moshiach's hat

There are the things that happen anywhere. Thenthere are the things that can only happen on the Monsey Bus.

One time after davening, as folks were putting away their teffillin and the bus was entering the tunnel, someone said, "When Moshiach comes, I bet he'll wear a streimel."
My reaction was to recall that it is a mitzvah to anticipate the coming of moshiach, but is it required to imagine his wardrobe. But I kept my thoughts to myself.
Not so the speaker's neighbor, who delivered himself of this sentiment: "I'm sure he'll be wearing a Homburg."
Neither speaker appeared to have any sense of humor or to perceive that his personal fashion prediction was anything but baseless prattle. To the contrary, both seemed fairly strongly invested in these personal preferences masquerading as faith-based predictions.
The conversation proceeded in this manner; more speakers joining with their heartfelt renditions of some detail that moshiach's appearance would confirm. Whether this is spirituality or male hysteria, I leave to the reader.
I wondered how the speakers (or any of us) would distinguish the real moshiach if two or more such figures appeared. You may remember an old televison quiz show, "To Tell the Truth", wherein three (or was it four) guests answered questions about some exploit (e.g., I climbed the Himalayas, I ate 53 hot dogs in one hour, etc.), but only one was the real dude. The object was to guess which one it was.
And so, I imagine a line of Monsey Bus riders, standing some day soon, watching three men (need they be men?), each travelling down Fifth Avenue on a donkey, but wearing clothing that sets them apart: one in a streimel and shiny long coat, the second in a Homburg with rounded shirt collar and glasses from Rabbi Hirsch's catalog, and the third, shall we dress him in Shlomo Carlebachian flowing shirt and knitted yarmulka, playing his guitar.
They will pass before us, the discerning Yidden trained to know such things from our years on the Monsey Bus, and we will, based on our discerning fashion sense, make the right choice, deciding the fate of this, our world.

Why Would Anyone DoThat?

It was the night of December something, 2008, and a group of us were trying to get home from 42nd street around 7:00 pm. It was cold. We counted at least four Monsey buses go by. When we called the company, we were told that the buses were stuck around 62nd street. There was something wrong. Bus after bus goes by and then around 8:20, we were rescued by a Monsey Bus. The suspicion was voiced that the bus company had booked a charter at the last minute and had let its regular passengers freeze their tails off.

While we were waiting, we started to recount stories about -- well, you know -- the Monsey Bus. The best by far was the following. (The teller assures us he witnessed this all.)

It seems that on an evening trip to Monsey originating in Manhattan, one of our co-religionists was talking on the cell phone. Perhaps he was a bit too loud. His neighbor was trying to get some sleep. After some sshhh-ing from Sleepy and back-talk from the cell phone abuser, the would-be sleeper takes matters into his own hands and punches the talker in the snout.
"Stop the bus! Stop the bus!" cries the offended cell phone guy. He demands the police be called.
The driver speeds on. People are tired, he wants to get back.
The punchee insists, "Call the police! I demand you call the police!" Driver continues into the night. Meanwhile, the cell phone guy is sitting next to his attacker, who has pulled his hat down and is (pretending to be?) asleep.
Thereupon, the one who was punched runs up to the driver and, seizing the wheel, he forcibly steers the bus off to the shoulder of the road, while it is going full tilt. The driver sensibly brings the bus to a halt.
There follows much back and forth about whether to call the police, where they should meet the bus, and who is in the right. It is there and then decided that the driver will call the police, ask them to meet the bus at Pathmark, so the victim can report the crime, and the passengers who never signed on for this drama can go home.
The bus continues. But then a man stands up and delivers an impassioned speech about the way a yid is supposed to behave. He explains that he served in the Army in Israel, where he saw is brothers bleed to death. A Jew is not supposed to hit another Jew, we are a spiritual people and the hope of the world, but of course, you have had a long day and are tired from the struggle for parnassah. Meanwhile the speaker empathises with the cell phone man who must also be struggling to make ends meet. The speaker appelas for peace and reconciliation. And then he observes that he himself struggles for parnassah: he is a fund raiser for an organization in Israel; things are not going well; his efforts today have also come to little. But he urges us all to better things.
And so it comes to pass that the victim of the assault asserts that if his attacker will make a contribution to the fund-raiser's yeshiva/kollel/cause in Israel, then he will drop the charges. The assailant -- who has feigned sleep throughout this improbable tale -- rouses himself and produces his checkbook; he writes a very respectable-sized check, many multiples of chai.
Now the cell phone guy whips out his checkbook and he writes a check to the same institution for a goodly sum.
The two men, just recently fierce enemies, now shake hands.
The entire bus bursts into applause.
The man who told me the story leans into the bus driver, and the driver says to him under his breath: "Do you believe this s__t."

