Deke’s Note: While waiting for my 12yo computer to return from its constant state of electronic senility, the cellphone (damn habit-forming device) takes hold of this post’s epiphany. So many ideas swarm around within as I drive the Beast it seems silly to remember them all. Here’s yet another attempt to recoup these ideas.
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Over the last three years, having endured a pandemic-inspired shutdown whilst driving through it, I’ve witnessed a horrific breakdown in sanity amongst fellow motorists.
Not enough cops = "screw y'all I'll do what I want."
Yeah, okay dumbasses. Your number is coming faster than you're smart enough to realize. Take too many needless chances and fate is likely to catch up wit ya. One such fool decided to race through a red light at Burnside & 6th Avenue downtown Portland one rush hour late last year, and he almost lost his life. Only his lucky stars prevented my bus from crushing him through the passenger side of his Honda as he raced through an intersection a full 5-7 seconds after his light had turned solid RED.
BANG! SMASH! WTF?!?
EVERY motorist needs a refresher course every decade. People skid from being ultra careful to overly carefree and phone-stoned. It's imperative that you realize RED means STOP.
The lack of attention out there is appalling. It's as if we've morphed from a society that looks out for one another to one that focuses on "individual freedom" much too dangerously. Your life, and others', is at stake out there, people. It's not a fucking video game. It's REAL.
At any intersection: PREPARE TO STOP. A fresh green means look both ways for idiots who believe a lack of oversight allow you to put others' lives in danger, THEN proceed. You stupid fuck. This is exactly how people get killed every minute of each day: YOUR inattention and indifference to the safety of everyone around your supposed invisibility.
SAFETY IS A TWO-WAY STREET.
When I left the bus stop on the transit mall at 6th and Burnside, I saw eastbound traffic on my left had dutifully stopped for the red light. As I proceeded through the intersection I noted the eastbound traffic had dutifully stopped. Westbound 2/3 lanes of traffic on my doorside had stopped. So I proceeded across that tricky intersection, now focused on errant pedestrians.
Somehow, one, single-minded (or likely phone- or pot- or booze-stoned fool) ignoramus suddenly caught my peripheral vision immediately prior to his zipping in front of my lumbering 20-ton Beast.
CRASH! SLAM! WHAT THE...?!?
It happened so fast. Simultaneously, in slow-mo. I did not see the driver as we collided. Pulled the parking brake and put the tranny in neutral out of ritualistic habit. Seconds rushed by as I slowly realized my bus had collided with another vehicle. Shock set in. In 50 years of legal (and a few illegal) operation of motor vehicles of many varieties, this was the first time I had impacted another vehicle. It was all at once a horrific, life-changing event for me. A single moment in time that will live forever within me, etched forever into the fabric of my being.
Meanwhile, my seven passengers simply looked up from their phones after the BANG, saying "What was that?!?"
My first thought was for my passengers.
"Are y'all okay?"
A murmured chorus of "yeah". Then constantly, from them, as I walked into their midst, "Are YOU okay?" Yeah, yes, and yeah again. So I thought, anyway.
This subdued concern was both disturbing and comforting all the same. Over the past decade our populace has morphed from conscious to phone-stoned. We're lucky to be slightly acknowledged as people board, let alone noticed. They settle into their favorite seats, plug in and tune out. Most passengers have a built-in alarm to their stop. Neither noticing or seeming to care what their Operator deals with on the path to their destination, they are blissfully unaware to the many near-disasters we avoid while I safely conduct them to their destination. Their immediate reality, the joy of life we once celebrated pre-cellphone, is replaced with what strangers beg us all to "like". Meanwhile, a beautiful Portland and its fascinating populace beckons just a slight right or leftward glance from their immediate notice.
As I sat in the aftermath of the collision, my mind reeled. Did I do the right thing? Right as defined by that which my job is judged, how the Accident Review Committee views my actions up to and during the crash. I hoped in that decisive moment, my actions hence would not define my career.
* * * * *
FLASH! CRASH! FLASH! CRASH! BANG! BANG! CRASH! FLASH!
Over and over again. I could not escape it. Even while driving my car, I had to fight my subconscious from running this unwanted newsreel on constant replay. My dreams showed bloodied carcasses of the other motorist, even my own corpse in a casket (not my choice of a farewell scenario). It took the caring professional concern and wise guidance of my constant support system, via my Beloved and a professional counselor, to steer me away from these horrific flashbacks. Realizing it was my first collision in over a half-century of driving many different types of vehicles helped boost my confidence enough to regain the seat of my 20-ton behemoth.
* * * * *
It has been nine weeks since the crash. I have worked on this post sporadically since then.The memory of it still evokes a frightening reminder of how vulnerable my fellow motorists are to their own frailties. I hit that car with the equivalent of 200 tons of mass at 10mphX40k. I often wonder if the recipient who refused medical treatment at the scene escaped permanent injury. Meanwhile, the Accident Review Committee has thoroughly investigated my actions and deemed it an "Incident". Not a "Preventable Accident", as I imagined it would be. The difference between the two exonerates me of ANY wrongdoing. While it's a major sigh of relief, it has also quadrupled my vigilance "out there". This experience has taught me that guy was lucky, and that I need to be constantly aware at ALL intersections, not just THAT one.
For weeks after writing that incident report, self-doubt shaded my every move on duty. Did I do everything possible to avoid that collision? Did I miss a scan? How could I have possibly avoided that collision? My confidence was momentarily shattered. Over 50 years of driving, heeding my father's gentle yet intense training, I had avoided colliding with another vehicle. I was alternately depressed, frightened and largely freaked out after doing so in such a deadly carrier of forceful mass.
Today, I'm back to normal, whatever that is. Workers Comp "denied" my claim because they decided I wasn't "injured". They're wrong. My psyche is forever altered. The first front-end collision in my 50 years of driving ANY vehicle left me shaken, battered and bruised. The resulting medical exams revealed I have suffered an arthritic spine and hip after 11.33 years on the job. The psychological impact alone is one I shoulder each day I clamber into the driver side. Evidently, a psychological impact means nothing to Corvel or therefore my employer. We're just cogs in the wheel, not meant to feel any impact that we feel due to another's misdeeds.
This is yet another "incident" of transit management's disregard for its supposed "family". Since the collision, I have only heard from my Assistant Manager ONCE, via voicemail. My return call was never returned. After meeting with our GM soon after he assumed that mantle, he postponed our follow-up so long I lost interest and denied him when he finally reached out to schedule. Even my former supposed ally who is now in the upper echelon of management has totally abandoned me.
March 18 is Bus Operator Appreciation Day. Given management's continued ignorance of a full-third of its workforce, I'm glad it's my Regular Day Off. Once the sun goes down, management's concern for its workforce is no longer on duty. The night shift is left out of every celebration. Only wilted leftovers greet those whose end-of-shift comes after banker's hours. It's okay; we're used to it. Some things never change. Upper management has its own concerns, and they don't include us. Our union leadership doesn't care either, evidently. We only hear from it via a monthly newsletter, even though it has several online mediums which it regularly ignores.
* * * * *
So here I go, day in and out. I meet my bus on time as it rolls to a stop. Without fanfare or even a nod from the passengers as I assume the position. Appreciation, my ass.
Just roll, son. That's what I do. Safely, and 90% on time. For whatever that's worth. To me, it's a big deal. Not noticeably appreciated except by the passenger who thanks me on their way out the door, while those who make it their slogan to call us "family" largely ignore us.
I delivered my load safely to its destination. That's all I care about, and you're welcome.
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