I HATE LAKE STREET - PART 2

A couple days after the first incident, I was picking up people at the light rail station on Lake street. Drunk and Drunker got on. Drunk was putting his fare in the box. His jacket pocket was at my eye level next to the farebox and I saw a bottle of booze poking out. I said to Mr. Drunk "That bottle is going to stay in your pocket while you are on this bus, right?" He said "What bottle?" I said "That bottle in your pocket that is looking me right in my face." He grinned and said "Yep, it'll stay in my pocket."

Meanwhile, his buddy, Mr. Drunker, is realizing he doesn't have a current transfer. While he is searching for something that doesn't exist, he slurs to me "What time you get to Chicago?" I told him Chicago Avenue was the other way. I suggested he get off the bus and go across the street and catch a bus going the other way. He pours himself off the bus. His buddy, Mr. Drunk, just sat there. I told him "Hey, your friend left. You need to go to the other side of the street if you want to go to Chicago." He didn't reply and I noticed my light turned green. I had wasted enough time on these guys and didn't want to wait for another light. I said "I'm not missing another green light." I closed the door and made the light.

As I approached 36th Avenue, Mr. Drunk said something about when WE are headed back the other way. I pulled into the bus stop and told him the truth. "I'm not going to have some drunk guy on my layover with me! If you want to go the other way, go over to that bus stop across the street and catch a bus in the direction you actually want to go." That thought swam through the alcohol in his brain for a minute and then it took root. "You mean I have to get off the bus?" I told him to get off and go catch a bus across the street.

Mr. Drunk flopped his way to a somewhat upright position and used the handles on the door to swing his way out the door. He swayed for a second and finally let go of the handle. I thought all was well. I was wrong. He took about two steps and slipped and fell on the ice. All I could see were his legs from the waist down. He was moving a little but didn't seem to be trying to get up. He just laid there I asked him if he was alright. He casually said "I'm fine." as though he was sitting there having a cup of coffee or something. Thoroughly disgusted by now, I closed the door and pulled off. My conscience slapped me before I even cleared the intersection. I called the Control Center and told them the situation and requested they check on him. They said they'd send a squad.

Then came what I had been dreading..."Don't forget to fill out an incident report..."