Why the Buenos Aires subway is better than its buses

Bus drivers in Argentina (in all of South America, really) are notoriously aggressive. This is because they compete for fares, often causing races to the bus stop to pick up the most passengers possible. This also means that a bus is never, ever full. Even if a bus driver can't close the front door because people are hanging out of it, he will still slam to a halt at the next stop and scream, "haga espacio!" (make room!) until a few more people can edge on. This was the bus reality I had come to know and, if not love, at least appreciate for its absurdity.

Imagine my surprise, then, when one day I got on a half-full bus, slid into the frontmost seat, and braced myself for the characteristic head-banging halts I was in for on the 30-minute ride to my friend's house. However, this was not to be my fate that day.

I noticed right away that there was something different about this driver. He was... pleasant. From the moment I got on to the moment I got off, he was humming. At first it made me smile and I thought it was rather sweet, until I realized that he repeated the same six notes over and over. And over. Imagine the opening chords from the Fugees song Killing me Softly: Da-da-da-da-da-da (without the strong dada at the end). He repeated it constantly, the only variant being an open-mouthed note and a closed-mouth hum.

I was able to forgive the repetitive humming - it was my fault I sat in the front, after all - because I was so amazed by his super-smooth stops. He eased into each one, gave passengers ample time to board, and then eased back into his rightful lane. No honking. No lead foot. And a smile for each new fare. He reminded me of Metro drivers in Seattle, and I mentally praised him and capable drivers the world over.

About halfway through my ride, he inched from a stop to a red light not 10 feet away. A woman came running from the block ahead, shopping bags and arms flailing. Despite a driver's impulse to collect as many fares as possible, he is also fickle and will not open a door to a late-comer unless he damn well feels like it, for which reason this "please dear god stop for me" method hardly ever works.

But our driver was different. He waved at her and opened the doors. Until she was two feet away she was a shoo-in to board the bus. And then... he slammed the doors shut. We waited at the red light still, the woman standing in disbelief outside the closed bus door, too shocked even to bang against the glass and demand that he let her on. He stared straight ahead, humming softly to himself, until the light turned green and he smoothly accelerated on, the woman choking on bus fumes and screaming profanities.

I was the only one on the bus who seemed at all surprised.