Missing Kind Doc But Not His Opposite

Well, now. Two blog posts in one weekend? This is new, or a return to days of old. I'm certainly not planning to make a habit of it. Too much other stuff to do.

Blogging for eight years tends to pound black holes into the keyboard. My book's characters are calling me back. It seemed my writing was a bit off last time I visited them. Felt like I was getting back into a bloggish-type of script. Not conducive to a rollicking novel involving a troll. Still, there's a few things needing said here.

My current roll is mostly peaceful. It's nice for a change. The only bad part is the hours: too late. I've grown lonely the past two months. No other operators to talk to on the road. When I reach the end of a run my leader is long gone. It's nice to see a few fellows at the garage end of shift, and one in particular who I spare a ride home from transit. We share a "spiritual" connection: fine Scotch. Plus, he's a helluva nice guy. Other than Bob, I'm usually having conversations with myself. When I arrive home, Beloved is already asleep along with my usual partners in mischief. It's okay. This too will pass. Plus, it gives my literarily-challenged mind time to roam.

There are a few who ride my bus who make this normally-quiet roll more interesting. "Doc", who seemed much too young for such a difficult profession to achieve, has changed offices. I'll miss him. He was kind, and very attuned to my life behind the wheel, often complimenting me on my "patience" even though it has worn much too thin lately. Always a kind word as he boarded, he lifted my spirits. Whichever bus he boards now, I hope his operator appreciates him as much as I have.

Drive a route long enough and you come to know the regulars. When one is absent, I worry. Until I learn their routines, I'm always looking for them maybe running in the dark if they might be late to the stop. My route only rolls about once an hour, so I hate to think of anybody waiting in the cold Portland rain for the next guy. Sometimes, I'm looking for nobody or anyone. Perhaps my regulars have a day off here or there. Most of them rarely even acknowledge me upon boarding, let alone tune me in to their work schedule. Still, that part of my daily mantra imploring me to "be vigilant, be thoughtful and considerate" makes me roll slow, constantly scanning for "the runner". On occasion, I'll ignore a few because of past transgressions I once endured to their fault. I'm no fool for continued abuse. That cellphone in their hand has the capability to tell them down to the half-minute when the next bus is due; if they're not cognizant of their surroundings to sense a huge vehicle approaching and they don't hustle, I'm sometimes not very forgiving. Regulars get special consideration, others are expected to be aware and ready for my arrival. 

"Buses don't wait for passengers; passengers wait for buses" is a well known tradition around the world. Not that today's transit management has any idea of time-worn transit reality. If you're close and look up in time to hold a hand up, the time-worn signal for "I want to ride", I'm all to happy to split the distance between you and the stop so you don't have to run. Allow me to pass and then hold up your arms in a "Hey I was texting my girlfriend about the half-price special on her favorite perfume JUST STOP THE BUS A HALF-MILE FROM THE STOP AND GIVE ME A RIDE YOU ASSHOLE shout, pucker up, buttercup. Your opportunity passed by in a whoosh of 20-ton air brakes not deployed in your tardiness. The folks already aboard were ready and waiting, but you... missed out.

We're pretty good at reading your minds, but there's still a bit of responsibility on a passenger's part that a bus operator cannot always take the blame for. Maybe we're already 14 minutes late and you're just early for the bus you would normally catch. If we catered to each phone-stoned pedestrian, we'd never be on time.

A bus operator's break, or a light rail operator's, is much-needed and anticipated necessity. We gotta pee, eat and check in with loved ones just as you do. All types of issues can contribute to our running late. While there's no excuse for rolling early past time points, if you're a regular and see a bus rolling past your stop, don't blame us if you're not there yet. 

There are many reasons we roll late. One day on a particularly-busy time of day, I had a problem with my ramp which took several minutes to fix. As I finally rolled after safely delivering my passenger using a mobility device, the very next stop dealt me a particularly cruel Karen.

"You're so fucking LATE!" she screamed at me as she blew past without showing or paying fare. "I was supposed to be at my appointment 20 minutes ago and you just messed me up, BIG TIME!"

I was mortified, a bit pissed and apologetic not at all. My passengers were not impressed, having witnessed my efforts to fix the ramp issue as quickly as possible. Mechanical issues finally required my using manual means to both deploy and retract the ramp back into a secure position. This also required a call to Dispatch to explain the mechanical failure. When I rolled into that stop, I was a half-minute early; I left eight minutes late.

Taking a deep breath, I attempted to explain to Karen what had just transpired.

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE! YOU'RE THE WORST BUS DRIVER EVER! FIND A NEW JOB!"

At that point, I realized my attempt to justify my tardiness was in vain. Thankfully, a few riders set her straight, quite fiercely. My kind demeanor towards them raised their ire.

"He's as nice and on-time a driver as you'll EVER see!" one rough-looking fellow shouted back at her. "Sit your dumb ass down and STFU!"

As it happened, I managed to burn five minutes of that eight late. Still, it wasn't good enough for Karen. I ignored her brutally rude departure comments and ended up two minutes early to the end of the line. I smiled in remembrance of her as I set the parking brake.

My mantra at that point had changed to: "May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your nether regions, swine."

Her rudeness was softened by the several kind comments of those who exited with a kind word of support and encouragement.

The majority of Portlanders know how to ride, and are largely thankful. I delivered them ALL safely and smoothly to their destination. Without speeding, accelerating too fast or braking abruptly when they requested a stop.

I had time to pee, vape and talk to Beloved. My next run was perfectly-executed, on time and smooth as usual. That, folks, is about as good as it ever gets in this job. A puffed up manager might have raked me over the coals for not kissing Karen's likely-unwashed streetwalking-stenchy feet, but my other passengers appreciated my efforts. And that, dear readers, is all that usually matters.