The Bus
This is a story about the day I lost my kids in a foreign country. And it all went down on the bus.
I'll start this one by saying that I didn't want my kids to ride the bus. In NY, I felt like if something was going to go awry (think bullying, sharing inappropriate content on cell phones--my kids don't have one but their seat mates did), it was going to go down on the bus. And so, despite the incredible convenience of a door to door pick up and drop off, then, we ultimately began driving to and from school when we could. It spared the kids a rather uncomfortable (no a/c on NY buses) and long ride and also spared us all the dozen other things they were introduced to on the bus (Swear words! Momo! TikTok!)
That said, when we arrived in Singapore, the bus was our only option--and it was a really good option, actually. These buses are fancy. And Singapore in general runs a pretty tight ship when it comes to allowable/sharable content. And there's plenty of helpers on the bus. And the ride is relatively short. I was assured and reassured that they'd be just fine. So--from day one, we put our kids on the bus.
Now, the reason this story I'm about to share even exists is because of the sort of not-entirely-unusual-for-new-expats-but-unusual-for us set of circumstances we found ourselves in about three weeks after the kids started school. Because all of our belongings are currently on an ocean liner bound for Singapore (note that I use the present tense: we still don't have our belongings; we've been without them now for going on 8 months. That's another story for next time, probably), when we arrived we stayed in what's called a serviced apartment: think Residence Inn or something along those lines. A furnished, small apartment that is hotel like and apartment like too. We stayed in one called The Shangri-La, and it was perfectly lovely.
We checked in on December 30. Because of all the upheaval with Asher's broken arm, we didn't check in as a family, and neither Trent nor I paid a lot of attention to the day we were supposed to check-out. Starting our lives over in a new country brought with it so many new adventures in such rapid fire, I confess the last thing on our minds was practical issues, like how long we were actually staying at this service apartment. We just started living there. Then, kids began school, catching the morning bus there and getting dropped off in front of The Shangri-La after school, where I stood outside daily, waiting for them.
We should have paid closer attention to our check-out date. The weeks passed and time and again, we didn't think much about it, other than it was "sometime around the first of February." Well. At exactly 8:05 pm on January 27, when, after a long day of sight seeing, we put our key in the lock at our apartment and found that it wouldn't work, we found out "sometime" was right now.
The hotel kindly agreed to let us stay the night since they'd forgotten to tell us to check out. But, that meant that everything was in a state of great upheaval that following morning. We had to move very quickly to our home. Thank goodness we had a home to move into, even though we only had what we brought in our suitcases and a couple of miscellaneous household odds and ends purchased in those first initial weeks.
So, on Tuesday, January 28, I put the kids on the bus at the Shangri La, and then prepared to move to our house. The kids were scheduled to pick up and get dropped off at the Shangri La through Friday, Jan. 31. Realizing that plan wasn't going to work anymore, I called the school and was able to make arrangements with the bus company to have the kids get picked up from our new residence in the morning, but since I gave such short notice they couldn't drop the kids off at our new place until after January 31. I figured we could make that work: I didn't mind taking a taxi down in the afternoon to pick them up outside the hotel and then taking a taxi back--it was a bit of a headache, but not anything we couldn't manage.
This new bus plan worked quite well through Friday morning. Then, around mid morning on Friday afternoon I got a message from the bus company that the kids would be dropped off not at the Shangri La, but at our new residence. I was a little wary; I didn't want to make the mistake of misunderstanding and having the kids be dropped off at the wrong place. So, I called the bus office. A very nice lady talked me through the situation. She explained that they knew I'd been taking taxis back and forth to pick up the kids in the afternoon and they felt bad about that; they were able to make arrangements for them to be dropped at home starting that very day.
"Are you sure?" I questioned. "Then I won't leave my house and they'll be dropped off here?"
"Yes, yes, ma'am" she reassured me. "They'll come straight to your house today."
Well, great! I thought. $25 in taxi fares saved and a quite convenient service starting a day earlier than anticipated. What's not to love about that?
Except, at 3:30 pm, the bus drove past my house and didn't stop. Not quite freaking out, but concerned, I called the bus hotline and the same kind lady answered the phone and I said, "Um, I don't know what just happened but my kids didn't get off the bus. The bus driver didn't even stop."
She responded cheerily, "Oh I'm sure it's just fine. Hold the line for a minute, ok, and I'll call the bus driver and see what happened."
I waited for a couple of minutes. Then she came back on the line and said (for real this is a direct quote), "Ok, Mrs. Liz, we don't know where your children are."
How do I even put into words what I felt at that moment? SO MANY THINGS!
What followed was a flurry of phone calls and extreme emotion and ultimately, the kids being absolutely ok.
The bus company forgot to tell the kids to get on a different bus, so, not knowing any better, they got on the bus to the Shangri La, just as I had told them to do previously, and they were then dropped off right in front of that big hotel and, when they didn't see me, nonchalantly walked inside and waited in the lobby.
The kind front desk agent of the hotel recognized them, and recognized me when I called, breathless and panicked, asking if he'd seen them. I was yelling, "I'm on my way right now!" as I scrambled to find my shoes and my purse and call for a taxi at the same time. He calmly said, "Oh, ma'am, could I instead suggest that we put your children in a taxi to come to you?"
I had heard of kids doing this all the time in Singapore. I knew in my heart it was safe but the idea of it scared me too. He reassured and reassured and I relented, pacing back and forth until, 15 minutes later, the taxi pulled up and a very excited Lillian and Asher spilled out, thrilled to pieces that they'd been able to ride in a taxi all by themselves. Neither one even had one moment of worry or concern.
