Fools Insult Me, Yet Insult Themselves

Deke's Note: You may have noticed my extended absences from writing here. It's not that I have little to say. If you've read this for a while, you know sometimes I just can't STOP. Once in a while, it's healthy to take a step back, think about your blog's direction versus where it meanders, and find ways to rein it back in. I've beat so many dead horses with my bitching, PITA is about to trample my keyboard. So here's a few shorts, and I thank you all for hanging in there with me.

"Please," I ask cyclists as they board, "remind me when you leave that you'll be grabbing your bike."

It's commonly understood I do this out of concern for the pedalists' safety. There's no need to describe the carnage possible if my request is not heeded. These folks get it; even the toughest-looking hombre or lass will at least acknowledge my request.

I recently had a cyclist take offense at this request. He told me, "I don't need to be told to do this," he huffed and puffed in indignus ridiculi. "I always tell the driver I'm going to get my bike as I get off. I'm tired of you guys saying this."

"Well, excuse the request, Mr. Huffledork, but it's put forth solely out of concern for your safety," I replied, a bit miffed at his tone and attitude. "I get about 100 or so bikes a week on my bus. How am I supposed to know you always tell us? Through osmosis? Gimme a break, willya? I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"Blah, blah, blah," he mocked, employing a gesture with his hands equalling his childish retort.

It was the last run of a 56-hour week, and I was tired. The vast majority of my riders know I'm friendly, polite and concerned for the safety of all in and around my Beast. A few passengers who weren't plugged in and tuned out sat up and paid attention to this exchange. It got a bit heated after that.

Instead of "sit down and shut up," I chose the high road.

"I will err on the side of your safety any day, sir." Perhaps I growled a bit, but it could have been worse. I was kinda pissed. Luckily, I realized it and stopped my roll. The Deke of old would have stopped the bus and thrown the mouthy prick off. Let him try his attitude with another driver some 30 minutes later. Today's N. Blue has been working hard on letting things slide. I laughed at him instead. It made me feel better, and made the jerk look like... you know.

About 20 minutes later, Jerkfish exited. I was engaged with another passenger, explaining whatever they wanted to know. Jerkfish did not alert me, as he bragged he always does. On purpose. Then out of the corner of my peripheral sight, I saw him walk directly in front of my bus, making the "blah blah" gesture. I set the parking brake, reflexively. You see, I was about to close the door and roll into the fresh green light. Good thing I scan 180 degrees before moving the bus, or Jerky would have become just that. Uncured, even.

I heartily laughed at him. Boy, he truly showed me! Not only did he feel the need to act the fool, he proved himself a liar. After all that, he purposefully failed to tell me he was getting his bike. As if he was teaching me a lesson. Wow. What a power play. Problem is, the true power lay within my careful hands, and it could have crushed him at 1-2mph.

"Fucking idiot!" I couldn't help myself. Even though my instinctive reflexes saved his life, he continued mocking me as he rode on the sidewalk, zipping into the BUS ONLY lanes down the transit mall. The "be vigilant, be calm, be safe" parts of The Mantra kept this miscreant from becoming pavement paint. And I was glad. He could call me anything (I've heard it all, thanks), flash me whatever temper tantrums in sign language his limited intellect could conjure, and he would still remain safe in and around my vehicle. Whatever loved ones he had, they once again had the chance to welcome him safely home.

Did he think I would never say that to another cyclist because of his ridiculousness? No. The next week, I said it (as usual) every time a cyclist boarded, and several actually thanked me for asking them to remind me.

By the end of my shift, I was able to chuckle at his foolishness, but still, I shuddered. Although I was exhausted by the week's work, it is by sheer force of vigilance and experience he was kept safe, in spite of himself.

Trainer Mike Bishop's words of wisdom remain with me always: bad things can happen when you think ahead instead of in the present, whether it's the end of shift or the vacation that awaits afterward. I still remember the video Mr. Bishop played in Recertification Class after he said that, showing a bus driver failing to scan for pedestrians, then knocking one over in a crosswalk after she walked into his bus while studying her phone screen instead of where she was walking, as he pulled into a transit center where his relief operator waited. Thanks, Mr. Bishop. Your sharp, staccato delivery of "what ifs" and "don't be that guy" warnings are always on my mind. I'd love to sit and chat with you now, sir, after several years in the seat. I love his stories, because they always have a lesson attached. Hopefully, this blog post has the same flavor attached.

When I set the parking brake in the yard that night, I said a small prayer of thanksgiving, and that this man find peace amidst the anguish he must feel for picking a fight with someone who would rather die than see him mortally wounded. Amen.

* * * * *

Another brief moment this week begs a brief mention.

A young man, waiting at a bus stop, jumped aboard rudely in front of an elderly lady. He wanted to know when a different bus line traveling in the complete opposite direction of my own might arrive at the stop across the street.

At first, I shook my head. It was a ludicrous question, at the very least.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't drive that line."

This disheveled teenager, who appeared under the influence of some mind-numbing substance, just shook his head and stared at me.

"How could you not know?" he asked, an incredulous tone in his still-childlike voice.

"How could you not know?" I replied. In his hand was clutched the ever-present tool of those who are hopelessly-addicted to yet fail to use it to its potential: a cell phone. A few touches would have told him exactly when that bus would arrive. Instead, he chose a clumsy attempt to insult me. Once again, I had to laugh.

"Because, lad," I added as gently as my Be Patient mantra portion allowed, "it's impossible for me to know the schedules of every line and train, all 80-plus of them, at any point in the day."

He jumped off, cursing my evident stupidity while bumping past the elderly lady who raised her eyebrows at me and then sidelined her eyes his direction as she tapped her Hop card.

"Sorry for the younger generation," I told her, smiling.

"I hope I'm gone before his generation enters politics," she said with a nervous chuckle.

Indeed.