 |
| My current home-town is Oregon City, Oregon. It has the ages-old penchant for decoration during the winter solstice's most famous holiday: Christmas. I wish you all the best this holiday season has to offer. |
As the holiday season has inched closer, I've had a hard time reconciling being a compassionate human with the constant insults thrown my way. As a Libra, I'm constantly fighting to balance the scales of this writer's soul. Still, I work very hard to live up to my Mantra: Be safe, be kind, be considerate, be polite, be thoughtful, be patient, be vigilant, be smooth, be smart, but above all, be safe. It encompasses the entirety of my five weekly shifts, and I often find myself repeating at least one part if not all of it, several times as I roll.
As we fight management over the most basic of human rights during contract negotiations, it's even more difficult to remain focused on providing the best experience possible for everyone who boards my bus. When I feel under-appreciated by a management entrusted with everybody's transit experience, it tends to inspire frustration within me. Such an emotion is counter-productive in any job. It's a constant argument within myself to remain true to the reason I began this career as I have entered them all: to do my utmost best. This post, one I've struggled with over the past few days after writing it and much editing of its initial fiery insubordination, explains why the transit operator feels abandoned by our city. At the end of your read, a special surprise awaits: a long-awaited personal relief.
Enough of my intro, here it 'tis.
I pulled into my Transit Mall stop on time, feeling positive I'd be able to beat the streetcar and avoid the extra-long traffic lights it pre-empts. A few people board, kind, decent but quiet as usual. Suddenly, this sprite of a lass comes to my door and starts berating me because she can't find where the Line 15 runs or boards.
"You walk a block or two back to Salmon and catch it there," I tell her.
Meanwhile, my light turns green. Each transit mall stop is timed to perfection. My last passenger had boarded half a minute earlier, but this gal half-stepped on board and began yelling at me just prior to my closing the door in preparation for departure.
"I've been walking around for hours trying to find the fucking 15 bus and nobody will help me!"
Was she high, or what? I just told her where to catch it!
"Where is Salmon?!?" she demanded. Before I could respond, she started berating me and ALL bus drivers. "I mean, can't you people tell someone a simple fucking thing like where to catch a bus?!?"
I wanted to shut the door, since the limit of my assistance was long past. She however, was perched half-in with her better-self drooping outside.
"I hope this shitty transit system you have DIES and you ALL LOSE YOUR FUCKING JOBS!"
"What," I said before she could continue, "can I do for you? I just told you where the 15 runs." What I wanted to say was, "Do I have to take your widdle hand and walk you back two blocks while these people in my bus sit and wait while I pamper your stupid ass?" They had conquered the basic and needed to make whatever connections took them home. However, her dumb ass deserved special treatment. Why, given her attitude?
Shoo, fly on the ass of humanity, begone!
As if my prayer were suddenly answered, she stepped off and back a few steps, continuing her tirade as another passenger boarded. I was now 3.5 minutes down, and becoming seriously red in the ears. My interior steam kettle was about to blow, but I tamped it down. (I've been working very hard on the 'Be Patient' part of my Mantra these days.) My hand was primed on the door handle, where it's always perched at a stop. As soon as cleared the door's safety zone while bitching and moaning about how horrible the world was to her, cell phone in hand which could tell her exactly where and when Line 15 would arrive, I closed the door. Luckily, I had a bus in which the door quickly closed. Right in her unappreciative, expletive-rich face, I gleefully shut off her rage. Stomping on the brake just in time to catch the waning seconds of that lovely green, I punched the accelerator. Exit, stage left. Buh-bye, dumbass.
"What was that about?" a passenger asked.
"Oh," I replied, mostly to my window, "just another child trying to blame me for their own self-entitled show of ignorance."
* * * * *
Was it just me, or were people driving this week like their nether regions were unnecessarily assaulted? Maybe it was wasps attacking them... they're mean bastards that sting and sting and sting until squashed almost as flat as they deserve. Either way, this bullshit "peace on Earth and goodwill to men" was nowhere to be found on Portland's mean streets this week prior to the winter solstice's holiday season. I was cut off, flipped off, honked and screamed at, just for doing my job. Thank God for our intensely-focused Dispatchers, who heeded my pleas for assistance and threw me into "Drop Off Only" mode long enough to make up half the time I was late.
One intending passenger at a stop I serviced due to a passenger's request, was enraged I refused to open the front door and allow her to board.
"What," she screamed at my closed entrance, "I can't even get on? YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE! FUCK YOU!"
I just shrugged and pointed behind my vehicle, where my follower lurked a few lengths behind. She didn't even look. She likely bitched my poor follower out for my passing her supposedly-illiterate acknowledgement of my destination sign. It read "DROP OFF ONLY." That's a given in the transit world: catch the next bus, likely just behind mine. Goodbye, rude one.
As for fellow motorists, please read and acknowledge this bit of obviousness: a bus rolls, then pulls over, then takes off again. If you've driven more than a week, you should know this. There's plenty of opportunity to pass me when I service the next stop. Besides, in front of my bus often lurks a long line of traffic. Rudely cutting off someone in the left lane just to get ahead of me, only to slam on your brakes when you realize (duh!) there's just one car between my front bumper and those 15 cars waiting on the STILL-red light, is just plain foolish. To roll down your window and stick your furry fat arm out to show me your equally-hairy middle finger is only going to make me chuckle, ma'am.