Hah. This are the stories I've got to remember. Stories that come from being so new you're like a tiny baby, fragile and vulnerable and trying your hardest to find your way.
I'll start this one by saying that I didn't want my kids to ride the bus. In NY, I felt like if something was going to go awry (think bullying, sharing inappropriate content on cell phones--my kids don't have one but their seat mates did), it was going to go down on the bus. And so, despite the incredible convenience of a door to door pick up and drop off, then, we ultimately began driving to and from school when we could. It spared the kids a rather uncomfortable (no a/c on NY buses) and long ride and also spared us all the dozen other things they were introduced to on the bus (Swear words! Momo! TikTok!)
That said, when we arrived in Singapore, the bus was our only option--and it was a really good option, actually. These buses are fancy. And Singapore in general runs a pretty tight ship when it comes to allowable/sharable content. And there's plenty of helpers on the bus. And the ride is relatively short. I was assured and reassured that they'd be just fine. So--from day one, we put our kids on the bus.
 |
| These are the kids getting on the bus the first day of school. Every bus has an "auntie" (a term of respect in Singapore) who is in charge of watching over all of the kids who are on the bus. Here, the auntie helps Asher on to the bus. |
 |
| This is the bus they rode while we lived at the Shangri La. It's a private bus company and those buses are pretty nice. |
 |
| Here's Lillian walking into the Shangri-La serviced apartments. We really loved staying there. It's great to be in our own home, but it's really worth noting that we had a great time at this place for our month long stay. |
We checked in on December 30. Because of all the upheaval with Asher's broken arm, we didn't check in as a family, and neither Trent nor I paid a lot of attention to the day we were supposed to check-out. Starting our lives over in a new country brought with it so many new adventures in such rapid fire, I confess the last thing on our minds was practical issues, like how long we were actually staying at this service apartment. We just started living there. Then, kids began school, catching the morning bus there and getting dropped off in front of The Shangri-La after school, where I stood outside daily, waiting for them.
We should have paid closer attention to our check-out date. The weeks passed and time and again, we didn't think much about it, other than it was "sometime around the first of February." Well. At exactly 8:05 pm on January 27, when, after a long day of sight seeing, we put our key in the lock at our apartment and found that it wouldn't work, we found out "sometime" was right now.
The hotel kindly agreed to let us stay the night since they'd forgotten to tell us to check out. But, that meant that everything was in a state of great upheaval that following morning. We had to move very quickly to our home. Thank goodness we had a home to move into, even though we only had what we brought in our suitcases and a couple of miscellaneous household odds and ends purchased in those first initial weeks.
So, on Tuesday, January 28, I put the kids on the bus at the Shangri La, and then prepared to move to our house. The kids were scheduled to pick up and get dropped off at the Shangri La through Friday, Jan. 31. Realizing that plan wasn't going to work anymore, I called the school and was able to make arrangements with the bus company to have the kids get picked up from our new residence in the morning, but since I gave such short notice they couldn't drop the kids off at our new place until after January 31. I figured we could make that work: I didn't mind taking a taxi down in the afternoon to pick them up outside the hotel and then taking a taxi back--it was a bit of a headache, but not anything we couldn't manage.
This new bus plan worked quite well through Friday morning. Then, around mid morning on Friday afternoon I got a message from the bus company that the kids would be dropped off not at the Shangri La, but at our new residence. I was a little wary; I didn't want to make the mistake of misunderstanding and having the kids be dropped off at the wrong place. So, I called the bus office. A very nice lady talked me through the situation. She explained that they knew I'd been taking taxis back and forth to pick up the kids in the afternoon and they felt bad about that; they were able to make arrangements for them to be dropped at home starting that very day.
"Are you sure?" I questioned. "Then I won't leave my house and they'll be dropped off here?"
"Yes, yes, ma'am" she reassured me. "They'll come straight to your house today."
Well, great! I thought. $25 in taxi fares saved and a quite convenient service starting a day earlier than anticipated. What's not to love about that?
Except, at 3:30 pm, the bus drove past my house and didn't stop. Not quite freaking out, but concerned, I called the bus hotline and the same kind lady answered the phone and I said, "Um, I don't know what just happened but my kids didn't get off the bus. The bus driver didn't even stop."
She responded cheerily, "Oh I'm sure it's just fine. Hold the line for a minute, ok, and I'll call the bus driver and see what happened."
I waited for a couple of minutes. Then she came back on the line and said (for real this is a direct quote), "Ok, Mrs. Liz, we don't know where your children are."
How do I even put into words what I felt at that moment? SO MANY THINGS!
What followed was a flurry of phone calls and extreme emotion and ultimately, the kids being absolutely ok.
The bus company forgot to tell the kids to get on a different bus, so, not knowing any better, they got on the bus to the Shangri La, just as I had told them to do previously, and they were then dropped off right in front of that big hotel and, when they didn't see me, nonchalantly walked inside and waited in the lobby.
The kind front desk agent of the hotel recognized them, and recognized me when I called, breathless and panicked, asking if he'd seen them. I was yelling, "I'm on my way right now!" as I scrambled to find my shoes and my purse and call for a taxi at the same time. He calmly said, "Oh, ma'am, could I instead suggest that we put your children in a taxi to come to you?"
I had heard of kids doing this all the time in Singapore. I knew in my heart it was safe but the idea of it scared me too. He reassured and reassured and I relented, pacing back and forth until, 15 minutes later, the taxi pulled up and a very excited Lillian and Asher spilled out, thrilled to pieces that they'd been able to ride in a taxi all by themselves. Neither one even had one moment of worry or concern.
Hah. This are the stories I've got to remember. Stories that come from being so new you're like a tiny baby, fragile and vulnerable and trying your hardest to find your way.
Comments