The bus route I took to school in the ’80s was used by everyone from ladies in fancy hats and flowered dresses going to church and reading the Bible on the way,  working poor in their uniforms and salesmen in old, plain suits to men with scars on their faces and tattoos on their arms. I saw my first burnt out crack addict one day as he jumped out at the bus, yelled that he had bugs crawling all over him, and  beat on the sides and windows of the bus (which luckily were made of Plexiglas). The driver simply closed the bus doors and sped away. 
One morning, a genuine bearded lady joined the circus on the bus. Naturally I went straight home after school to tell my mother.  She didn’t believe me, and said I must have seen an effeminate man with long wavy hair and a Jesus-type beard. “No Mom,” I answered, “she was pregnant!”
The bearded lady with long, curly, chestnut hair and beard was on the bus the next day too, but then stopped taking the bus as mysteriously as she started.