* * * * *
 |
| If Oscar Wilde were alive today, what would he write about the world today? Nothing positive, I'd bet. |
I wore a green bow tie for Friday's pre-Christmas rush down Powell (oh well, management has known who I am for years, what's a little tidbit of un-anonymity gonna hurt?). Green, my favorite besides blue, has always been my "lucky color." Not this time, Bubbaloo. For someone who was just given a worthless award for being 91% on time (it was 94% until they shredded my favorite run to give the newbies something to do, while also cutting down the overtime most of us need just to stay afloat in today's economy), Friday was more like 55% on time. My particular run is known as "the school bus" because about 1,500 high schoolers crowd into my already-bursting ride outta downtown as they gain their afternoon freedom. (So I exaggerate a bit.) When you have stinky teens breathing down your neck crowding the Yellow Line, it seems like a million. Thankfully, my follower (if they haven't already passed me) is left with the leftovers. Still, it makes me so late I couldn't dream of making up the lateness even in "Drop Off Only" mode.
Usually during my run, the rush tapers off after 7 p.m. Not this Friday. I expected such a transit anomaly, given my several years driving bus. The holiday season knows no regular schedule. People are in a rush after work, a Friday payday, to satisfy the greed this pagan-originated holiday has generated upon our corporate-driven and greed-obsessed society. Did you know Christmas was a quiet religious celebration for Christians, or simply a celebration of the winter solstice for others, before Charles Dickens wrote 'A Christmas Carol' in 1843? Today, it has morphed into a mega-sale. It's become when people are too-focused on what money will buy instead of celebrating the birth of one who came in peace for all mankind. We're supposed to show love for one another, give a gift or few in a show of love, enjoy our families and bestow extra somethings to the less fortunate. Instead, it seems a battle of who can get there first to score the endless blue-light specials.
I wanted this year's Christmas post to focus on the good I've seen, but there's been precious little of that the past week. I'm totally exhausted, more than usual after 55 hours on-the-job. Signing a few books (JUST DRIVE - Life in the Bus Lane, 2017) for a friend whose Amazon order was electronically-hosed, I paused to read what I had written several years ago. It was a whimsical, fun tale about a fictional drunken Santa. My writing then was much more creative. Transit was still new to me, and I felt a power of creation that has fallen as the reality of my job consistently bites my increasingly-sore lower backside. This transition in FTDS makes me grieve. It also made me realize that at this point in my career, I've seen so much negative the wonders of humanity slip through my steering hand like mercury slides up an anally-inserted thermometer. The good doesn't linger. The harsh reality of this career seems to remain longer than I hoped.
I've lost the ability to draw people out lately. Dealing with the incessantly-rude rude jerks who drive on our streets (mostly Washington plates, as usual) tends to piss me off. I can start my shift in a great mood, only to have it dissolve in the constant haze of inhumanity that plays itself out every moment I safely maneuver my 20-tons down our treacherous streets. At time points along my run, I'll stop-and-lock, then jump out of that torturous seat with the excuse "I need to check something in the back." Doesn't matter if I'm early or late, it's vital. Puffing viciously on my vape, I'll stomp outside and go to the back of the bus and take out my aggressions on the bumper. Then, I'll take an inhumanly-deep breath, stretch and tell myself "Just chillax, dude." This helps. Instead of taking it out on the rude multitude, the bus is tough enough to absorb my frustrations.
 |
| One of my dearest friends. Yeah, he's older than me by a week, a fact I remind him of each year. His advanced age and experience also helped him edit my 2017 book, "JUST DRIVE - Life in the Bus Lane." |
So this holiday season, due to a lack of days off, I'm driving Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. While the former has historically been docile and smooth for me, the harsh reality of the latter makes me shudder. The last evening of the year is a free ride after 8:00 p.m., in hopes those who revel a bit too liquidly choose our safe transport instead of driving themselves. It invites the worst of humanity to misbehave, even if they don't remember their antics next year. What is ridiculously funny to them can be quite unnerving to the dedicated bus driver. It's like herding a bunch of rowdy children without chaperones. They won't listen to polite requests to behave like polite adults. They will likely fight over a misunderstood word rather than treat each other with respect.
This holiday season, I'll be driving both at the tick of midnight. I'll just smile at the clock, perhaps a minute past. Just another day for a bus operator. If luck holds, each night will pass without incident. I'll wish my passengers the best with whatever strength remains in this insult-drenched soul. I will try very hard to remain patient, understanding, and helpful. Hopefully, none of the revelers puke while riding. My rules have relaxed a bit, just to keep the peace. I'm not looking forward to it. For the first time in many years, I won't be excited about my favorite holiday. It's sad, but I'll soldier through it and greet my family after these shifts with the warmth and love I hold for them deep within my soul. Just the thought of spending one day with them in the midst of my professional hell will keep me focused when I once again painfully take the seat.
Sorry to be a bummer, but I wish you all a much Merrier Christmas than I feel this year. My hopes are that you find the love within those you hold dear and remember the best life has to offer. To all who read my ramblings, I'm humbled by your constant support.
In 2020, my words will aspire to be lighter, harking back to Deke's infancy. I'm still planning on a wide-ranging series on maintenance issues and how we can work together in a more constructive manner while management plots to further-separate us. I also hope to find those 'special' passengers with whom I can connect. While I've been very selfish with my soul due to a necessary shutting-off from those who annoy me, I hope to open up once again. Perhaps this soul is only dark in winter. With springtime sunshine among the showers, it would be wondrous to find the warmth this dark coldness often longs to find.
 |
| Surprise! Deke N. Blue revealed, wishing you all a wonderful Holiday Season! "Merry Christmas" is my favorite way of expressing it. Thanks for your constant support! |
Merry Christmas, Earth. Deke loves you all! Roll safe to your loved ones, my revered brothers and sisters. It's because of you that I still write this. Peace be with you all.
With much love and respect, I am
Deke N. Blue
Transit Blogger and Author
Roll Safe and may your incidents be small and mellow.
ReplyDeleteHave a very Merry and safe Christmas!!
ReplyDelete