TIPS???

It was 3:20 a.m. and we were in a panic.  The shuttle-bus was to have picked us up at 2:45 a.m.  We'd called once before but no one at the bus station had answered. I'd already gone outside, up the long flight of stairs, to the front of the building at least four times, hoping to see the van waiting for us.  At 3:20, I decided to call once more. The dispatcher picked up.  Thankfully he spoke English.  I explained that we had reservations, that the shuttle hadn't arrived, and that we were very anxious that we would miss our flight.  He asked me to wait.

In a matter of seconds, I heard an angry exchange in Hebrew between him and who I assumed was the shuttle-bus driver.  The dispatcher came back on the line and said, "Madam Arlene, not to worry.  He is coming now."  We grabbed our bags and ran outside where we waited for several minutes.  At last!  An elderly Israeli man pulled up in an over-sized van.  He got out and met us at the back to take our luggage.  He didn't look at or speak to us and because he looked unwell and quite feeble, I helped him load my bag. I thought it strange that he didn't say a word, not even 'shalom', but was just happy that we were on our way to the airport in Tel Aviv.  We boarded the bus, which was already quite full, and found two seats together.

Immediately after we got on, the driver gunned the motor and tore down the street, not slowing one bit for the many speed bumps, taking the curves at break-neck speed. I reasoned that he must have been angry about his recent argument with the dispatcher and because he had to return to pick us up, he was now running late. Tel Aviv was a forty-five to fifty-minute drive.  Maybe he had to have people at the airport in a hurry?

There was the highway!  I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now we could relax a bit.  He had made it safely out of Jerusalem; there was no traffic to fight because it was the Sabbath, so surely he would slow down now. 

Rather than slowing down, he laid rubber.  The bus swerved to the shoulder of the road and back again toward the middle, crossing the centre line, swinging back again to the shoulder, back and forth, getting dangerously close to the metal guard-rail each time. Whenever he veered off course, there were audible gasps and a few of us cried out, "Hey! What are you doing?  Hey!!!  Slow down!" Some of the passengers began shouting, asking him if he was all right.  At one point about fifteen minutes into the journey, the man beside us said that the driver was sleeping, so several of us yelled even louder, "Are you awake?  Hey, Hey!!!  Wake up!".  The driver, however, said absolutely nothing and pushed the pedal to the metal. Faster and faster.  We were flying down the road...an out-of-control missile....helpless... nothing anyone said to him had any positive influence on his driving.  Silence greeted every shout.

What was most astonishing was that during this terrifying ride from hell, the majority of the passengers seemed completely unaffected by the peculiar driving and bizarre behaviour.  It was, to all appearances, an everyday occurrence for them. They sat silently, their bodies jerking violently from side to side, hanging on to the backs of the seats in front of them.  The maniac kept driving, also eerily silent...back and forth...back and forth...throttle to the floor. It was like something out of the Twilight Zone.   At one point, the expected happened; the van banged hard into the guard-rail and bounced back onto the highway.  That got the attention of even the most complacent passenger. "Hey!!! What's going on?  Are you crazy?  Stop the bus!!"  Some now started yelling at him in Hebrew. The fear became overwhelming and I started shrieking hysterically, "Stop the van!! Stop the van!!  Let me out!! I want to get out!! Pull over now!!  I want out of here!!" I tried to stand up but was unable to maintain my balance because of the extreme shifting.   I fell back hard into my seat.  J.P and I locked eyes, held hands tightly and said goodbye to each other without words.  We were both absolutely certain that he was going to roll the van and that we were going to die, but there was nothing we could do except pray.

We arrived at the airport, I'm sure due miraculous intervention, shaken and upset. We almost fell in our haste to exit that van.  We couldn't believe our good fortune; safe on beautiful terra firma! 

There was no conversation as the passengers gathered at the rear of the van to wait for the driver to retrieve the luggage.  His door opened.  He struggled to get down from his elevated seat.  Once on the ground, he staggered very slowly and unsteadily in our direction.  He tried to place the key in the lock, but missed several times before he made contact.  I wondered if his drug of choice was amphetamines; it was obvious that he was 'on' something.

Then the unimaginable happened.  As the driver from hell was wrestling with the bags, several passengers TIPPED him!