My Struggle to Remain Positive

Deke's Note: And now for the good, if I can remember it. Damn.

My Saturday 35 run lopes through Lake Oswego. This week's easy roll gave me reason to smile, and actually choked me up a bit. Some folks saw fit to have special signs of appreciation put up where "essential" workers could see them. As I rolled up B Street toward the transit center I saw a sign thanking pharmacy workers in front of the RiteAid.

"Yesss," I said, balling my fist in appreciation. Muttering a silent prayer of thanks, I smiled. Somebody actually took the time to professionally print and prominently display a message thanking pharmacy workers for braving COVID-19 and its invisible threat. I smiled the next two blocks to my stop. There, I fought tears of appreciation as this sign came into view while leaving the transit center.

Thanks Lake Oswego, I felt truly appreciated
when I saw this sign. 

It has been strange as a Portland transit operator the past week, more so than usual. For the first time in my stint here, and perhaps ever, we had to have a special signup as our transit agency was forced to cut service due to low ridership during Oregon's "Stay at Home" campaign. Instead of driving the 33 during the week until June, I did it for five weeks then switched back to Line 9 for the next seven. My Saturday 35 changed as well because my former run was snatched by my buddy and classmate Chuck. It's all good. My paycheck won't be severely-affected. I'm not sure if the service cuts will continue through the summer but likely will if we are to remain a "safe state" during the remaining danger of COVID-19. 

After a few weeks driving a new run, you begin to get a feel for the regulars, where the route can find you running early or late. Traffic patterns are logged and filed into a bus operator's mind. We become familiar with the sights, sounds and feels of a run. Suddenly, hundreds of us here in Portland found ourselves changing gears mid-stream. It was weird, but we roll with the flow, y'know. 

Because I didn't want to shake things up too much, I chose my former run for the remainder of Spring 2020. Still, only five weeks later, it had changed radically from the last time I drove it. No more school so I wasn't packed to the Yellow Line with high school students on my first outbound run. Those who boarded downtown for their Eastbound homeward roll after work were no longer working. Downtown was suddenly deserted, few cars, only a trickle of passengers boarded. Since we're limited to 10-15 (I keep it to 10 if possible), my main worry was that I would have to turn people away.

Our agency decreed that if we become loaded to the maximum number allowed, we're to roll up to a stop with awaiting passengers, keep the doors closed and make a public announcement they cannot ride. Ludicrous notion, but hey, these folks have never done our job so they don't understand the immense pressure that puts on us. It's simple to them, potentially-dangerous to us. The best way to handle it is to just put "DROP OFF ONLY" on our overhead signs and just roll. People understand that. It doesn't make them happy when a half-full bus passes them by either way, but they at least get it. The first time I followed management's silly protocol, one guy got so pissed off he nearly kicked my door in. That was also the last time I'll do that, complaints be damned. My job has become three times as hard and a hundred-times more dangerous in the past month than ever before. Why invite more tension? Homey don't play that game.

Mostly, I was surprised that rarely have I seen more than nine people on my bus at one time. Only thrice have I exceeded the 10 count and had to pass subsequent intenders by. At one stop, a rough-looking character actually asked if my bus was "maxed out" before he boarded. As I waved him inside, he graciously thanked me for "doing what you do man... I don't know how or why you do it, but I appreciate you dude". 

Whenever I've been a bit nervous about how folks might act, they have usually surprised me. As the stress of driving a possibly-COVID-contaminated bus builds up within me, I have found great solace in many passengers. They're not all gracious, but that's usually the case. We find the good when it happens and learn to appreciate it in its small but heartfelt moments.

Tommy Transit taught me the Art of Acknowledgement in his book "Transit Tales", and if you're a regular reader here you'll remember how I recently began Tommy's method of greeting passengers. The trick is to find something to compliment a passenger on without being too-forward. Keeping it light, but helping uplift those I serve has greatly improved the feel of my ride. Also, I've learned to smile at people again. Well, at least until fear took over. For over a week, I was too involved with what "could happen" to me as a frontline transit worker to allow myself to simply remain... me. My new outlook took a back seat to this invisible COVID-19 bastard of an invader.

It pissed me off. After all, one of my "Thoughts of the Day" was Eleanor Roosevelt's imploring her fellow citizens during World War II that "We must do the things we think we cannot do." Was my fear making me a hypocrite, or was I going to RISE and help uplift people at the time they needed it most? I chose the latter over the former. It took great inner strength, but I knew if I were to rise above the fear within I needed to channel it toward something good, a higher purpose if you will. It's difficult sometimes, but I finally resumed my new quest as an Uplifter rather than allowing this job to drag me down. Besides, it feels good when someone comes up to tell me how much the quote helped them feel better. Especially now, of all times.

I have been fighting to earn respect my entire life. For some reason, I've had a chip of self-doubt on my shoulder which constantly needs flicking off. No matter how I excel, it's never good enough. Finally I decided celebrating my victories is not necessarily arrogant or self-aggrandizing. I still know I can do better, but every achievement is briefly worth celebrating as long as I keep my sights set higher with each.

The other night, I had a mixed bag of nine people on my bus. I didn't know how they would respond to my imploring them to have a good day in the midst of so much bad news. Still, if I could uplift at least one of them, it was worth the attempt. So I shrugged and said, "Hey, why the hell not?"

I left them with this, by John Lennon.

"When I was five years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down 'happy'. They told me I didn't understand the assignment, and I told them they didn't understand life."

Thanks Portland, for mostly agreeing to
"Stay at Home, Save Lives."