Modern heroes, they make no more statues for you. Stories suffice.

The Chinatown Express “Dragon Coach” departs from 1250 Broadway, which isn’t so much a physical address as much as it’s just the bus stopping in the middle of a busy Manhattan street on its way to Washington, DC. The entire operation can best be described as “bootleg”. Tickets are essentially raffle tickets, or Internet printouts off of websites that misspell words like “click here” with “clike her”.

I was nervous that I would be kicked off the bus, having an improper ticket due to computer difficulties when making my travel reservations online. The site is very difficult to navigate, and my sister’s computer printer is broken, so I just wrote down what I thought was important with a green magic marker. My palms were still stained with green stigmata, as I handed the bus conductor a scrap piece of paper. He seemed somewhat satisfied, and I didn’t look too suspicious.

The woman behind me was not as lucky. She had improper information on her ticket stub. She claimed she had purchased a round trip ticket, but the ticket suggested otherwise, somehow. The bus conductor attempted to kick her off the bus at the next stop. She refused. She called the cops.

“I would like to report an incident. I need police backup immediately”.
I imagine the emergency operator followed protocol. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

The improperly ticketed woman tried to explain her emergency, and I can only image the emergency operator tried hard not to laugh at her on the phone, or hang up thinking it was a morning radio DJ playing a prank.

The rest of the bus was completely cognizant of the entire situation as it played out from somewhere near the back of bus, by the lavatory. We were hostages, held up either by the inefficiency of a bootleg bus operation or the woman without the correct ticket. It was an unclear moral quagmire to the observers on the bus, and nobody could figure out whom to direct their anger that the wheels on the bus weren’t going round and round.

A man in a navy blazer steps forward and slyly hands the conductor a $20 bill, making sure the woman on the phone with the cops doesn’t see his charity (somewhere, Maimonides smiles).

The engine starts and the woman tells the folks over at 911, “no worries.”

Several bus riders attempt to pass the man in the blazer various bills and coinage. He waves them off. “It’s cool.”

There should be a statue erected at 1250 Broadway, if such a place existed. Stories suffice.