"Just to downtown, we're going only as far as downtown, ok?" announces the loud flamboyant driver of the transport unit used by the masses of people of scarce means but abundant endurance. The driver deserves to get an award -- a Grammy or a Golden Globe or at least a Pulitzer -- for his tenacity, for each day he and other drivers like him and their assistants on these mini buses go about their days fearlessly providing their services, undaunted. Stunned by this announcement, the mind of our protagonist begins to work, and concern can be seen in his face as he stands ready to board. "That is only halfway" he thinks to himself. "So how do I get home?" His mind races. "Should I wait for another bus?" After a brief moment of doubt, his fear of remaining there at the stop alone, not being able to catch another bus pushes him up the step. He climbs into a vehicle disfigured by the many dents it has suffered at the hands of other drivers like our friend at the wheel.
Block after block our protagonist watches the time and distance pass by, and his concern is now more pronounced. The moment of greatest discomfort approaches. "Is it really true that it only goes downtown and no further?" he wonders. "What I'll do is act unaware", he thinks. "Or better yet, I will not pay until after that stop, so if they ask me to get out, I still will have enough money to take another bus."
At last, the moment of truth. The tiny bus stops at its announced destination. The assistant makes full use of his throat muscles and informs the occupants that they have just arrived at their destination, but the intimidation becomes apparent here, because what these Machiavellian minds had planned was to transport only those souls whose ultimate destination was here, and then proceed to reload their vehicle with new passengers who would pay once again Lps 6.00 for the next half of the trip.
As he had planned, our protagonist, now plays dumb and tries not to look directly at the inquisitive assistant who, with a menacing glare, seeks his eyes to intimidate and then asks in a grave and threatening voice, "So dude, where is your stop?" Drawing strength from weakness (not without first letting out a long sigh), our protagonist stutters, "I'm going to the station!" After a brief tense moment, the assistant turns around and prepares to "pack in" all the Christians he can, but not without first demonstrating his extreme displeasure by unloading a series of broken curse words at our character for not having yielded to the bullying. And his position and discomfort seem logical of course. He has just lost Lps 6.00, since that seat cannot be sold to another customer.
"Paradito Raza, vengase paradito," he says, trying to convince two or three more passengers to travel standing up in order to fill up the available space so that no space is left unfilled... not even for a sliver of moonlight to enter. By the time the bus gets going, our friend breathes deeply and feels liberated. “Now I will get home and will not have to spend money on a taxi,” he thinks -- money which would tear deeply into his miniscule budget and endanger his food security for the next day.
Our friend is tired... a product of a long and hard day, 10 hours of work. He listens to others passengers talk about their day. He listens when one of them cries out "Bajan, bajan!" alerting the driver to stop because that is his stop. But the words seem not to make an impression on the driver, who moves on and stops wherever he wants. Our protagonist feels anger, and almost wishes to say something, but he is very tired and the simple fact that he wasn’t kicked off when they reached downtown is a sufficient enough victory. "Let them fight their own battles," he thinks. "I just want to get home and go to sleep..."
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