Melodrama on the Jitney

How's This for Getting Yourself Expelled from the Coach?

By Dan Rattiner

I’ve taken the Hampton Jitney back and forth to New York City hundreds of times, but the ride I took one last Thursday was a first. If you’ve ever thought it is easy running a motorcoach company, think again.

At 1:30 p.m., bus #65, trip 8, left Manhattan at 40th Street with a full complement of travelers headed for the Hamptons. I was sitting toward the back. And this is what happened.

All went well until we got near the Bay Shore exit of the Long Island Expressway when I heard the following conversation between the female attendant on the coach, a woman named Joanne and some man who was sitting in the second row aisle seat on the left in front of her. They were in the front of the coach.

“I’m sorry sir, but you have to stop talking on your cell phone. Please. You’ve made three calls. People have complained.”

I didn’t hear exactly what the man said in reply because he spoke facing the front, but it was something about needing to make these phone calls.

“It’s company policy, sir. I spoke about it when we left the city. One three-minute call and only if it’s an emergency.”

He mumbled something else. And then he was on the cell phone again.

“You can’t do this, sir.” He ignored her. “It’s company policy. Please get off the phone. This is the last time I am going to ask you.”

Everyone on the coach was aware of what was going on by this time. And we all wondered what was going to happen next. He continued talking. She leaned down toward him and spoke loudly at him so whoever it was on the telephone could hear her too.

“If you don’t get off the cell phone, we are going to pull over and stop the coach. And I will ask you to leave.”

This had its effect. And he said goodbye and hung up. And now there was a conversation.

“I know you paid for your ticket. But you have to follow company policy. No. You are talking to your stockbroker. That is not an emergency. We both know what ‘emergency’ means.”

And then the cell phone rang. And once again, he was on it.

The attendant turned to the bus driver. “Stop the bus,” she said.

There was a shoulder to pull over to, but then there was a railing and a steep dropdown. Pretty soon we were over by the railing with the bus stopped. We all looked down. Was she really going to make him get out in suburban hell, in the middle of nowhere? I think everybody on the bus contemplated this thought. Certainly, he thought about it. He hung up again.

“Now, you must stay off the phone for the rest of this trip, sir. You’ve had your three minutes. You’ve had ten times that. And everybody around you doesn’t want to hear about your stocks.”

He picked up the phone and made a call.

“Hi, Jen?” he said. We could hear him now.

“Sir, you are acting like a child.”

At this, the driver of the bus, Doug, got up to talk to the man. He spoke, but the man was pretending not to hear him because he was on the phone.

“It is not only an upsetting thing to the people sitting around you,” the driver said, “but it is upsetting to me. I have to drive the bus. It’s a safety matter. You cannot be on the cell phone. If you are not off the cell phone by the time we get to Manorville, which is in five minutes, I will put you off the bus there. And I will do it with the help of the police, if necessary.”

The man hung up and said something.

“No, we are not putting you off here,” the attendant said. “It will be in Manorville.”

The driver at this point, pulled back onto the Expressway and accelerated toward the stop at Manorville. He also was radioing ahead to the Hampton Jitney base to inform them of what was going on.

Then the man’s cell phone rang again. He answered it.

“Please give me the cell phone,” the attendant said. She held out her hand. He continued talking on it. She pulled back her hand. And for the first and only time, she raised her voice to him. “It is beyond belief that I should have to deal with such a person,” she said. And she walked down the aisle toward the back of the bus.

Everyone on the bus applauded. But she was not smiling.

And so we arrived at Manorville. The bus stopped and both the driver and the attendant, now back in the front of the bus, stood up and looked at the man. The driver instructed the man to get off the bus. And so he did, with the other passengers once again applauding. And at that moment, a police car pulled up.

The bus driver got off to talk to the police officer. The attendant was now looking out the front window. And a few passengers, including me, were now standing in the aisle to watch the rest of the drama unfold. The police car was on one side, with the bus driver filling out some paperwork. The man was nowhere in sight. The attendant turned to face us.

“He’s standing in front of the bus,” she said, an incredulous look on her face. “He is saying something about lawyers. And he says he will not move unless he gets his money back. He’s blocking the bus. Do you believe this?” She looked again and then turned back to us. “And now he’s back on the cell phone.”

“He got a ride out this far,” a woman about halfway back shouted to the attendant.

After a delay of about ten minutes, the driver got on and told us that another driver, who was standing right behind him, would now drive us the rest of the way because he would have to stay with the police officer to fill out more forms.

“And I want to be sure to get his name and address,” the driver said, “because we don’t ever want him on this bus again.”

And so, in a moment or two, we were on our way again with our new driver, ten minutes late.

The attendant was now talking to some of the passengers. She had been under stress. But she had to do what she had to do, or other passengers would blame her for not getting him off the phone. Now, the passengers were eager to let her drop out of her professional role for a few moments. She needed to talk. They would listen to her.

“I’m Irish,” she said to an older woman. “I don’t back away from a fight.”

And so, we arrived about ten minutes late — an unusual occurrence for the usually very punctual Hampton Jitney bus company — at the Omni in Southampton, the first stop on the Montauk line.

Somewhere, somehow, there is a guy wandering around Manorville, talking on the cell phone, making and losing hundreds of thousands of dollars on the stock market every few seconds. It’s an emergency. Leave him alone.