May 26, 2004Rutgers Law Library-
Newark, Circulation
LL Dept. 123 Washington
Street. Newark, N.J. 07102In behalf of your governor and family I would like to thank you for the help I have always received at your law library in Newark, N.J.
My name is Reginald J. M---- and I work at Newark Airport National Car Rental
Oh, Reginald, I remember you well. And may I say in behalf of your ambassador and your next door neighbor that it was a pleasure to assist you in Newark, N.J.
~~~~~~
Friday at about 4:45 the heavens opened with a thunderclap and let loose a torrential downpour. Because I was not about to be deterred from my commute on a Friday afternoon I headed out into it, armed only with my lavender and chartreuse umbrella, to wait for the 76 express to Hackensack.
By the time I got onto the bus the rain was coming down even harder. The bus driver lit out and we headed home. The route for the express bus takes us over the Twentieth street Bridge, a two tiered structure that is an access route to one of the major thoroughfares. Northbound traffic travels on the bottom tier. The bridge is sided with cement partitions that do not provide very good drainage, which is ordinarily not a problem because it�s the bottom tier.
However, there was some kind of back up or malfunction or whatever in the drainage system for the top tier which caused it to vent all of its water onto the second tier where it was being collected.
When we arrived at the bridge it was already substantially flooded. There were perhaps fifteen cars in front of us, all going through single file as far to the left as they could where it was most shallow. Four or five cars got through but finally a small Toyota got stuck blocking all traffic on the bridge. As the water around the little car rose it became buoyant enough to be moved a little in the current of the flood waters and it spun slowly and helplessly in lazy circles.
We sat in the traffic snafu for about a half hour watching the water rise around us, incapable of doing anything. This completely frustrated the bus driver, and once he�d had his fill of sitting idly by he decided to do something about it. He leaned out of his window and began yelling at the cars in front of us.
�Move your car a little to the left. That�s right, baby. Just pull over a little more, because as soon as I get a hole I�m taking this bus through. Just a little more. Good, baby.
�Hey, Stretch. Pull your car over a little more to the right. I want to take the bus through.�
I began to get alarmed. The cars in front of us were actually following his direction and a hole was forming in front of us. A hole in the traffic, but not in the water, that should be clear.
Eventually there was nothing between us and the other side of the bridge except the water and at that point the driver shut his window with deliberate gravity and turned around to face us. Had I been scripting the event the camera would have dollied down the aisle of the bus until it was very tight on the driver�s face, because then, and I swear to God I�m not making this up, he delivered the line that would be used as the final sound of the trailer.
He looked at us and he said, �Let�s go home.�
Then he whipped back around to face forward, took a deep breath, and much to my horror he stepped on the gas taking us into the flood.
Now, by this point the car that got stuck in the water was submerged to its windows and the passengers of the car had long ago abandoned the inside for fear they would be trapped. They were sitting on top of their car helping to steer it through the current as it spun lazily.
As the bus proceeded water was splashing up over the windshield and as we got deeper the wake created by our forward movement bounced off the side walls and against the windows.
I couldn�t help but notice that it was, in fact, getting deeper as we went, but my eyes were glued to the very unnatural sight of the waves splashing against the windshield, the wipers vainly attempting to keep it clear. And so it took me by surprise to notice that my shoes were filling with water. I looked down to see ankle deep flood water in the bus and we just kept going forward.
The water in the bus crested at my calf, just below the level of the seats, but our forward momentum never slowed. We powered through the standing water toward the on ramp, which was a significant incline.
When I was an undergrad I took a physics course and I learned that a fluid has particles which easily move and change their relative position without a separation of the mass, and which easily yield to pressure, while tending to assume the shape of its container. I would estimate that there were nearly 300 gallons of filthy water inside the bus when we started up hill. Water, even filthy water, is unquestionably a fluid.
Therefore the influence of gravity pulling the water toward the earth, and the extra force generated by the forward and upward motion of the bus caused the water to cascade toward the back of the bus. A wave formed and it crashed through the seats heading directly for the people at the back of the bus, people who were screaming. It crashed into them submerging them to their necks.
As we crested the incline, the water changed direction and as we were now facing downward a new wave formed and headed for the front of the bus. The driver saw it in his mirror. He opened the door and pulled over to the side of the road. As the bus drained the flood deposited a number of personal possessions on the seats and the floor of the bus.
Whose brief case is this? Are these your sunglasses? Has anyone seen my palm pilot?
It was at about that time that the dispatch radio squawked. �Uh, this is an emergency message for the 76 line. An emergency message for line 76. Uh, we�ve had reports that the Twentieth street Bridge is flooded. Please stand by for rerouting instructions.�
When we finally got to my stop I gathered my belongings and trudged up to the front of the bus, dirty and wet and cold and generally miserable. I took a moment and then I said, �you know, you�re my favorite bus driver.�
He cackled grandly and I stepped off the bus. Before it pulled away I heard the driver say, �that�s what we like to hear, my man. That�s what we like to hear.�
Posted at 4:16 p.m.
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