Deke's Note: I was very pleased at the outpouring of support for my last post. So often, us veterans forget what it's like to be a "newbie." Our years of experience should be a badge of honor but more importantly, a chance to teach. We have all been there. It's hard to come up from scratch, and too easy to lose track of what it was like to roll through mean streets alone. In this post, I describe a week's worth of life as a bus operator. Aged or innocent, I hope you'll "get" where I come from. Perhaps a passenger or two as well will learn what it's like to roll "from the driver side" by these moments I give you here.
It's Portland, Oregon in the late fall coming onto winter. Finally, it's wet. We were treated to an unusually-dry and forgiving autumn lapse in weather. Sunny and atypically-warm days lulled us into an easier transition into the weather we're accustomed to this time of year. Still, I feel a drastic change is coming come January.
As I bid farewell to my gentle yet subdued fall signup passengers, I gently reminded them of the coming months. Reminding them to wear brighter colors as that dreaded Daylight Savings Time change came and darkness greeted us all an hour (or more, as we near the winter solstice) earlier. Wishing them peace for the holiday season and thanked them for their professional ways as transit passengers, I hoped they would remember all the smooth and stress-free rides I worked so hard to provide.
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| My favorite home-cooked meal: Eggs Benedict with a perfectly-concocted Hollandaise sauce! |
Our break time is instinctual. Once you've done this job for years, your body and mind become attuned to the transit reality of break value. A glance at the stupid computer screen telling you just when the next run begins is quickly blended into memory. Each break is broken down into sequence: nicotine or other personal need, biological nourishment/soul refreshment, stretching and physical relief from a non-ergonomic operator seat, next run preparation. If you're lucky, a phone conversation with your beloved or text with a friend or two is allowed. Before you feel it, your bus is rolling along (with or without your conscious self) a route you not only know, but live each turn and pothole you know by heart. Eyes are roaming the darkened streets for lurking dangers or scanning unlit stops for hidden passengers. I hate to leave people behind, even when they do their best to make sure you don't see them.
The eyes see, the body follows. Waiting passengers note the right turn signal coming on as a signal I have seen them, no matter the all-dark colors of their clothing, even when they blend into the dark scenery my aging eyes have learned to intently-study. If people only knew how lucky they have been to be picked up, as I scan all directions for any number of hazards confronting my 20-ton Beast, perhaps they would be a bit more appreciative when I stop. So often, they board as if I'm just a machine. No nod or acknowledgement I saw them waiting at a pitch-black stop as they sit still as a statue in their all-black clothing. No thanks for my trained vision picking up their rain-drenched selves at a stop that won't be served again for at least half an hour longer. It's all good; that's my job. If I did anything less than being a human with years of practice seeing the unseen, they would quickly text their complaint to Customer Service as they sat, all-dark, phone-stoned in an unlit shelter and wondering why I fail to have superhuman vision.
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| Pioneer Square in downtown Portland, Oregon. Come visit Deke and get a free day pass! |
Yeah, I was spoiled by my last run. The people were professional transit riders. Most of them have been passengers since they were kids. They know the ropes. Every three months, they expect to have a new operator guiding their roll home or to work. It may take a few weeks into the new signup, but they finally begin to acknowledge our attempts to give them a safe ride. Now, I'm the victim of fare evaders, skeptical regulars and don't-give-a-shit-what-you-do-to-keep-me-safe sometime riders.
As the years progress, I have come to break my days into "runs." If you think of your shift in hours put in, it can be discouraging. I'll tell my Beloved "I only have two more round trips," and that is more soothing than saying "I still have eight hours to go." She gets it. In fact, she will text me at the precise moment I turn my phone back on (since I turn it fully OFF as my next roll commences, as per Standard Operating Procedures). It's comforting to know she is in tune with my routine. In fact, if somebody asks me something while I'm actively-texting with my dear sweetie, I'll put them off or fully-ignore them as I reply. Fuck their interference into my personal time. They matter not in comparison. Dare complain about that precious moment in my life, and I'll bring my Union Rep into the meeting with management and effectively tell that rude asshole that my time is sacrosanct and they can shove their complaint so deeply that even management can't smell it.
So yeah. Nearly three weeks into a new route, and my mind is set. Board the bus with fare or not (I don't truly give a damn), sit down, turn your phone audio off, keep your feet off the seats and shut the hell up. I'll happily roll you down the road where you need to be. On time, if possible. If not, do not dare complain. You have no idea what happened that made me late getting there. If I'm in 'Drop Off Only' mode, don't whine that you've been waiting for an hour in the rain because I know a bus slipped through your stop just five minutes before you arrived. I'm not the "stupid bus driver" you just texted our corporate-controlled "customer service department" about... I'm just another guy rolling through unimagined obstacles you'll never even imagine let alone realize. I need to pee and I'm 15 minutes late to an 18-minute break. Do the math, dumbass, if you're capable. If not, fuck you too... I truly don't give a damn what you think. Take that finger you show me when you see my sign, and shove it. Where, I don't want to imagine, nor do I have the give-a-fucks to contemplate.
And that's transit, folks. Be more forgiving of your bus operators. We're doing the best we can given the countless obstacles we safely circumnavigate every minute of our day. If you can't understand what we're experiencing on-the-job, don't expect us to give one shit what you think or text to the inhuman souls who run our gig.
You're welcome for the thousands of safe rides we give each day. Peace be with you.
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| Come roll with me through the hiring process and 4.5 years of life as a transit operator in Portland, Oregon. Come find me and I'll happily sign it. Buy my book in its last offering as a First Edition: https://www.amazon.com/Just-Drive-Life-Bus-Lane/dp/B07JCGGXGH |
It IS much easier to think of it in terms of runs. Or in the case of a week for me... three round trips over 6 days (unless I get lucky for a one-way/deadhead combo and sleep in my own bed that same night... messes up the cycle, but still nice).
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