Under the Bus

At my dreaded day job, there’s a lot of talk of being ‘thrown under the bus.’ For those of you who are unfamiliar with the expression, it basically means that a co-worker (or boss) has chosen to sacrifice you (or your reputation) in order to save him or herself. You know–back-stabbing.

When I first heard the expression, I fell in love with it. I don’t know why, but there’s something about it that just…flows. That’s before I found myself on my back with the great big black wheels of the bus rolling over me. The expression isn’t as fun or funny when you’re the victim.

Lately, I’ve spent a lot of time under the bus. The first few times it happened, I pulled myself out from underneath the tires, bruised and bewildered. Wiping at my tear-stained cheeks, I wondered, “Why?”

There is no “why.” It’s survival of the fittest. Office Evolution at its finest. You either sink or swim. Or, get run over again and again.

But, the good news is this: after a while, you get used to it. You crawl out from under the bus, brush yourself off, and throw a friendly wave at the bus driver. You learn to like the bus. And, as your fear of the bus dissipates, you become curious. You want to learn more about this mysterious bus you’ve spend so much time underneath.

I think I’ve reached that point. I’m no longer afraid of the bus, or of being thrown under it. We’ve all had our chance to stare at the oil-stained undercarriage of the behemoth bus. I know I have. And, though I’ve grown somewhat fond of lying underneath the bus, I’m ready for a new gig. That’s right. When the big yellow bus comes rolling up in front of the day job tomorrow, I won’t be the one getting thrown underneath it.

Tomorrow, I’m driving.

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