I Detest Portland Protests!

Local cops were likely really tired of trouble-causers after a full day
of protesting miscreants. My bus was simply delayed. The poor sap
driving that Line 8 had a front-row seat to whatever
transpired at 5/Pine. I rolled out 20 minutes late
from the 2nd position, with permission.

Deke's Note: I really should get to bed. It was an excruciatingly-long week and I'm beyond exhausted after 50+ hours in the seat. However, I feel a strong need to... JUST WRITE. So here's a snippet describing another wild day as a Portland bus operator. 

When I turned in my pouch Friday night, I asked the Station Agent about possible reroutes due to Portland's planned protests by the Proud Boys and those opposed. He was understandably vague. He knew what I was getting at... what was I getting into as we rolled into the next service day? I immediately understood that he didn't want to fan the flames of a collective unease about yet another Portland Protest. I looked into his eyes and noted the general weariness of a Station Agent with a hint of a plea: don't mark off, please.

With a heavy sigh, I promised him I would faithfully report to my impending run. While the bullpen that time of day is normally quiet, the sense of transit doom pervaded the entire building. Knowing the incredible effort our agency's nuts-and-bolts Operations staff would be faced with, I felt a duty to be one of its' trusted and experienced operators on the road during yet another tumultuous Portland Protest Day. While I dreaded what lie ahead, I felt a sense of pride and determination to roll through whatever is thrown our way. Heavy rain, snow, ice, extreme heat, violent protests... I've driven through it all.

First though, I met with my dear friends Tom and Michelle for lunch. Their 23-year-old son, a young man I coached when he was a middle-school basketball phenom and had ridden my bus regularly earlier this year, died recently. We had not seen each other for two years, and it was a cathartic event for us. I returned Joseph's identification card to them, retrieved from our Lost and Found Department the day after he died. It was sad for us all, but we passed the time away remembering all the good times we've shared, rather than crying over the dear lad we lost. Michelle turned Joseph's ID in her hands, and I avoided looking directly at her, feeling the pain and tears she will always have for losing her youngest. It's a nightmare none of us ever think we could endure, but these two are doing it. Hugging them both, I hoped they felt the love and sorrow for them and their four remaining sons which I've held inside since Joe died.

With this heavy heart, I left them and headed into the storm.

Gratefully, the protesters were usually far-removed from where I drove. My second run through downtown required a reroute down a street buses usually don't roll. Promising my passengers to find safe places for them to exit, I rolled carefully behind a 44 bus. At one tricky point, an ADA passenger in a wheelchair flagged me down. Positioning my bus as carefully as possible, the ramp was lowered to street level, which makes for a steep angle. Luckily, Lady ADA rolled expertly up the ramp to my sigh of great relief. Although she caught my bus traveling in the opposite direction from what she desired, I was able to safely deposit her within two blocks of the bus she needed.

From that point, the rest of my run was devoted to catching up on time lost during the reroute. At the end of the line, we arrived only a few minutes before I was scheduled to leave. But hey, I had to pee. Hitting "Restroom Delay" on the CAD, I briskly walked to the bathroom and made it back only two minutes late for departure. A few puffs of nicotine en route prepared me for what I believed could be a rush through a tear-gassed battle zone. As I started the engine, I bowed my head in prayer and a new confidence shone through my soul. Slipping The Beast into gear, I rolled back into the fray.

Luckily, the downtown reroute was suspended shortly before I arrived downtown. My sigh of relief must have rivaled a bus fart. When I got to the end of the line, I was customarily early and thus extended my normally-brief break. Fortifying myself with a meal break and call to my Beloved, I knew the rest of the day would transpire as usual... quietly.

Until the last run out of downtown, that is. As I rolled into the second stop on this final run, I was blocked by a bus in the first position and a clusterfuck of cop cars. Some crazed fool had started something with another guy, and it got ugly really quick. A quick-thinking somebody called the cops, and within moments, our first Transit Mall stop was aswarm with police cruisers and about 20 officers. Five buses were blocked while Perp was tased and subdued. Since we were stuck, bus ops and supervisors, along with passengers and standers-by congregated to find out what the buzz was. It gave me an extended vape break.

One guy passed and pointing to my ride, informed me "that's my bus."

"Oh yeah," I replied, "did you just buy it?"

"Uh huh," he said.

"Okay," I replied with a laugh, "where's my fucking paycheck then?"

He kept walking.

I time-slipped for the time lost, and slipped into another wonderful respite from this lifestyle I've come to endure. I'm temporarily free of the bonds which keep me captive five days a week.

Work my day off? Nah, I'd rather our Canadian GM take a shift behind the wheel. Maybe then he'd realize what WE go through.

Later, transit. I'm deep into a bottle of 12yo Singleton, and it's time to sleep off the week's trials. My Beloved just awoke and found me still at the keyboard. She's understandably upset with me... I've devoted more time to my readers than I promised.

Deke's in trouble again. Good night.