The weather’s warm, the schools are out, and everyone’s forgotten how doors work. Here’s how to keep your bus moving (mostly) forward.
Top Tips for Managing Summer Crowds on the Bus
Summer brings out the best in people, by which I mean their full volume, their worst planning, and their complete inability to stand behind a yellow line. If winter is for head-down commuting, summer is a circus, and the bus is the main tent. Here's how I survive the season without combusting or being mistaken for a tour guide.
1. Open the doors like you mean it, but only when you’ve assessed the species outside
Approach the stop with caution. Not for traffic, for what’s waiting. You've got the dad who's already pointing where everyone should sit. The kid who's mid-meltdown about a dropped Calippo. The teenager pretending not to know the rest of them. And hovering off to one side, the wild card: the preboarder. You know the one. Does a wee side-step shuffle as if they're going to let others on first, then shoulder-barges in when the moment feels ripe.
Timing matters. If you open too soon, it's chaos. Too late, and they treat the bell like a complaint hotline. Best to pause, scan the faces, and let them feel observed. It unsettles the bold ones just enough.
2. Announcements? It’s you, the bell, and the strength of your voice
There’s no microphone, no button to press, no polite “next stop” jingle to do the work for you. It’s just your lungs, a rear-view mirror, and the vague hope someone in the middle of the bus is paying attention.
Most of the time, they’re not. So you speak up—firm, not furious—and repeat the greatest hits: “There’s space upstairs.” “Can folk move down please?” “No, this isn’t the beach bus.”
Sometimes they shift. Sometimes they stare blankly like you’ve spoken in Latin. When that happens, you deploy The Look. You know the one. The subtle lean in the seat. The long, unblinking gaze into the saloon that says I have all day, but I’d rather not use it like this.
No one teaches you this part. It’s a skill. A vibe. A mixture of assertiveness, disappointment, and seasoned disbelief. And when it lands, it’s more effective than any tannoy could ever dream of.
3. Learn to profile your passengers, it’s not stereotyping, it’s survival
There’s a rhythm to who boards in summer. You get to know them by posture alone. Tourists tend to arrive in packs. They’ll have no clue where they’re going, but they’ll say it like they’re narrating a BBC nature documentary: “Oh look! A double decker! Shall we try it?” They pay in coins. All the wrong coins.
Then come the Summer Teens™, invisible hoodies, vape clouds, wireless speakers. Half are pretending not to look at you. The other half definitely are. You keep one eye on the top deck and hope nothing gets graffitied.
But my favourites? Locals on staycation. You can spot them instantly, tartan sunburn, Lidl bags, and a kind of cheery panic that says they’ve been with the grandweans too long and might cry at any moment. Treat them kindly. They’ve seen things.
4. The buggy-bag-bottle-neck dance: prepare to choreograph chaos
You can fit quite a lot in the buggy bay. Apparently. One pram, two scooters, a foldable bike, a bag that may or may not contain half of Tesco, and someone’s gran who’s trying to sit on it all.
This isn’t driving anymore. It’s logistics. You're now managing a rolling village fete with no tannoy and limited exits. There’s an art to coaxing people to rearrange themselves without outright begging. I find a raised eyebrow, followed by an exaggerated lean toward the rear doors, usually does the trick.
Still, someone will always shout, “There’s no room down there!” while standing directly in front of a seat. Happens every day. Just smile. Say, “Have a wee look anyway.” And pray they don’t trip over a loose bottle of Lucozade on the way.
5. Keep your core temperature, and sarcasm, under control
When the cab heats up, so does everything else. People’s tempers, patience levels, body odour. You’ve got no aircon. The sun’s bouncing off every window like you’re driving a microwave. And the only breeze is when someone leaves a window open just long enough to complain about the wind.
It’s easy to let your tone sharpen. But that’s when the fun starts: once you go frosty, someone gets frothier. Summer passengers love a stroppy driver. It gives them a story for the pub. So keep a water bottle in the cab. Roll your sleeves. And if all else fails, stare blankly out the windscreen and count to ten. Preferably in a language no one recognises.
6. If all else fails: "There’s another bus behind me"
It's not a lie. Not really. It’s a statement of belief. A driver’s creed. There will be another bus, eventually. Somewhere. Possibly operated by someone with more room and less sarcasm.
You pull up to a packed stop, already standing room only. A family of five stands there, looking hopeful. You open the doors and say, in your gentlest voice: “There’s another one just behind me.” Will they listen? Maybe. Will it help? Occasionally. But at least you tried.
And that, really, is the whole job in a sentence.
In Closing
Summer driving is not for the faint-hearted. You need stamina, thick skin, and a working knowledge of how to mime “Move Down” in four different dialects. But you also get the best stories. The sun makes people ridiculous, in a way that’s oddly endearing, if you squint.
So keep her steady, stay mildly hydrated, and remember: nobody really knows where they’re going in July. That includes the passengers.
And sometimes, the driver.
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Meta Description: Practical survival tips for bus drivers managing summer crowds, with dry humour, sharp truths, and zero aircon.
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