Dec. 4, 2007: Fare Generosity

Story By Joe Zlomek

A young student started running, flat out, as the SEPTA Route 104 bus passed him heading west this morning (Dec. 4, 2007) on West Chester Pike. A passenger aboard the bus tugged its stop cord at almost the same time, so the driver slowed his vehicle and pulled to a halt at the approaching stop, about 40 feet ahead of the student still racing to meet it. The bus driver hadn't seen the student, and might have left if the exiting passenger hadn't alerted him. Instead, he stayed put for the now-panting fare.

Well, fare-less, actually.

The backpack-toting student, a boy in his late teens, climbed the stairs and struggled to catch his breath. As the bus moved down the road, he swung into a nearby seat without depositing coin or token into the collection box near the driver's platform. Instead he reached into the pocket of his tan colored jeans, looked toward the driver, and began to plead his case.

He'd caught the wrong bus an hour earlier, the boy explained. For that ill-fated ride he had only enough money to pay for his base fare and a transfer. Now just the transfer remained, which he extracted from his pocket and placed in his palm. The transfer -- normally an inch-wide, 5-inch long, pre-printed slip of thin green paper -- had been crushed into a slender tube during the boy's run. But it carried today's date stamp, evidence that it was freshly issued and not held from another day. Could the driver accept the transfer, please, as his fare?, the boy asked. If the driver would only take him to his stop, he said, he could walk the rest of the way to his school.

The driver, a burly older man, kept his eyes on the road and didn't answer immediately. Only at the next stop did he turn from his seat and investigate the new arrival. The boy's breathing had evened out somewhat. There was a hint of panting visible beneath his green hooded sweatshirt, but otherwise the boy was quiet. He shouldn't rush the examining driver for a reply, he sensed. Better to be patient.

Philadelphia transit drivers like this one have, for the most part, seen and heard it all. No excuse is new under their suns. "My dog ate my fare money." "My cat ate my fare money." Few rate as inventive variants of the tried and true. "My canary ate my fare money, and my cat ate the canary." Almost none evoke sympathy. Almost all such pleas are rejected.

Almost all.

The boy's patience paid off. "Put yer transfer back in ya' pocket," the driver growled. "You'll need it for the next leg to school." The student looked up and offered his thanks. "And," the driver added, "don't blame me for your being late."