Night Owl A-bus driver enjoys seeing variety of people during his runs

The crowd of bodies bumps up and down as the Night Owl A-bus navigates Jordan Avenue at 11:30 p.m.

Guys climb onto the side luggage racks while girls sit on top of each other to make more room. The mass of 100 bodies leaves everyone pressed up against each other with no space to do anything but move their mouths to sing.

The slightly slurred voices drown out The Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride.”

The only one left with enough freedom to turn his head, move his arms and press up and down on the pedals is campus bus driver Dan Goldblatt.

He’s not worried about not knowing all of the lyrics or spilling his drink like the crowd around him.

The only thing he’s thinking about in the chaos is safety: Get these kids to their next stop.

“The bus is twice as heavy so it takes longer to brake. Then you have to make sure people aren’t sticking things out the windows. At this point, there is nothing I can do back there,” Dan says, motioning back to the mass now singing the IU fight song.

In the end, the 600 kids that pass through the doors of Dan’s bus are all trusting him to get them from point A to point B. They’ve given up that responsibility and embrace the singing, crowded nature of the bus.

Fridays are the longest for him. His day job as a multimedia producer at WFIU begins at 10 a.m.

He leaves the bus yard at 3:30 a.m. It’s a hard day’s night on what’s known as the drunk bus.

***

Dan steers the crowded bus into the Ballantine and Jordan Hall bus stop. Sweaty fists pound the windows and cheers erupt as more than 50 people leave the bus. The mob of white T-shirts starts in the direction of a highlighter party.

The eight people left on board take a deep breath of the lingering vodka and body odor scent and continue their journey down Third Street.

“Tonight this bus will not be turning on to Kirkwood because of Lotus Festival. If you want to get off at Kirkwood, get off here. Otherwise, we’re going down to Walnut and turning there,” Dan says into the microphone.

He just shrugs after he repeats the announcement of the detour.

Dan knows no one is listening. Students will get mad or realize they’ve missed their stop once they sober up a bit. It’s not Dan’s problem.

The bus’s signal flashes a left turn north onto Fee Lane. A dozen kids start sprinting toward the Kelley School of Business stop. Dan slides the bus into the bike lane and pushes the door open with a smile and an “Evening folks.”

“We love you so much.”

“You’re my hero.”

“Thanks, man.”

Each one thanks him as he or she enters the bus and even when they exit at Memorial Stadium.

“I occasionally feel generous,” Dan says with a smile.

***

Dan is about to start another lap around campus when something, or the lack thereof, catches his eye.

“Is that just a bra?”

The black bra is actually paired with a short pinstripe vest, an A-line skirt and silver stilettos. The pack of girls stumbles onto the bus in the stadium parking lot.

Even though this is only his second weekend driving the Night Owl, he can tell where people are going based on what they’re wearing.

White shirts mean highlighter party. Black dresses are for black and white parties. Men in suits or women in provocative office attire are heading to “CEOs and Office Hoes” parties.

With a fresh load of students, Dan edges out of the stadium. It’s just past midnight, but the night is just beginning for most.

“Want to play the most crunk game at IU?” shouts a buff guy in a white V-neck.
He jumps the two steps from the upper level and stands in the middle of the bus.
“Night Owl bus surfing!”

He tries to stand in a surfboard position as the bus rolls over the bumps on 17th Street. By the time Dan brakes at the stoplight at Fee Lane and 17th Street, a surfing mob of white T-shirts and office hoes are falling all over each other.

As long as they’re not damaging anything, they’re allowed to have fun. These moments are why Dan doesn’t mind driving the Night Owl.

Campus bus drivers get to bid on the routes they want to drive at the beginning of the semester. Dan is one of three Friday night bus drivers for IU buses.

“Believe it or not, I kind of enjoy it,” he says.

He keeps himself entertained in the eight hours of driving by listening to the funny phrases he overhears.

“I just farted. It must be your fault,” Alex, a freshman, says, accusing his friend across the aisle.

Dan just looks up amused before announcing on the intercom, “This is a no-farting bus.”

Alex and his friends fall back in laughter before recounting how they got kicked out of a fraternity party.

Dan’s heard way too many of these stories before.

***

By 1 a.m., the Night Owl surfing boys are back. Having abandoned their surfing game, they started hanging on the bars and loudly jumping on the bus floor.

Dan slams on the brakes, jolting everyone suddenly forward. It’s enough to get their attention.

“If someone stomps again, I will throw you all off the bus,” Dan angrily shouts to the back.

The 40 people on board shout back.

“Bull-shit”
“Bull-shit”
“Bull-shit”

The students chant from their seats, and Dan continues to drive past the Indiana Memorial Union.

“They can be rowdy, but when they start destroying things, I’m done,” Dan says, his patience wearing thin with two-and-a-half hours left.

By 1:30 a.m., the intoxication level of the bus has decreased.

Dan announces that it is now the Creedence Clearwater Revival time of the night, so he switches the music on the Zune to match his mood.

He spends most of his breaks in between runs rigging a better sound system. He wraps a microphone around the radio and puts it in his backpack, hanging on a hook behind him.

He has a break after completing each 40-minute lap around campus. The earlier he finishes the route, the longer the break.

The silence of the bus is a nice respite from the normal singing mob. “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” “Sweet Caroline” and the “Hoo-Hoo-Hoo Hoosiers” cheer are crowd favorites, along with the occasional Beatles song. But during these 15 minute breaks, Dan can listen to his own music without the drunk chorus.

Dan walks down the aisle picking up the trash: a red solo cup, an abandoned beer can and a couple of Gatorade bottles.

“No ones getting on with a beer, but I can’t do too much about a Gatorade or water bottle,” he says.

***

It’s just after 2:40 a.m. when it finally happens.

A guy pushes through the crowd to the front of the bus and grabs the trash bag before disappearing back into the throng.

Suddenly, shouts erupt from the middle of the bus, and the crowd squishes to the sides. A victim of the highlighter party pukes red juice into the small white bag.

Half of the bus leaves, disgusted at the sight of the small amount of vomit sloshed onto the floor. The smell is absorbed into the vodka and perfume saturated air.

“The bus ends up smelling like The Bluebird at 2 a.m., but the bus starts out smelling nice where The Bluebird doesn’t,” Dan says.

Someone usually throws up every weekend on a bus. Dan has even found passed out people in the back during his breaks.

But this is the last lap, so Dan just glances into the rearview mirror and pulls away. He is almost finished with his eight-hour run and has a pork chop, a glass of boxed wine and a calico cat named June Carter waiting for him at home.

That doesn’t mean the craziness has come to an end. Five minutes later, a guy starts throwing himself against the doors. He’s missed his stop and wants to be let off. The doors open slightly under his weight, but he keeps bouncing back into the bus.

Although Dan screams at him to get off his doors, the kid still tries to plow through once more before threatening to jump through the window.

Two girls pull the cord for the bus to stop in front of the Musical Arts Center, and the guy jumps off.

“Have fun walking, sweetheart,” Dan shouts from his open window.

His laughter and the Night Owl bus turn right onto Third Street and pull away into the night.