in the playground that is shanghai, buses are the kids who punched you and then stole your lunch money

In the volumes of text that people have written about the "China experience," the driving and traffic has definitely been more than one person's topic du jour. In the States, Asians are constantly the butt of all jokes about driving quality. While I'd really, really, really like to argue in our favor, I have to say that the stereotype that Asians are bad drivers is pretty well founded.

Once I sat next to my mom as she, during the mid afternoon mall rush, slowly ran a red light. I guess she figured if she was going to break the law, she may as well as do it with slow determination. When I freaked out and told her to go faster, feeling the burn of glares directed at us from all sides, she told me, "AIYA, how you stress out mommy. Now she need to take break." and with that she drove off to the side of the road and sat there while she "calm down." Great.

I kind of always figured it was because Asians in Americas were bad drivers because they started out late. While the rest of Americana were burning asphalt at 15, our moms and dads were still back in their respective countries tearing up roads with their bicycles. So, to me, it wasn't so much as they were bad drivers, it was that they weren't good drivers yet. A late bloomer if you will.

Then I went to China and had this epiphany:

"Fuck, maybe this is genetic."

Cars whizzing in every direction. No one stopping for anyone. It was like the roads were like one big game of chicken and everyone wanted to be a contender. I once watched as two cabs crashed into each other head on at 10 mph because neither wanted to yield to the other one. Looking at the crash site, it was difficult to gauge who was more at fault because they managed to hit each other precisely at the center of the intersection. Traffic was backed up for the next 6 hours.

In all the literature on the chaos theory that is drivers in China, one particular vehicle needs to be singled out. Not enough focus has been put on it but I'm ending that right now in this post where I will declare in all CAPS which, as everyone knows, is the writing equivalent of verbal yelling:

BUSES ARE FUCKING DICKS.

It's true. I'm all for public transport with it's socially conscious agenda but the buses here in Shanghai are out of control. They don't need etiquette classes, they need to be repeatedly punched in the neck with a Miss Manners manual. If Shanghai were the land of giants in Roald Dahl's The BFG, buses are the giants that ate children who and should be disposed of like they were in the book - trapped in a large hole and made to eat cowcumbers for the rest of their lives. For those of you who haven't read the book and are now upset that I ruined the ending, I apologize. But really? You haven't read the BFG? You philistine.

I digress.

Back to buses - or what they should really more aptly be called - Menaces to Public Welfare.

Bulky and loud, these buses - deceptively nimble - careen dangerously around on the streets. It's seemingly ridiculous for these public transport vehicles to make transporting the public their primary goal. Oh no, that's just secondary hobby, a diversion from their true ambition of trying to mow down anything that happens to be in their paths. They literally speed up with malicious pleasure when they see you in front of them. More than once I was treated to the blind fear of seeing a 3000 pound bus stampeding towards me like some beserk green elephant.

Even when you surrender the road, they like to remind you who's the king of the jungle, whipping by you so fast that you can feel the pressure drag. Insult, injury. At least in subways there's a safety line you can stand behind. Where's the safety line above ground? And the horn? It's like there's some quota for number of honks every bus needs to meet or else they don't get their paychecks. I FUCKING HEAR YOU. I CAN ONLY RUN SO FAST YOU ASSHOLE.

I've developed this repeating daydream where I just carry a bag of eggs and tomatoes around with me and throw them at obnoxious drivers. Every time I see a bus careening straight for me I imagine myself reaching into that bag, pulling out a tomato and or egg. I imagine my arm rearing back, the look of confusion on the driver's face, my arm snapping forward, my fingers releasing, the look of confusion changing to a look of "Oh fuck." And, despite the fact that I've never thrown anything straight in my life, my fantasy tomato will fly through the air in a long, graceful arc until it collides with the bus windshield.

In slow motion and hypercolor, I see it splatter, spreading itself like an ameoba all over the clear plane. As the driver's face turns into angry dismay, I reach into my bag and bring out a horn and, smiling broadly, I press down, honking two, blaring, obnoxiously long honks.