The Expired Ticket

Does anyone remember the time a Monsey Bus driver would not accept a monthly ticket from a passenger because the ticket was more than two months old?
It was a morning bus to the city and folks were anxious to get going. Parnassah... and all that. So the passenger with the expired ticket sits down. The driver proceeds to take everybody else's tickets, but when it's time to go, he notes that "someone hasn't given him a ticket" (as if he doesn't know). Bus isn't moving. We're all getting a bit antsy. The passenger in question, he isn't budiging.
The debate begins as the driver explains the company's policy, looking meaningfully into his mirror. The passenger -- he's decided to play lawyer -- explains that the ticket itself doesn't set forth the company's expiration policy. He bought the ticket, not knowing of he policy and sees no reference to it anywhere (by now he's turning the ticket around like a chimp with a banana skin); he claims not to know the policy to this day and he claims a fatal lack of notice. (I'm condensing all the arguments in the interessts of time). The driver for his part, he keeps it simple: he isn't moving without the ticket, reminding all he world that if the company doesn't get the right number of tickets, the difference comes out of his pocket. (An argument I've always found convincing since, let's face it, the drivers aren't getting rich, so why ake it out n them?)
Meanwhile, all us passengers are starting to twitch and some words are spoken, not kind ones, but mumbled imprecations having to do with what sort of passenger would do this t his fellow wage-slaves. A young woman (Stern College if my eyes do not deceive me) tells the passenger in the sweetest voice he "is so wrong." More grumbling.
Finally, another passenger, a man with his own law practice, goes to the driver and gives the driver a ticket for the passenger who has not relented from his shaky legal position.
The driver takes us all to Manhattan.
Just before the passenger gets off, he delivers himself of his short speech to the effect that it is the driver who is in the wrong. Passenger explains that the driver "had no right to embarass me." The passenger then produces a valid taicket fromhis pocket (like the magician who has the dove in his pocket all along). The passenger shows the ticket to the driver. (Where do people like this gestate? Under some rock?) Passenger debarks with a flouris. He seems to think he has prvoed some sort of point. But what?
I use this story -- all true-- to illustrate the concept of sense of entitlement.
But the moment that stays in my memory most of all is that when the generous (or was he merely an enraged) man got up to pay for the seat with a valid ticket, the troublemaker smirked. When he did it, I didn't understand, but in retrospect it was the smirk that said it all.

mechitza madness

Was anyone else on the bus some years ago, perhaps 15 or so, when a well-dressed woman went positively berserk because there was a mechitza on the bus. It seemed to offend her deeply, the mere existence of it This event took place before the much-publicized law suit and legal settlement.

One moment, she was sitting there like any other passenger and the next moment she had ripped down the mechitza in a rage. The bus pulled into a park and ride, to wait for the police. But why? And what would the police know about such things?

Riders trooped off the bus,dismayed at being made late to work that morning. Some of the women (frum might I assume?) actually urged one man (also observant) to assault the complaining woman. No blows were struck, I hasten to add.

Did she ever bring her lawsuit? It seemed to me that she had had a really bad morning and wanted others to feel as she did; perhaps she was a civil libertarian with a point to make; but if so, why the rage? I never saw her before or since. That mght suggest that it was a case of mental illness, but equally suggests some purely political agenda. Does anyone know?

Interestingly, despite all the hostility she expresed and the hostility the riders expressed toward her, everyone waited for the next bus. The company sent another bus, (also with a mechitzah) and the rest of the passengers rode onto Manhattan. The complainant disappeared into a police car. Did she go to a local hospital, a lawyer's office, back home? And in any event, why did our bus have to stay behind, as if the bus had done something wrong?

The whole event seems strange to me now, like a poorly written play, one in which the charaters' motivations make no sense.

I wonder whether other manifestations of Orthodox observance troubled her as much?

The Guy With The Gun

Does anyone else remember the time a tall man stood in the aisle of the bus, threatening us all? It was a dark, wintry evening when he stood in the aisle and announced that he had a gun. Have you all forgotten? He also carried a small bell that Buddhists use for meditation and he rang the bell frequently to gather attention. He reassured us all he wouldn't hurt anyone but also reminded us he was armed. The driver just drove along the highway as if nothing were amiss. I remember thinking that any two or three of us could have rushed him, but in fact no one was in the mood to play the hero. He demanded our complete attention, but most riders seemed engrossed in heir newspapers, seforim, and some napped. He unfolded the unhappy story of his life, accompanied by the sound of his meditation bell. Passengers kept their heads down. No one objected to this intrusion or threat to our safety. I've ridden Monsey busses where cell-phone noise or a mechitza too close to a shoulder was cause for argument or even fist-fight, but threaten people with a gun and ... nothing?

I'd be interested in anyone else's recollections of this night.