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| My 64th Birthday was a bash! |
Vacations are healthy. I highly recommend them. About the only thing I like about our new contract is that two years from now, I jump from four vacation weeks to six.
Without transit threatening your immediate world, the first-day silence your workday alarm allows luxuriation in those extra 30 minutes of sleep without freaking out. Until your bladder pressures the urethra into crisis mode. Returning to bed afterward and even though he dream evaporated, sleepus interruptus may initially resemble an erection fail, but just... close your eyes. Relax long past a workday last call. Meditat a bit, put the back pillow under the lumbar, sigh with comfort. The relief of not having to work makes the months behind the wheel since the last break just... fade away.
Two days later, on the first "official " day of my two week hiatus from the transit grind, I decided it was time to get to work. Trimmed the hedge that had grown wild two years and stolen a good three feet off the driveway. Next day, mowed the dandelion patch (front yard) and trimmed it all up nicely. Deadheaded and fed the roses, which had a hard summer of horticultural neglect and irregular watering. Urged the sluggish dahlias to grow more than a foot tall (I finally have flower buds now it's October!). Moved the cannabis out of the rain then back into the erratic sunshine. Then for a few days (with one of rest betwixt) I ravaged the backyard weed refuge, taming it into a halfway-respectable sight.
First week back, my sweetheart buddy Aunt Janet died days after turning 90. We spoke on the phone every three to four weeks. She was Mom's best family buddy, full of ornery and twice the fun. Had to take a day off to cry for her, because I can't call and hear her Midwest granny voice telling me how much she loves me. Luckily, she gave me four cousins to continue that tradition. Then, immediately after hearing the next-to-last matriarch in our family was fading into Heaven, a newbie decided to make my day even worse.
Many newbies don't know their ass from a bus fart; some mistakenly believe they're entitled to snub time-honored protocols. I wanted to slap his smarmy little face, but I kinda need to keep this job, so I walked away. Hopefully he'll either learn to obey ages-old edicts, or get fired. I'm betting he'll get the latter. Whiners don't last long in transit. They consistently resist adhering to time-honored procedures, as if they're here to break a mold their youth is too weak to even bend. WhinyBoy will likely blame me for his disciplinary woes, even though I've done everything but snitch to management. His last episode of rudeness though, changed my mind. He needs to be gone. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that's NOT how I roll. Don't trust middle management more than a garden slug. And certainly don't disrespect those with whom you roll. After Sam's 18-month snub, I don't trust the uppers any more than a potential mosquito bite. Whiny co-workers are due the same lack of respect.
So Leader Boy has a new nickname, closely related to his penchant for complaining about how hard he has it. SirWhinesALot. He won't ever escape it. He already has a reputation amongst operators other than Deke. Hey lad, I tried to teach you how it all works this past year. You refused to pay attention. Now you're facing the repercussions for your actions. You fucking screamed at ME?!? Piss off. Go mop floors somewhere, because you obviously don't have what it takes to roll wheels with professional transit operators. I'm done trying to help. You disrespected me, totally disregarded my attempts to help you gracefully roll into a 100+-year-old tradition of brother/sister-hood by spitting obscenities into my face. Fuck off, and may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your Spideyman underwears. Asshole, I gave you every chance I could, but you'll be gone soon and I'll keep rolling into a half-million safe miles until I can't.
I've met many decent newbies the past few years. Several have become friends because they're simply decent folks who understand and respect what's come before they got here. Others left me thinking: they won't last long. You need an open, friendly personality in addition to great driving skills to excel at this job. If you are only an average driver with the personality of a rectal thermometer, you're doomed. Been that way for a century, and even though management desperately hires dozens of newbies every few weeks hoping to replace road-hardened veterans not likely to take their bullshit, over half won't make it through probation. Such a waste of resources to a regime which simply refuses to trust a core group of dedicated professionals to guide this agency above post-Covid fears. Management stupidly believes it can save money not paying overtime to those who understand their jobs by hiring hundreds of under-qualified people. They lure unsuspecting, hungry youngsters like SirWhinesALot to do a job only adults with decades of job experience can fully appreciate.
I'm tired. This past week following vacation has drained me more than the usual roll. My precious auntie died. I only have one more, and Dad's sister will be 95 next month. SirHalitosisWhinyBitch screamed at me and I didn't punch him. To an Irishman, this took too many shots of golden uisge beatha to endure.
The open bedroom window allowed a concert of early fall breeze, birdsong, the occasional dog bark, squirrels chittering along the back fence to ease my first day into a restful 45-minute doze.
