opinion

Texas School Buses: Where 'Hold My Juice Box' Is the Only Safety Protocol

In a state where everything is bigger, child safety is somehow the exception. A satirical take on Texas' seat belt-free school buses and the bureaucratic circus that keeps them that way.

Alex Jaxon

By Alex Jaxon

Published November 14, 2024 at 12:01pm


In a shocking turn of events that absolutely no one could have predicted—except for everyone with common sense—Texas school buses still don’t have seat belts. That’s right, folks. In the year 2024, where we have self-driving cars, AI-generated conspiracy theories, and avocado toast that costs more than a gallon of gas, we still can’t figure out how to strap children into a moving vehicle.

Let’s break this down, shall we? The state of Texas, famous for its 'everything’s bigger here' mentality, somehow decided that child safety was the one thing that didn’t need to be bigger. Or exist at all. After a tragic crash that left a 5-year-old dead and dozens injured, the big revelation was that school buses—those giant yellow death traps—lack the same basic safety feature your grandma’s 1987 Buick has.

But don’t worry, the Hays school district has a plan. A slow, bureaucratic, years-long plan to maybe, possibly, consider putting seat belts in some of their buses. Because nothing says 'urgent action' like a multi-year timeline and a vague promise to 'do better.' Meanwhile, parents are left to wonder if their kids will be the next victims of the state’s innovative 'let’s hope for the best' safety strategy.

And let’s not forget the heroic efforts of Texas lawmakers, who passed a seat belt law in 2017 with more loopholes than a crochet convention. Districts can just opt out if they whine about money, because apparently, child safety is a luxury item. Who knew?

So here we are, in the land of 'Don’t Mess with Texas,' where we’ll fight to the death over barbecue and football but can’t be bothered to secure a kindergartener on a highway. Priorities, people. Priorities.

In the meantime, parents like Widyan Younes are left to pick up the pieces, literally and figuratively, while the district shrugs and says, 'Oops.' But hey, at least the zoo trip was fun, right? Until the bus flipped over.

Stay tuned for the next installment of 'Texas Fails Its Kids,' where we’ll explore why playgrounds are still made of concrete and why lunchrooms serve mystery meat that may or may not be edible. Wake up, sheeple!