Sexy Boy

So every Tuesday I take the 6:50 bus to Brezno in the morning, and usually
I get in a good little erg (rowing machine) sesh at the Hotel Academy, and maybe do a little fresh produce shopping, before taking the 5:07-ish bus home.

In Slovakia, a lot of bus drivers—and truck drivers—trick-out their dashboards with personalized décor. I’ve seen windshields trimmed in flags of Slovakia, or banners of darn-near naked women decoratively draped above a pile of grime-covered stuff animals trapped in the chasm between the dashboard and the windshield. There’s the bus with a hanging disco ball to jazz up the otherwise drab cab area, and I can’t leave out the bus with the thoughtful dream catcher, maybe for those naps the co-drivers take in alternate shifts on overnight cross-country journeys. From taking the same busses I’ve been able to surmise that most of these people drive the same rig all the time. It’s not like they assemble in a lot every morning and draw straws for who gets the “good” bus that day.

Aside from knowing just how they like their seats adjusted, or if third gear tends to stick a little, it is only natural that these men (I’ve yet to see a female bus driver) are inclined to dress up their “offices” with a little signature style. Just like office cubicles the front end of a bus is pretty non-descript but a lot of hours get racked up there. It’s better if there is something nice to look at. And you can tell quite a lot about a person from the way s/he chooses to decorate…

For example, ever since I’ve taken that 5:07-ish bus, the regular driver has been known amongst some of my fellow teachers and I as “sexy boy,” and not for any dark-horse crush we harbor (some women love a man in uniform…) but rather for his interior decorating.

In “sexy boy’s” rig the giant sun visors are lined with tasteful upholstery fringe—a white lace chord trimmed with blue and white tassels. An angle Christmas ornament with a golden gown, wooden wings and a shock of blonde hair bounces back and forth in cherubic exultation. Some kind of coin affixed to a string gently sways back and forth next to it, and hanging from a suction cup a tiny cardboard cutout is enshrouded in a white infant’s t-shirt proclaiming “Sexy Boy” in electric blue.

The bold (or at least random) t-shirt in contrast to the rest of the subdued ornamentation is not the only juxtaposition; “sexy boy” doesn’t seem to belong in the driver’s seat of a public bus.

Physically he seems much younger than most Slovak bus drivers—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He has a slight build—no paunch to stretch an ill-fitting polyester uniform over, or practically rest in his lap as he criss-crosses the Slovak highway infrastructure day in, day out. In fact, he always looks put together, and his attire is never slovenly. His angular jaw is accentuated by a well-trimmed goatee and the buzz cut he keeps his light brown hair in makes his Bruce Willis-esque hairline actually look good instead of unfortunate. His chic rectangular glasses give him an intellectual air and make me wonder what’s going on in his brain while he makes laps around Central Slovakia. All in all he is well-kept, and appears as if he should be some urban hipster, working as an IT specialist or accountant and having intellectual or snide conversations about sub-cultures with equally yoked people, not a bus driver in rural Slovakia.

One day a few months ago the bus pulled up on schedule, the familiar tassels clanging into each other as the bus eased to a stop. But instead of handing my fare to “sexy boy,” there was an imposter at his post! At first I though sexy boy was simply sick, or maybe he had jury duty or something (do Slovaks do that?). For the next three weeks though he failed to appear so I resigned myself to the fact that he was no more. There was nothing wrong with this new guy—he drove just fine and didn’t make me overly car-sick. But the bus décor just didn’t seem to match—or rather not match—him quite as well.

Last Tuesday, I climbed the steps of the 5:07-ish bus, and to my surprise sexy boy was at the helm! He even seemed more chipper than usual, but maybe that’s just because I hadn’t seen him in a while. Just like old times he tooted his horn and gave a friendly wave at every passing bus, making sure to greet his fellows in the brotherhood of public transportation. He also had the same long conversation with one of his buddies on the two-way radio all the way down the switch-backs from Zbojska to Tisovec. Yup, sexy boy is BACK!