I was on the B41 bus when the lady with the thick honey blonde mane, sitting across the aisle, one seat ahead, turned to the older Black woman two seats in front of me and asked, “B41 to Kings Plaza?”
“Oh no,” replied the older woman. Her delivery, dry, but with a slight note of pity woven in.
The lady across the aisle started to ask more questions.
“Oh, I don’t speak Spanish,” the older woman interjected, this time, matter-of-factly.
The lady nodded.
“But," the woman continued, “You can get off at the next stop to catch the correct bus.”
There are two B41 buses; one goes to Bergen Beach, the other to Kings Plaza. Belatedly, a few passengers riding the Bergen Beach bus will, eventually, realize that they’re on the wrong one. Because it happens often enough, one stop before the route diverges, the bus drivers announce via the loudspeaker: “This is the B41 to Bergen Beach, not Kings Plaza. If you need Kings Plaza, you’ll need to get off at the next stop.”
Watching the lady across the aisle, I wanted to tell her to get a transfer from the bus driver before exiting. But then I thought it could be presumptuous of me to assume she wasn’t aware of that. Not to mention, I also didn’t speak Spanish, so I didn't know how that would work.
Sitting in front of me was a gentleman. While he and the older woman had boarded the bus together, I was uncertain whether they knew each other. She and I had been waiting at the bus stop, watching as a B41 bus to Bergen Beach was filling up with passengers. He had seen the bus from afar and ran over with the intent to get on.
By the time he had arrived, the bus was practically packed. As he stood, deciding whether to squeeze in, the woman told him another would be pulling up in a few seconds. Thanking her, he laughed, stating one never knew how things would go with this particular bus route.
He was correct. Five B41 buses to Kings Plaza could pass by before one to Bergen Beach showed up. Therefore, aside from wanting to get home, coupled with wanting to get out of the cold, and evening beginning to make an entrance, had the woman not shared the information about a second bus approaching, it’s likely he would have squeezed onto the first.
When we had boarded the bus, he and the woman continued speaking; I tuned out until the lady across the aisle inquired about the bus destination.
As I sat, contemplating if I could assist the lady, I saw the gentleman lean towards the woman in front of him and point something out on the screen of his iPhone. She nodded, and as the bus was pulling up to its stop, the lady across the aisle stood up. But before she could take a step, the gentleman turned his screen to her. Taking it in, she nodded, expressed her thanks, then dashed off.
Curious, I asked him what he showed her. Turning towards me, he held up the phone, and I could see words written in Spanish. He then explained that there was a Translate App on his iPhone.
"I often use it to mess around and send texts to my friends who speak other languages.”
“That was really wonderful of you to take the time to use it to help her out!” I replied.
“Oh, well, that’s kind of you to say." His tone doing the double duty of accepting the compliment and, at the same time, almost downplaying it.
I found myself stressing how big a deal it was; she was already frazzled about boarding the wrong bus, the additional language barrier was another hurdle to navigate. We then had a brief conversation about getting on the wrong bus. He admitted to doing so a few times. I proffered that, while it's unfortunate to have the experience, at least he's more likely to double-check before boarding. He laughed and said he still had his moments.
At this point, the bus came to our stop, and as he and the woman stood to exit out the front, I moved towards the back. He wished me well, I returned the sentiment. And as the doors opened, I thought of how wonderful it was he had felt the pull to help the lady, and how happy I was to know I had that app on my phone should I ever need to use it in the future.