Just Let Me Drive, You're Cool

Operating a bus is a great lesson in humility. We interact, for a few minutes in someone's life, with a vast array of people from truly every segment of society. Other than cops, paramedics or library employees, being a bus operator demands you be prepared for whoever (or whatever, as the case may be) boards.

As we grow older, our associations with the public over the past tends to prepare us for many different situations. I've been homeless, close to it, or lived in squalid apartments several times during my life. In every case, people have surprised me. Having grown up in a middle class family, there was never a time in my childhood when food was unavailable. When we leave the nest, there come times when food can be scarce or non-existent. Housing was a challenge, but not as much as it is today. The cost of living has risen dramatically from when I was "young," but wages have remained stagnant. I'm lucky to have employment which allows me to live decently. There are many good people now however who struggle just to keep the elements at bay as they rest before they're once again slaving away.

A bus operator rolls a huge lumbering beast through the dark and sometimes savage streets of the unforgiving metropolis. People board carrying the last few of their earthly possessions, seeking shelter from the Northwest deluge, dripping with despair and begging me to "just let me stay warm and dry a while." Whatever money they might have is best kept for a meager meal. While I believe transit should not be free, I also have a soul. How can I deny someone safe passage on my transit time machine because they don't have a spare few bucks? Even if my employer insisted I collect the proper fare (it no longer does), is it morally acceptable to force them to trade a meal for a ride? I think not.

Many "old timers" give passengers a hard time over relative pennies. If you put change into my fare box, it's usually enough to get a ticket. I remember when a few quarters meant I could warm up a cup of ramen noodles and fight the hunger back a few more hours. Some today don't even have that to tide them over. When I was homeless, I at least owned a truck with a camper shell. It was Boulder, Colorado in the early 80s. Although employed, my "home" consisted of Ol' Blue, a campfire up some lonely canyon, my dog and a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew or some other sludge I was able to fork out a buck for.

As a young man, it was more adventure than hardship, and was thankful because there were more people less fortunate than I was. If my pride had allowed Ma & Pa would have gladly wired me some cash. But no. It was more important that I learned to persevere, to dream of a better future and tough it out. I was young, full of energy and exuberance. It was time to live in the moment, to breathe free and enjoy whatever my labors allowed. Now, I'm glad I did. It gives me a perspective that some may not have. When you've had little, others have had less. And I was grateful for what I did have.

If giving someone a ride on a bitter winter's eve helps them, I will do it. If they give me or others a hard time in return, I will certainly boot them back out into the elements. It's my firm belief that kindness towards another affords a certain amount of respect. It takes wisdom to deal with those who, unable to recognize gifts bestowed upon them, act in a manner that negatively affects the serenity of my ride. If there's any possibility I can convince them it's not in their best interests to continue misbehaving, it affords them a second chance. If not, bye-bye and I hope the door fights back when you slam it the wrong way.

Earlier in my career, I found it somehow necessary to show people who's boss on a bus. It's wholly unnecessary. Hey, I have enough to deal with keeping my vehicle from slamming into countless ignoramuses who should never have a license to drive. Challenging some mentally ill passenger who might be armed with a deadly weapon is inviting myself to prematurely enter eternity. Countless transit employees have been assaulted or killed, and I don't want to become a sad footnote to "I could have handled that better."

This is my final career, unless fingers banging on a keyboard lands me something better. I love to write, I love to drive. For now, that's my life. And it's just enough. Enjoy the ride, be respectful of others, and just let me roll in peace. That's all it is, man.