Get up, Lazy AzzDeke! That ToDo List you formulated the past few weeks beckons! An hour of luxuriating was enough. Waltzing into the kitchen wearing nothing but my bathrobe, I cooked up a buncha breakfast vittles, then feasted. An hour later, found myself comatose on the couch. Slept another two hours. Must have been all the starches in the taters, I reckon.
Damn!
Quickly approaching my Beatles Birthday, I felt pain from that surge of physical exertion. Had to take a day off from my vacation toils. Played with my granddaughter instead. Not sure if she wore me out more than the yard work, but she was definitely more fun!
Scrubbed floors. Cleaned and rearranged the front porch. Tackled the garage and forced it into some semblance of order and proper use of space. Harassed my neighbor, who is a year younger than me but retired. Jealous me. Got drunk and watched the sun come up, gleefully giggled at my day shift brother out deadheading to the start of his run, only to reach end of shift and I won't... be there... to relieve him! Went to bed and awoke about 30 minutes before I would normally start my work day. Ahhh!
* * * * *
All good things must eventually slide into history. So did my two weeks off. Oh well, it was extreme fun while it lasted. I made the best of every moment. Enjoyed three weekends with my Beloved, Mila Rose and many close friends. Celebrated my Beatles Birthday by turning 64. Can't believe I'm now considered "Senior".
First week back, my sweetheart buddy Aunt Janet died days after turning 90. We spoke on the phone every three to four weeks. She was Mom's best family buddy, full of ornery and twice the fun. Had to take a day off to cry for her, because I can't call and hear her Midwest granny voice telling me how much she loves me. Luckily, she gave me four cousins to continue that tradition. Then, immediately after hearing the next-to-last matriarch in our family was fading into Heaven, a newbie decided to make my day even worse.My leader screamed at me immediately as I realized Auntie was leaving us. He didn't like being reminded of decades-old transit center rules at layovers. He ignored them for months, whining about missing his "breaks" and how pulling his bus up when the front spot was vacated interfered with his selfishness. Poor little punk. This pampered, spoiled attitude is not only encouraged by management, but a growing trend from all the newbies they're eagerly replacing aging professionals with. Had I taken that tone as a newbie just a decade ago, a more honorable management would have immediately terminated me. Back then, seniority was an honored entity. I'm afraid my ass would be grass if I react to Sir WhinyBoy like when I sat in his now-pampered seat.
Many newbies don't know their ass from a bus fart; some mistakenly believe they're entitled to snub time-honored protocols. I wanted to slap his smarmy little face, but I kinda need to keep this job, so I walked away. Hopefully he'll either learn to obey ages-old edicts, or get fired. I'm betting he'll get the latter. Whiners don't last long in transit. They consistently resist adhering to time-honored procedures, as if they're here to break a mold their youth is too weak to even bend. WhinyBoy will likely blame me for his disciplinary woes, even though I've done everything but snitch to management. His last episode of rudeness though, changed my mind. He needs to be gone. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that's NOT how I roll. Don't trust middle management more than a garden slug. And certainly don't disrespect those with whom you roll. After Sam's 18-month snub, I don't trust the uppers any more than a potential mosquito bite. Whiny co-workers are due the same lack of respect.
So Leader Boy has a new nickname, closely related to his penchant for complaining about how hard he has it. SirWhinesALot. He won't ever escape it. He already has a reputation amongst operators other than Deke. Hey lad, I tried to teach you how it all works this past year. You refused to pay attention. Now you're facing the repercussions for your actions. You fucking screamed at ME?!? Piss off. Go mop floors somewhere, because you obviously don't have what it takes to roll wheels with professional transit operators. I'm done trying to help. You disrespected me, totally disregarded my attempts to help you gracefully roll into a 100+-year-old tradition of brother/sister-hood by spitting obscenities into my face. Fuck off, and may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your Spideyman underwears. Asshole, I gave you every chance I could, but you'll be gone soon and I'll keep rolling into a half-million safe miles until I can't.
* * * * *
I'm tired. This past week following vacation has drained me more than the usual roll. My precious auntie died. I only have one more, and Dad's sister will be 95 next month. SirHalitosisWhinyBitch screamed at me and I didn't punch him. To an Irishman, this took too many shots of golden uisge beatha to endure.
I'll go to bed now. Mila Rose will erase the pain tomorrow with a hug and kiss. We're taking our first trip to a punkin patch with her. Transit can go wag its wanker.
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| RIP Aunt Janet Biven October 1, 1934-October 9, 2024 |
❤
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