Fuck You, She Said?

A new signup and a different run bring an operator back to his senses. If we roll the same route all the time, complacency tends to dull the senses. When you roll 20 tons of steel and glass down the road this is a recipe for bloody disaster.

This week, I've had the grand opportunity to revisit one of my favorite runs in our system. It serves a major healthcare facility in Portland. My passengers are largely well-prepared, no-nonsense riders, and they expect a smooth ride. So far, I have obliged them. My several years of service has taught me how to gently bring the beast to a stop without jolting them. To my credit, a glance in my pax mirror reveals many already standing in anticipation of their stop. If you're too rough on the brake pedal, you'll find they sit until the bus is stationary before rising. This behavior is wince-worthy in my eyes, and whenever I see people remain seated until the bus stops, I have failed to instill confidence. Rather than be embarrassed, I strive harder to prove my skills to them.

The calendar tells me it's still summer, but the Northwest tends to remind us fall is coming during these waning August days. Part of my route hits an elevation of about 500 feet, and some of the trees are beginning to shed their green lust for crimson and gold. The days have been warm but not overly hot here in Portland this summer. We have glorified in a wonderfully-mild season this year. Whenever the thermometer rose toward the Northwest's upper highs, a cool westerly breeze moderated its excesses. This is precisely why I moved my family out of the harsh southern desert nearly two decades ago. As a child, I baked. Now, I bask in a warm sun tempered by an often cool breeze.

My first day on the route was heavenly. One of the lightest days of the week, it was a nice chance to reconnect. This line was just how I left it. Each traffic light behaved the same, thanks to Portland's inept traffic engineers, but I remembered how to outsmart the intolerable waits they torture us with. Predicting exactly where I would have to lay for time because of being too early, I remembered to the second when I should leave that layover in order to roll exactly on time through the time-point critical areas. While some of my brothers and sisters avoid downtown because of its' often-harrowing issues, I find it a great refresher course. Any challenge is fun to me at this stage of my career. Whether it be people or traffic patterns, it breaks up the monotony of signing comfortable runs in lieu of one which presents me with issues I have not had to master in recent memory.

The faces have changed. My first week was spent in noting who was a regular rider. A few have already begun to actually smile at me as they board. I take this as a compliment, but know better than to prematurely take it as a sign of respect. That is something which must be earned with these transit-hardened professional riders. I simply smile and nod a greeting as they board. Trying not to be too familiar as we make our acquaintance, I let them know their patronage is appreciated and that I take my service to them very seriously.

I recently had the great opportunity to meet this
dear man, one of my longtime supporters.
Thanks for taking the time, Charles.

Always the self-promoter, I took a few occasions to discuss my book, JUST DRIVE - Life in the Bus Lane when a passenger carried literature aboard. Literacy is something that seems to be a novelty these days, so when someone actually reads while on my bus it's a bonus in my writer's heart. I almost always offer them a new bookmark... a "Deke" business card. Of course, I risk "outing" myself this way, but what is life without risk? Besides, if management doesn't know who I am by now, they are truly as inept as I have accused them of for six years now. So be it. Come ride with me folks, and I promise you'll enjoy it.

A fine young lass boarded my ride the other night, book in hand. Of course, I pounced.

"I see you're a reader?" I asked.

"Yes!" she responded gaily. "I love to read! Why do you ask?"

"Because," I replied, "I love to write. Here, take a gander." I slipped her my card. She glanced at it, asking if I was Deke.

"Only the Shadow knows," I replied, "but that's a pretty good guess."

Lass revealed her name was "Aud," sounding like "odd." It's probably short for Audra, or something similar, but I thought it was unique, given her sweet personality. We discussed how fun it is to create fiction, which is something she enjoys as much as I. Our conversation was a wonderful break in the monotony of being ignored. Bus operators are taken for granted. Just drive and keep your mouth shut, they tend to imply. Aud was a breath of sweet air, absent the harsh diesel stench most passengers assault us with.

One day as the silence haunted me, I couldn't help but mix it up. Hauling at least 40 souls, I noticed how deathly quiet my bus was. Were these folks on their way to a funeral? Their phone-stoned hush made me nostalgic for the days before these contraptions became everyone's main focus. There always seemed to be a few lively conversations taking place before the horrid electronic ball and chain replaced basic human interaction.

So, I queued up the PA microphone. Rider beware when I do this.

"It's soooo.... quiet... in here," I whispered loudly into the mic. "Is there anybody out there? Is there anyone at home?" (If you can't tell, I love Pink Floyd.)

Unfortunately, this had no apparent impact. Nobody responded. "Be here all week..." I added. Still, not a peep.

Finally, one lass made her way from the back of the bus to the front as she exited, ignoring the green light above the back door.

"Fuck you," I could have sworn I heard her say. I was too stunned, could not reply. No thanks, I remember thinking. I'm happily married, and you can fuck yourself, thank you very much. Rotten thing to say to someone who has provided a very inexpensive and smoothly-safe ride.

I'll try again someday soon, and eventually I'll hear a muffled chuckle. Until then, I'll just drive... like the sound of my book.

Probably my most favorite rose,
St. Patrick, in all its summer splendor.