Why I Still Drive a Bus

Deke's Note: Yes, I'm angry. I admit it and am actively working to deal with this passing emotion. When I began writing this blog, I promised to document my life on six wheels. It's an honest admission, one which many refuse to admit feeling. This is an emotion I embrace, for if I did not, my life would be a fiery hell not worth living. It's just another speed bump in the life of a bus driver. Don't like it? Well what happens when I roll safely past? Will you not read again simply because I admit my anger? Are you afraid of the same emotion I describe? Stay tuned... your Deke is constantly evolving... as a bus operator AND as a human being.

When the route you drive is the last one to anywhere, especially to one of many light rail termini, the trip is usually a combination of all you have driven all day up to that point. Like Forrest Gump would say, "You never know what you gonna get."

Perhaps one of the few high points of this career is providing transport to those who are decent, hard-working blue collar workers. They ride the bus for collectively numerous reasons, the main one being it's a cost-effective means of transportation. Many have eschewed private for public transport. Rent is prohibitively-expensive in Portland, and owning a vehicle is an expense many simply cannot afford. Gas, maintenance, insurance... it can mean the difference between a decent pad or a grassy knoll in any assassin's lair. A great majority of our blue-collar populace depend upon our transit system to transport them safely from home to workplace, then back again. That's all we are... a service. If it's a smooth roll, all the better. Anyone who throws a wrench into our duals is met with righteous annoyance, simple amusement, or outright fury. The one malfeasant in a thousand who causes trouble is likely to experience it a thousand-fold if he/she interferes with the daily transport of those who actually pay for their ride.

The best part of my job is the connection I make with those who ride daily. They are sturdy people who work hard every day, scarcely-absent from the jobs which make our city. Whenever you marvel about the precision with which any metropolis works, think of those who toil for actual pennies a day (in comparison to what Big Money rolls in from our collective efforts), and those are the faces who ride my bus. They were raised by parents who also worked struggled every day of their working lives to pay the bills which only grew, while their salaries lagged behind. These people are the backbone of every economy the past 150 years. Our worries increase much more rapidly than what we are paid for our efforts, and the rewards dwindle with every generation. Still, we rise every day to meet the struggle of our working family. Gay, straight, whatever, we get up and trudge to the same torture each day for less and less. Our dreams fade with every sunset, our retirements become the  nightmares of what should be revitalizing rest. The Stairway to Heaven we envision as a reward for our toils becomes a Highway to Hell as we realize our efforts will not pay much of a reward when all is said and done.

People have said my writing is "angry." Yeah, you're absolutely correct. I'm pissed off as much as any other middle-class American could be. You vote for the wrong party when it makes nonsensical promises while raising your taxes, robbing your retirement for an already-mighty military, and denigrating those of us who have already made this country the most awesome land in the world. Both political parties have their faults, yet I hold my nose on Election Day and choose who I think is the lesser of evils.

Those politicians who use religion to bolster their position are false prophets, and are usually untrustworthy. If Jesus Christ Himself came back today, he would likely sleep with those under the Burnside Bridge than those who own riverfront condos and give freely to TV evangelists to fly worldwide on congregational-paid private jets. He would pull poisoned fish from the Willamette River for the obscenely-rich, while saving the wild salmon for those who suffer mental illness and have no roof over their heads.

That's why I don't like organized religion. If you're truly a "holy" being, you already know what's righteous. Your life reflects a time-honored decency and you don't need some preacher to explain. The problem with society these days is that it is too easily conned. There is very little independent thought, little respect for historical intelligence, and too much collective hatred for "others." We fear what we do not understand, therefore we push aside common sense and adhere to what we're told to think. Once we come together and have honest discussions, most people find that we have more in common than we previously believed.

I don't care who you love, it's not my concern. All I want is for us all to treat each other with the same respect you want your neighbor to do for you. If we all work hard, it should collectively count for something. When all we do is work with little reward at the final quarter of our lives, something is seriously amiss. If a group of people march or protest in honor of what they believe, only to be met by those who simply oppose what they feel is "wrong" because of what religion or popular belief dictates, therein lies a horrible disconnect in human harmony.

When you pee in a public restroom, do you look at the person next to you? Usually not. If you do, what does that say about you? It's an intensely-personal thing to urinate. Normal people tend to ignore those around us in a restroom. If you're actively searching for someone "different" in this moment, what does that say about you? I don't care if the person next to me is of the same sex, religion, race, creed, or sexual identity as me. All that matters is that I void the pressure in my bladder. If any words are exchanged with those on either side of me, they are banal or quickly forgotten. It does not matter what we say. We likely will never see each other again.

As I started writing this paragraph, one of my favorite tunes began to play. My father was The Leader of the Band. Dad taught me that everyone is unique, deserving of the same respect he commanded. He was of an era which endured a Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War and the dawning of the Nuclear and Age of Aquarius. As long as people are honorable and honest, he didn't care who they slept with. It's none of our business. If they defend his beloved country from aggressors and uphold their promise to defend the Constitution of the United States, they are free to have sex with whoever they damn well want. I happen to agree with Dad, wholeheartedly and without shame.

When somebody boards my bus, I smile at them. They are human, deserving of my initial respect and courtesy. They pay for their ride, or not. I don't care either way. I used to care about fare, but as my brothers and sisters became punching bags, it no longer mattered. It's not worth becoming a statistic, especially when Fare Inspectors will eventually weed out the fare evaders. My job is to safely drive a bus from Point A to B. It's only important that I comport myself with courtesy, pride and honor, and that I provide the safest possible roll. That's all. My beliefs are not important. There is no reason for me to judge someone, unless they become a danger to others. As long as my passengers abide by transit code and basic decency, all I have to do is roll six wheels. I've come to accept that I have no authority except that which resides in my soul. To impose this personal moral code upon my passengers is to invite the fury of our watered-down management. They want to please the public even if it means I'm beaten bloody or even killed. They'll protect you over me. Every... damn... time. If you kill me, they will search for something I did to provoke you.

If you insult me, fine. Just keep it on the down low, and we're okay. I'm big enough to realize you need to hurt people to feel good. You'll leave my bus within 20 minutes on average, and your insults will eventually be forgotten. Goodbye Dipshit, and don't let the door hit your nasty ass upon exiting. Fuck off and good luck with your sorry ass once off my safe ride. Bye bye. No biggie, you're insignificant in comparison to the decent folks still on board.

Once I roll into my final stop, whether it be on Track 25 or 95, I have successfully provided my city an invaluable service. After 125+ daily miles of safe travels, each insult has rolled off my shoulder. I will head home to a loving wife and family. And that, my friends, makes it all worthwhile. If you had half of the love I feel when I arrive safely at home, then you're twice as lucky.

Thanks for riding, and for having my back. I'll be back tomorrow, if you're ready to ride.