“Is this bus ever gonna come?!?”
“New to this, are you?”
Dan, who was decidedly down on his luck, looked at the little old lady patiently waiting for the bus with him. “Yeah, you could say that. Lost my license, and my job, and my-it’s a long story, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear the half of it.”
“Try me. I’ve got time. Nothing but time.”
“You mean-“
“The bus will be a long time coming? Yes.”
“Yeah. We’re gonna wait like forever, ain’t we?”
“Are we not?”
“Excuse me.”
“I’m sure you meant to say: Are we not? Or perhaps the more familiar: Aren’t we? But certainly not: Ain’t we? Ain’t, as I am sure you know, is not a word contained in any respectable dictionary.”
Down-on-his-luck Dan just stared at the little old lady in the worn coat and headscarf. “Are you-“
“Yes: A retired English teacher. I am afraid I simply cannot help myself when I hear someone mangling our beautiful language. And, in your case, I held my tongue until you uttered that dreadful ain’t. Once an English teacher, always an English teacher, I always say. Although I am sure it did not escape your notice that I have been peppering my prose with contractions.”
“Contractions?!?”
“Yes. Such as I’m for I am. That sort of thing.”
“Right. Well, English wasn’t exactly my favorite subject.”
“Pity. What was your favorite subject? If I may ask?”
“Shop. And I really loved wood shop. Put me in front of a jigsaw, and I could make anything. I was a real ace with a jigsaw. Other guys couldn’t cut a straight line to beat the band, but me, me I could-“
“I.“
“What?”
“But I. I am quite sure that’s what you meant to say.”
Dan exhaled loudly. “Say, when is this stupid bus gonna come already?”
“The bus is an inanimate object, therefore it cannot be stupid. Unless, of course, you are anthropomorphizing it. Are you?” The little old lady who was named Ida looked hopefully up at the big galute in the worn-out work coat.
“Am I what?!?”
“Are you attributing human characteristics to the bus? Literature is chock-a-block full of talking conveyances of all kinds: boats, and airplanes, and locomotives, and even, I suppose, buses.”
“Lady-“
“My name is Ida. Please. Call me Ida.”
“Right. And I’m Dan, and I need a cigarette. You got one I could borrow. I’m dyin’ for a smoke.”
“You will die from the smoke. Of that I can assure you, so I am quite sure that is what you meant to say.”
“It is?”
“Certainly.”
“Whatever,” Dan declared, “And whatever happened to this-er, nice, pretty, little bus of ours? According to the schedule it was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”
“Yes. I suppose. But the transit authority has been forced to make drastic cuts of late, and so I am afraid the Route 4 bus no longer runs on schedule. It comes, as they say, when it can.”
“Yeah, well, it can come any time now. I’m freezin’ half to death out here.”
“Oh look,” Ida said.
“What?”
“Here it comes.”
“The bus?”
“The very bus: Route 4.” But then the retired English teacher named Ida corrected herself. “I spoke too soon. It says: Route 40. Not: Route 4. Most peculiar.”
“Not really.”
Now it was Ida’s turn to stare dumfounded at Dan. When she finally found her tongue, she asked: “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean,” Daniel said as he watched the Route 40 bus float to a stop before them, “This is one special bus, and it ain’t gonna stop until we’re in a place where the sun shines 24/7 and there ain’t no more lay-offs, or soup kitchens, or nothin’ bad. Ever.”
“You mean-“
“Hop aboard, Ida. Nothin’ to fear,” Daniel said, pointing at the angelic figure in the driver’s seat. “Old Gabe here knows right where to take you, don’t you, Gabey Baby?”
The Angel Gabriel smiled patiently at old Danny Boy, and then he bid the retired English teacher named Ida enter his Route 40 bus for a smooth ride to the Promised Land where ne’er an ain’t was heard all day.