it starts on the road.

I have trouble finding where to get on the bus. Thank god I went a bit early: The bus stop had been moved, and the new location was at least a five minute walk, including down some stairs and across a busy street with no simple way to cross. It's out of line of sight , too - and walking from the old location to the new one, I notice the sparse signage indicating the move.

I do, however, find it.

The bus before mine. An overworked bus driver. He's being a bit short with the African family he's loading in. I put my bags in too - but he's not going to Paris. he's going who knows where. So i take them out again.
The family is not all here yet. Just two women, the mothers. They are waiting for their children, who are late. They're having trouble communicating with the bus driver, who has no patience for them. Less tha nhe has for me. Is it because I am a man? Because I'm white? Both? Or because i'm sympathetic, and am not making his job harder for him?

Yes, the kids are late, and he is shouting at them, and at the older women. The oldest daughter, who speaks Dutch perfectly well, asks him why he is shouting. He won't answer, he wants to get this whole ordeal over with, and get moving: He's already running late thanks to this delay.

It ends up with him closing the door onto people on two occasions - once , i forgot to mention, when it was just the mothers.
The second time, it's the daughter, who is standing in the doorway. He sits down at the bus, starts driving and closing the door, with the ~18 year old daughter standing in the doorway and a 5 year old girl on the stairs leading into the bus! This is mad, and i start to film it.

A white woman steps in, who is dropping off her kids to get on the Paris bus. She is shouting at him, and calling the police. Telling him: "They're not getting on the bus? YOU aren't getting on this bus!"

I have to go. My bus is here, i get on with the woman's daughters - who were also getting in this driver's face about using his bus as a weapon against children. He's shouting back at them.

We get on our bus together, and they give me their mom's phone number. I send her the video I took of her and her daughters defending these people. They call among themselves a bit later: The police kicked the family off the bus and let the bus driver continue.

I'm quite sure the video I took , on account of not having filmed him driving off with someone standing in the doorway, might stop just shy of getting him fired.
But let's not pin this all on the busdriver. Flixbus, the company, plays a role here. Changing the location of the busstop, and simply doing an inadequate job of communicating this change to their customers.

Working their drivers to the bone, where they are so stressed, so tired, so worn out, they have no resources to deal with altercations or delays or any of the human things that come up when you're trying to travel together.
This man is doing an incredibly stressful job, for very little reward, and spends most of his time on the road - and having to deal with people. His attitude , while extreme, is not exceptional. Our bus driver seems eaqually hurried, impatient, and overworked. He simply didn't have to deal with his own prejudices being triggered by people trying to get him to be understanding.

On the bus, besides the brave sisters, is a young french man named .. Crap, I forgot his name. Gerard, is my closest guess right now. I looked around and thought: He looks like the type to know what i'm on about. Might it be the hoody?

In the bus, the endless radio commercials are driving me insane. Thankfully, there's speakers above every seat - and a button to turn them off. I walk through the mostly empty bus, turning off radio's all around.

The girls are watching their series, but when I sit down and let out a sigh of relief, the man behind us giggles and says: "ah, i get it! i had the feeling, when i get to paris i must buy something, but now that feeling is gone."

"I say it's worse when you can understand what they're saying," is my response.
"Why are you going to paris?" he asks me. "To see the riots," is my response. He smiles understandingly. I go over to sit next to him and we chat.
"It's not my scene. They are rioting, and yes, we have a strong history of protest in Paris. But these people, they are not revolutionary. They do not want to do away with capitalism. They want to be respected, they want to have their money, and then it is ok. It is like a distraction. That's not politics, it's propaganda.
You see, it is not about Macron, or about these people. It is about the time: The time is ripe for change. That is why these movements happen; precisely to fill that desire for revolt without actually changing the way power works. So, they are not doing politics. If they are, they are new to it, they are not going deep. Sure, some people who have been into politics for twenty years may be in this movement, but they are being used. I like to riot, but I will not join this."
Do you mean it's like controlled opposition?
"Exactly. I'm more into ecology. You see, ecology is revolutionary praxis. And it brings people together. We can all agree not to pollute the water. Conservation of the biosphere dictates a change in the distribution and application of resources. But I do not want to get too philosophical right now. We have a long busride ahead."

That's my queue. "You know, Zizek always quotes Walter Benjamin saying 'behind every fascism, there is a failed revolution' "

"yes, fascism is another distraction. Capitalism under the guise of revolution. You see, just now we agreed not to pollute the water. In fascism, suddenly the water is just another resource to be subjugated. We can filter it and so on. Fascism is not revolutionary. It is just capitalism in it's final, most ruthless form."

I'm starting to feel queezy. Looking sideways as the buildings and the landscape pass by. Bleak boxes and industrial pigfarms. "Alright, pleasure talking with you." I go in for a fistbump. He responds firmly. "I'm going to close my eyes a bit, my stomach is getting upset."

From my seat, I turn around, and say: By the way, my name is Robert Julius.

"I am Bernard." We reach across the empty seats between us for a handshake. "We'll share details later."

There, I remember his name now. Clearly I remixed the order of events a bit, the same is true for the words spoken.
Feel free to assume I massaged them to suit my own agenda; calling him Gerard would be roughly as accurate as as my representation of what was said. But the sentiment stands!

For the video's from the altercation with the busdriver, I may upload them at some point. Did I mention he finally noticed me filming and came close to my face, telling me "Show me that. when the police comes, we will also look at this. You are not allowed to film me."

I let him know I would do no such thing. We are out in public, and I do not have time to talk to the cops: My bus is in as much of a hurry as his.

The way he acted was not responsible, kind, or professional. But it was understandable. We are all under a lot of pressure, and generosity in human interaction is considered surplus value by our corporate overlords.

Wait, sorry, I was supposed to be an impartial journalist on this trip. I'm still practicing!