) would have to keep until next time.

"Don't stay away so long," said the bussie, as he veered into the curb.

"I won't, I promise," I said. But then, as I swung down the stairs, I couldn't resist.

"You'll give me a frequent-rider discount next time, right?" I said.

"Sorry," the bussie replied. "Fat columnists don't qualify."