My Daily Portland 2020 Struggle

Taking a breather on a warm summer's eve.

Deke's Note: It's August already? Hmm... where did May go? Did it slip past my Yield light? It must be jumbled up with the countless other nightmares 2020 has conjured. Like you, I anxiously await the end of this most miserable year. Still, I must allow the writer to describe this bus operator's existence. For what it's worth...

Calling Common Sense and Basic Decency... are you there? I'm waiting for you to answer, then put me on hold. It seems you have left us for some other planet. Meanwhile, Earth is still spinning hopelessly lost around its star in search of some cohesive reality. And us, down upon gravity's merciless hold? We're trying to go about life in some weird sense of semi-normalcy.

Last week I was met by a newbie operator at the point where I begin my work, and she handed me an envelope with my name on it along with the keys to a company car. Random urinalysis break! Woo hoo! I was dreading taking control of The Beast that warm afternoon. I dutifully took a test I didn't even study for, and passed! I hope.

Just kidding, of course I did! I'm a professional transit operator for the past eight years now. The very thought of failing is ludicrous to fathom. Even though I stretch the bounds of Corporata's death-grip on the Freedom of Speech in this blog, I regularly conform to our Standard Operating Procedures because to do otherwise would put this nearly-60-year-old mug on the streets looking for new employment. And that, as we all know, could be disastrous. So thank you, Transit Corporatus Ridiculousi, for putting up with my rants. At least I try to stop short of outright insubordination or pouring salsa caliente into the wounds I strike. The truth may hurt, but it need not be torturous. After all, they have US to endure the torture they refuse to experience. All I ask is to have these words read, and this humble viewpoint acknowledged.

Given the worldwide news has focused on this city for all the protests and "wanton violence and destruction", it's actually rather peaceful here. The protesters are not the troublemakers here, but the rioters who deface and destroy property are getting on the nerves of the peaceful voices who need to be heard. The most destruction has been of our economy, like every other city across the globe. If people cannot work because of a worldwide pandemic, their angst boils over into anger and frustrated attempts to change what's wrong.

Then you have the anti-protesters, who seem to think everything's some trillion-dollar hoax of a conspiracy, who argue against the protesters. It's all a mess, and who's paying for it? US, the middle class, as usual. Whichever "side" you agree with, we're ALL paying for our collective pent-up fury. Meanwhile, we fight amongst ourselves while the ultimate instigators of the whole mess laugh with glee at our misery. In the long run, the cleanup, the economic "bailouts" and everything else is  ultimately paid for by OUR tax dollars. Legislators will work their con-artist magic on how to find the funds, but dollars to donuts it will come right out of the Collective Taxpayer Anus. That's Divide and Conquer at its most efficient peak.

It's vital to find beauty as I walk
to my relief point.

No serious action on "Essential Worker Bonuses" that I can see. Hell, my employer passed insurance premium hikes on to US last December, given our contract's expiration. My "share" of medical payments TRIPLED, but the media hasn't caught on to my employer's dirty trick. Not that it cares. It is so commonplace today it doesn't even garner attention. All that matters is the wheels keep rolling. Operators are at high-risk for catching the increasingly-lethal virus, but we're still chugging away on wages which are now behind what we fought for five years ago. We're told there's a mandated "mask rule" but we're not allowed to enforce it. It's a shame that we toil away while our media-darling management "hides at home" and safely giggles at our misfortune. Meanwhile, it plots to hammer us with numerous "takeaways" in contract negotiations while using the pandemic's economic sledgehammer to pound us into submission.

Meanwhile, my fellow union workers and I make the daily trudge to our appointed posts. No matter the dangers increased a hundred-fold. We cannot hide at home, working "remotely". We ARE transit, folks. We're the face you see daily, safely guiding our vehicles through throngs of protesters or angry motorists in a hurry to get to their own funerals.

WE TAKE PORTLAND TO WORK, AND HOME AGAIN.

So do hundreds of thousands of others, just like us, across Earth's vast continents dependent upon transit to transport millions who toil just to pay the necessities of life. When someone boards my bus without fare, I just wave them inside and ask them to wear a mask. My transit agency doesn't care enough to enforce any rules, so other than keeping my ride peaceful and trouble-free, why should I? I have learned to "live and let live" rather than risk argument. And arguments aplenty I have presided over and indulged in. It hasn't helped me any, so I refuse to engage any longer unless absolutely necessary to keep the peace.

I crave peace and quiet. It helps me navigate a battlefield also known as urban traffic. My main goal each shift is to safely glide into Track 24 at Center Garage without having to write a report at end of shift. This event is usually greeted with a wondrous sigh of relief.

As I pee and wash up at the garage, I'll text my Beloved. "3/5 check" on a Wednesday, I tell her. This gives her peace of mind; her husband has survived another brutal shift. "Hooray!" she might reply, or something similar.

Then while I walk out the door and head to my car, the sigh is even more pronounced. I know I'll be back within 12 hours to do it all over again. For the moment however, I revel in the miracle of surviving another shift through the Hell of 2020. It doesn't matter what the morrow brings; I'm celebrating the now. The future will be battled later.

Ahh... the bus is empty. If only for a brief moment.