Thank you, nicest school bus driver in Beaufort County

I have a one-minute commute to work.

It’s shameful, but I drive it even though I live within walking distance. I’ve walked the shady path between my apartment complex and work a few times, and I was not impressed by the remnants of various activities that apparently happen there (three words: wall-less love motel).

Also, I’m scared of alligators, snakes, armadillo, raccoons, spider webs, most bugs (not spiders, though), several breeds of birds, stepping on grass, stepping on glass, being brushed by leaves that might be a dog’s favorite to pee on, getting touched by Spanish moss, getting caught alone in the dark, and having to say hello to people who see the potential third-date qualities of the path.

Every morning as I drive out of my apartment complex, I see grumpy middle-schoolers waiting for the school bus. And every morning I narrowly miss being caught behind their school bus.

I can see this bus coming, and at my first safe opportunity before it gets there, I pull out and take a left toward work. Every time I feel like I beat the system.

This morning, though, I did not beat the system. I was running late, and the bus was already there with its stop sign out. But there were no kids boarding it. The bus driver was patiently waiting for a late-for-the-bus Bieber-headed boy who walked very slowly out of my apartment complex and then very slowly across the street.

Very, very slowly. Like dentist office slow. Like a dry stubbly kiss from Great Aunt Ginny awaits you slow.

Death row slow.

I didn’t expect the kid to run because that would be unsafe. He could fall. He could hurt himself. He could be humiliated for life. Of course, I would never expect a kid to run for the bus across a busy road.

BUT WHY DIDN’T HE RUN? I would’ve ran if I were 14 and late and everyone was watching me. I might even have given an apologetic wave to the crowd.

These thoughts magically transformed me into a 75-year-old house-coated woman for two full seconds. I had to fight the urge to scream “MOVE IT ALONG, JUNIOR. TAXPAYERS BOUGHT THAT GAS YOU’RE BURNING! IT’S A SCHOOL BUS NOT A LIMO, FAUNTLEROY.”

The worst part, though, was that a long line of soon-to-be impenetrable traffic piled up in either direction. The break in cars was not visible to the naked eye. I knew I was going to have to sit there and wait for this slowpoke’s pile-up to clear.

I started to search for a podcast to pass the time, I lined up some snacks and emergency water on the dashboard, and I checked my satellite phone to make sure there was a dial tone, just in case.

But then the bus driver did something amazing and so common sense-y.

When Mr. Emo got on-board, she kept her stop sign up and then good-naturedly waved me through. In front of all the traffic.

I drove to work astonished.

The Beaufort County School District took over the operation of the school bus system this school year, and I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been all compliments and caviar.

So allow me to put a note in their feedback box: The system is obviously perfect ... (for this on-the-way-to-work driver on this particular morning at this intersection and with these specific circumstances).

Perfect. Perfect! Bravo!

This story was originally published September 8, 2016 at 10:32 AM with the headline "Thank you, nicest school bus driver in Beaufort County."