by Samantha Gillis
It’s safe to bet that Carl Johnsen,a UMass senior and PVTA bus driver, knows every word of “Sweet Caroline.” Not necessarily because he’s an avid Neil Diamond fan, but because he hears that same song every time he goes to work. It isn’t the radio that serenades him on his tours of Amherst. No, that’s turned off. It’s the rumbling roars of his student passengers.
Johnsen, who has been driving the bus for three years now, has noticed that the song has only become favored recently.
“It used to be ‘Olay’ was pretty popular,” he remembers.
But “Sweet Caroline” is the clear favorite on this Friday night, with three different groups of students belting out the tune within a two-hour span. Another choice song from the PVTA songbook is the R. Kelly classic “I Believe I Can Fly.” Patriotic chants are also well received.
Each new choir of students probably doesn’t know they’re being unoriginal. They don’t know that Johnsen heard this song four stops back because they only got on two stops ago. But that’s just it, students get on and off so quickly they miss the true bus experience. They might think being pushed up against a stranger’s armpit is enough of an experience, but there is so much more. There’s something interesting about a collection of strangers that unify to travel a minuscule distance and sing a Fenway favorite far from the ballpark.
It’s just after 10 p.m. and a group of students is waiting at the bus stop outside Lederle Graduate Research Center. An earlier bus has just left so the group starts small but swells again quickly. Among the crowd are five students in almost head-to-toe plaid (meager amounts of denim keep it from being full out pajamas.) They’re angry the bus is late (it isn’t). They have a 90’s themed party to get to. More and more people (less impressively dressed) continue to show up at the stop, and by the time the already-full bus does arrive, there isn’t enough room for everyone. The most aggressive are awarded a standing spot on the bus while the rest are left on the curb.
This is the Route 30 bus. It carts students up and down North Pleasant Street and beyond to Belchertown Road. The UMass campus sits in the middle, connecting stops between Puffton Village Apartments and the bars (and pizza) in Amherst center. Johnsen says it is one of the busiest routes.
According to UMass Transit Operations Manager Glenn Barrington, 26 PVTA buses carry a total of 16,000 to 18,000 passengers on an average weekday. Both numbers drop dramatically for the weekend, with around 2,500 passengers on Saturdays and Sundays, when the number of running buses drops to seven and six, respectively.
As the bus takes off, the main fluorescent lights go out and it’s dark. At the front of the bus a yellow neon sign flashes the time and upcoming stop; it mixes with a bar of red light that runs along the side of the bus to give off an orange glow. The tint over the packed riders gives a club-like feel. Sitting among the standing huddle is the sickly sweet smell of energy drinks. It’s both in their hands and beneath their feet.
Joining Johnsen tonight is Captain Jennifer Gundersen of the Amherst Police department. For most of the night she stands, nonchalant, at the front of the bus and makes small talk with Johnsen. PTVA pays cops to ride buses on the weekends: four on Friday and two on Saturday. While not particularly large or foreboding, Gundersen has the stern expression of someone you don’t want to cross. It’s probably something she has picked up during her 20 years as a cop in college town; a sense of almost parent-like authority that makes you think that if she calls you out she is going to know and use your full name while doing it. The kids with beer cans sit closer to the back. In plain clothes the short, sandy-haired woman could be any one of these kid’s mothers. Except she has a gun on her hip.
In addition to singers, there are several other talents on display. Two friends try to rap about the night ahead. It’s not very good (their rap or their plans). Later, an aspiring gymnast grabs the bar along the top of the bus, and using her seat, swings her feet up and over the bar. She rocks back and forth holding on with her hands and the back of her knees. It’s hard to tell if her friends would be quite as impressed with this performance on, say, a Wednesday morning.
The bus empties out in Amherst center, and continues more quietly to Belchertown Road. The orange lighting that made the mood fun before seems a little more like a horror movie now. Cans of Red Bull and Coors Light clank around the floor, some are still spilling liquid out of the sides, leaving streaks on the floor.
The bus stops at Old Belchertown Road and idles for a few minutes. Johnsen reaches to a spot behind his seat and pulls out a barely eaten sandwich. After a bite he puts it back, jumps out of the driver’s seat, and steps off the bus to stretch. Johnsen doesn’t bemoan his loud passengers. Instead he smiles saying their antics make the night go by. Any flack he might get from riders, both inebriated and sober, he just brushes off.
“I’m doing the best I can,” he shrugs.
The quiet doesn’t last long. Soon the bus starts up again and returns to campus, and the Studio Arts stop is first up. A mass is toeing the curb. It’s probably a bit like being on Justin Bieber’s tour bus, but with less screaming and more Keystone Light. Gundersen assumes the position at the front of the bus, and when it stops, she jumps out, hands out in front of her, and herds everyone onto the bus. Off to Puffton…right?
There is a common theme throughout the night. Regardless of the predetermined bus route, no one is entirely sure where they are going, or when they are getting off to go to that undisclosed location.
“Do you know where this bus is going?”
They do not.
“This goes to Southwest, I promise.”
It doesn’t.
“We’re definitely close to campus. I’d say really close.”
Lederle is pretty close to campus.
People get off and get back on. They grab their friends and get off again. They look out the windows and try and develop night vision to figure out where they are. Despite the fact that no one seems entirely sure where they are going or which stop is theirs, spirits are high. Everyone seems happy to just be along for the ride, and excited about what’s ahead of them for the night. Good times never seemed so good. Another writer might see this as a metaphor of sorts for college life in general, but after hearing someone on a crowded bus explain their re-emerging rash in detail, it just seems too poetic.
Samantha Gillis can be contacted at [email protected].
