Four hours, one island...

When I first started driving the Coochie bus, I had a few small concerns. 

Would I remember all the streets? Would I know who got off where? Would I get everyone from home to the jetty without missing the ferry?

A few shifts in, I realised the bus had a better sense of direction than I did. And the ferry kept turning up where it was supposed to.

Mostly, I just had to drive, listen and try not to laugh while steering.

I’m 55, on Centrelink benefits, and my arrangement lets me volunteer rather than spend every available hour searching for work.

I thought I was signing up to drive a bus. Turns out I’d also joined the island’s unofficial social network, mobile help desk and sometimes travelling karaoke club.

A four-hour shift can take me around most of the island. It sounds like a long time, but somehow it goes by in a blink.

One minute I’m collecting a young mum with a brand-new human tucked in close. We take the corners gently, because that tiny passenger has clearly not yet signed up for Coochie’s more adventurous driving style.

Then it’s the school kids, jostling for a seat after the afternoon ferry. I know some of their parents, so I get to enjoy the running commentary: the jokes, the quirks, the small announcements about home life that apparently cannot wait until they get home.

“Guess what happened…”

I don’t even have to ask. The whole bus is about to find out. (Wonder what the parents would think of THAT tale!! 🤣)

At the next stop, an elderly lady climbs aboard with her walker and a wicked sense of humour. She settles in as if she’s just arrived at the theatre and the show is about to begin.

A little later, I pick up another lady who moves, thinks and acts like she’s still 30. Her wit is so dry you could leave it out in the sun for a week and it still wouldn’t moisten.

The two of them get talking. I keep my eyes on the road and my ears open. It’s a fine line, being a bus driver and an audience member.

Then there’s the tradie who lives at the back of the island. He’s always dropped off last. He has made his wish to be first in line known through a series of increasingly hopeful hints.

“Any chance I might get an early drop-off today?”

I smile. “You know the route.”

He does. He also knows exactly where he lives.

There’s a reason I’m not changing the order. I’m not cruel. I’m just working with geography.

When I started, I worried I’d forget the streets or muddle up the drop-offs. I worried about being late for the ferry and leaving people waiting. None of that happened. After a few shifts, the route began to flow.

I stopped gripping the steering wheel quite so tightly and started noticing what was happening around me.

People get to know each other on the bus. Someone mentions they need something. I happen to know someone else who has it, can do it, or knows where to find it. I make the connection, usually without planning to.

That’s become one of my favourite parts of the job. I’m not just taking people from one place to another. I’m joining a few dots along the way.

And then there’s the music. I love a sing-along, so the bus is a useful place to gather intelligence on what the local singing groups are learning. A passenger mentions a song, someone else knows the chorus, and suddenly I’ve got a new addition to the repertoire.

The bus may not have the acoustics of a concert hall. It does have enthusiasm. That counts for something.

By the end of a shift, I’ve heard a bit of local news, learned a new song, watched children negotiate the politics of seat selection, and helped a few people find each other. I’ve travelled most of the island and still arrived back where I started.

The best part is that none of it feels like work while I’m doing it. The hours fly. The passengers bring the stories. I bring the bus, a friendly hello and, if the song is right, the chorus.

I started out hoping I wouldn’t get lost.

Now I’m more likely to wonder when we will break into spontaneous song next, and whether the tradie at the back of the island has finally accepted his place in the grand Coochie bus itinerary.

I suspect he hasn’t.

Does this appeal to you? Call Donna on 0428 727 345 and soon you’ll be setting the song list too!