You may remember that I was in a bus accident this past May.  I was thrown to the floor, fell on my neck / shoulder / back, and have been in extensive PT and chiropractic treatment for the past four months.  I don’t like going, but I want to feel better.  The end has been put in sight — my last appointment is booked for mid-November.  I can feel the glory of free weeknight evenings.  And believe me, I have plans for those evenings.  At least, I did.

So last night I get on my bus.  I notice it’s the same driver who crashed us in May, but hey, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.  He probably feels horrible.

The ride seems a bit rougher than usual.  A few times the bus feels like it’s going too fast.  But again, I’m not a bus driver — so what do I know?

All is well until our dear driver, just 1/4 a mile from our destination, decides to turn around while driving to look at the police cars going in the opposite direction.  I’m not sure if he loves a good accident, but please, gape and gasp on your own time.

Passengers around me start to yell “Look out — slow DOWN!”  Breaks screech, people scream, glass shatters, and the bus slams into the rear of the car in front of us.  I watch a helpless woman in a small, black four-door do a 180 on the interstate and then get hit head on by another car.  The airbags inflate and she’s screaming.  Our bus careens into the ditch.

And so I’m back to the same scene, same emotions, same state of shock, courtesy of the same driver, wishing it was deja vu.  But it isn’t.

I’ll condense the last 16 hours into a few bullet points:

• Rage at Metro Transit for allowing this stupid, crazy, inattentive driver to still have a job
• Determination to talk to every state trooper and police officer on the scene, making sure they knew who this guy is and what his record is
• Incredulity that I’m having the same set of x-rays taken for the second time in four months
• Sadness and frustration that they do not provide happy  news
• Thankfulness for a husband who picked me up, comforted me through my angry tears, and took me to Chipotle after an hour-long doctor appointment

So I’m back at work.  And back where I started.  And I’m angry.

This is why I hate the bus.