* * * * *
"Do you want to be stabbed right now?"
"Cops on the way now you said THAT, dumbfuck," I replied. Outwardly calm, inwardly fuming, I scanned this drug-addled lowlife from head to foot, making a mental description in my mind for later recall to Dispatch.
"Get... the... FUCK... off... MY... BUS!" I bellowed.
Fight or flight, instantly took over. Was this drugged out punk serious about his threat on my life? I had to believe he was. Given his behavior over the past 1.5 rides he rode without proof of fare, his disposition had repeatedly diverted my attention from the road. This, coupled with his attitude when I informed him about fare as he boarded, automatically identified him as a problem passenger. The kind upper management insists we're trained to deal with, but not.
White male, 30s, 6-foot, 160 pounds, short-cropped blond hair covered by the ridiculous backward-cap, "wife beater" dark Nike shirt, grey pants, sandals sans socks. Mental state somewhere between lame and unconscious. A wannabe tough dude with no respect for basic human decency.
Yeah, that guy. We all get him at least once a week. Feel lucky when he behaves and exits before the end of the line. Gets on the bus then blames the operator when he arrives at the wrong destination. Spends my break getting high with the degenerates at Oregon City Transient Center and hops on again without even a thanks for not shutting the door in his worthless face. (I couldn’t leave him to board my follower's bus.) Rides the entire trip blasted into the cloudless summer sky above my safely-driven sanctuary.
* * * * *
"Do you want to be stabbed right now?"
Gotta keep cool, I thought. Not something easily done. How many bus operators have thought the same thing, when fury and fear replace what our transit agency insists otherwise?
It is MY bus from the moment I drive off the lot until I lock it up there again at 12:50am. The title has my transit agency's name on it, but for 10 hours that vehicle is MY responsibility, office, sanctuary. And I guard it literally with my life. I keep it clean, comfortable and safe. Until I relinquish control as my shift ends, that vehicle is Deke's Fucking Bus. Don't you DARE defile it and not expect me to give you hellfire.
At this point, I was in full biological Fight or Flight Syndrome. I had nowhere to flee, so my body prepared to fight. He threatened to stab me, likely end my life, Just because he had to exit. I was preparing to fuck him up if he attacked me.
Hey, I'm not a fearless combatant. Didn't serve in our military, never had self defense training. But I wear steel-toe boots and I sorely wanted to forever prevent this bottom feeder from ever breeding (again, perhaps). After nearly 13 years of abuse, I was seriously ready for a fight. All the pent-up fury after nearly 13 years of countless insults, threats and attacks, my tormented soul ached for payback.
However, I need to not get fired. This requires intense control of emotions coupled with a biological refusal to die.
The only thing separating that ugly addict or me from debilitating injury was a quarter-inch plastic barrier. It kept us somewhat physically safe, but it did nothing to kill my fear.
* * * * *
Aftermath, five days later. My body was not assaulted, although the fight-or-flight syndrome depleted my adrenaline. Left me in a constant panic attack which continues to assault me. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in classic form. Brings back memories of past attacks, leaves me dreading getting into the seat again. Surely, once I do, I will steel myself for the shift ahead. It's just what we do, no matter how many times we have endured the bottom feeders attacking us.
Aftermath, addendum. My manager has been conspicuously supportive. She called immediately after hearing of my latest ordeal and was truly sympathetic. That helped greatly, given my years of pummeling managers for not supporting us. She offered exactly what our union contract guarantees, plus heartfelt words of love and support. I took great solace in this, deeply touched by her personal touch. Maybe my ranting on this blog has had some effect. While I can in no way take credit for it, I'm still grateful.
Negatively, I'm pissed about a few points. My initial contact to Dispatch was to request POLICE, That fucker threatened my life. No cops. Were they called? Maybe so, I dunno. Perhaps they were too busy to come. I'm also angry that the bill before the Oregon Legislature making attacks on bus operators a felony, died after I testified in support of it with my brothers Mike Perrault and Henry Beasley, and others failed in our efforts to push it through this March. Finally, I wonder why the vaunted "CISM Team" never contacted me afterward.
My heartfelt thanks to the University of Portland Security Team. After my assailant was gone, I immediately walked into their office and described my assailant. Josie immediately typed in my description of the asshat while simultaneously offering solace and an officer escort. One shadowed my return to the bus where I saw another patrolling the area. After years of driving this route, I am so thankful for the relationship we have. Besides using their restroom, I have developed great friendships and respect for the people who keep their property safe for all. Thank you Josie, Robert, Christina, Megan, AJ and everyone else for being my first personal response when transit life turns upside down in your presence.
* * * * *
I spent five days recovering from that drug-addled bastard's attack upon my soul. The love and support of family and friends has been overwhelming. Truly, I feel the love of my fellow operators and long time supporters of this blog. Beloved has remained my best friend and calm presence throughout. She held me close, reminded me I'm still here and have much to be thankful for. My granddaughter's constant love and need for attention buoyed my soul once again and always. I cannot ever properly describe the support I have.
Tired of attacks. Don't want to write about this again. But it's bound to happen. Hopefully, I remain lucky and uninjured. Until then, I'll just keep giving safe rides to my fellow Portlanders.
Please join me in September for #BANDTOGETHER2025 as we collectively protest attacks on transit workers worldwide.
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