Deke's Note: A writer's best friend today is someone who, after reading their work, thinks highly enough of it to share across the internet. Thanks folks. FTDS reached 850,000+ hits this week. For this writer, it's wonderful. Sure, it lags in contrast to blogs which have many more. It's still wonderful. Hopefully I can continue to entertain, inform or simply intrigue you enough to keep coming back.
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How the transit landscape has changed in just the past five years. We stumbled through a worldwide pandemic. The economy went up and down more than my bed did as a teenager. Politics became a wedge between us rather than simple debate points. Yet transit remained steady and true because of dedicated professionals who risk sanity and safety to keep rolling people around town.
One particular note of interest is the decline in passenger interaction with transit operators. Early in my career I noticed more people becoming "plugged in and tuned out". The internet has become more a way of life than what happens around us. People are lost to reality because their phone has replaced basic human interactions. Fewer folks even look at me, let alone acknowledge my greeting. It's so disheartening I won't even greet people come midweek. They look at their phone as I roll up and act surprised when I honk to get their attention. It's really rude when they simply look up from their phone, then deciding mine isn't their ride, just look back down at their phone. Fewer of them even nod, shake their head or give the "neck chop" motion. Some might even roll their eyes when I ask their intention, as if I'm supposed to know. Osmosis, perhaps? Clairvoyance?
Sometimes, I might just slow down, beep, and keep going if I get zero response. On the occasion I keep rolling only to see the hands-up gesture of "What the fuck, bus driver, STOP!" it's very difficult to take pity on those who are so indifferent to their surroundings they expect us to accept their entitlement. Sorry, but if you're too phone stoned to actually communicate your intent to board my bus, don't get your panties twisted when I just roll past you. Your indifference is not a requirement for me to give a flying fuck. Maybe missing a bus via your lack of attention will piss you off enough you'll pay attention 30 minutes later when the next one rolls up. Don't call and complain about US when the fault is obviously your own.
*****
The Fare Evader Fade is equally lame. How many times do we hear: "I forgot my pass today." Bet you didn't forget your bank card, ID or phone. Or: "I'm riding at my own risk." These are the funniest to watch when the Fare Enforcement squad catches them. They panic and try to browbeat the operator for a free pass. Sorry, Bubba but the risk caught up with you. Them Fare Cops are watching me too, for exactly that reason. I'm not risking a write-up for your-problem-not-my-problem.
The worst evaders are those, usually teenagers, who simply avoid eye contact. They don't say a word. No asking for a free ride, Just typical childish behavior from those not ready to accept responsibility. As if the adult world is lame, not worthy of their eye-rollish disdain. At least some of them actually thank me upon exiting.
Another worn out ploy is the "Does this bus go...?" As I answer, they've already moved past me. As if the question will make the "dumbass bus driver" forget to check their fare. They know where the bus goes, because they ride it daily. Doesn't matter to me. I'm not fooled. The Fare Evasion button is already pushed before the question is fully asked.
An evader might board and ask if I heard "the news", whatever it might be. If it's fresh, then obviously not. I'm busy driving a bus, not staring into screen oblivion. Any number of these sophomoric evasions don't fool a transit operator. It's rare to hear anything new or creative. They either pay their fare or they don't. All I do is tell them as they saunter past "It costs money to ride the bus." Nothing more. Once they're on my bus, all that matters is that I deposit them safely at their destination. We're taught early and often not to care for fare. Too many dear brothers and sisters have suffered violence for insisting on payment. I just want to safely finish my shift and head home.
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It's refreshing to see a passenger board with book in hand. It tells me they're likely intelligent and beyond cellphonic transfixion. They usually interact, taking a few moments to describe their latest read. These folks are treated to a Deke business card I offer as a bookmark. This leads to a conversation about reading/writing and maybe even a discussion rabout favorite authors. Passengers are a fascinating smorgasbord of backgrounds and interests. Part of the reason I took this job is because I truly enjoy meeting people.
I've made many friends with people on my bus. Usually hard-working blue collar folks, their life stories fascinate me. I look forward to their boarding and I miss them when my schedule changes. Several keep in touch and our friendship has evolved beyond transit. One of my recent favorites is the Wizard of Odds. He goes only by "Wiz" for whatever reasons necessitated it. I added "of Odds" because he enjoys betting. Wiz encourages me to keep writing even when everything life can, and does, throw at me gets in the way of creating my art. Such as it is. He actually loaned me this amazing new laptop I'm writing on now because my aging Mac takes an hour (no kidding) to boot up and regularly freezes up when I try to write. By doing so, he said, I now have one less reason not to write.
The past several months since I bent this newfangled contraption's bytes to my bits has seen me writing a lot more. I still need to crank up the fiction side of me to finish that troll story hatched as I rolled across the Tilikum six years ago. Then there's the 1,000+ page tome I stopped writing 25 years ago, the characters stuck in creative purgatory. They constantly filet me lately, begging to release them to roam again within the dusty desert trails of my creativity. I'm getting there, Wiz. What stops me is this blog. It's like a 12-year-old habit I can't shake.
My life is centered around this profession. Each day is either devoted to preparing to drive, then doing it, ending with preparing for the next day. My schedule is entirely devoted to the job. Beloved and I have few precious moments to relax together on weekends. During the week, we're a transit family team. Household chores are divided into whoever's shift it is. Everything we do seems centered around my job as a transit operator. It's a job within itself.
When I'm driving a bus many blog post ideas come to me. I would write more here, but the best bits are lost to exhaustion after a long shift. I wish it was possible to record my thoughts as I drive, but the job demands no electronic tools be used in the seat, for good reason. I'm left to count on an aging memory. My creative soul longs to stretch into a long bout of fiction writing but other priorities get in the way. Our home constantly nags me to clean, fix, weed, water, tinker and such. Our granddaughter is with us three days every weekend because we're happily willing to help her grow. Childcare is so expensive, but family is the foundation of a solid beginning for every child. Our Mila Rose is a welcome distraction. By the time she's safely abed, her aging grandparents are exhausted. But happy. The past 32 months have been blissful. We've helped raise a newborn extension of our son, and she reminds us daily what a joy her father was to raise. Now multiply that love exponentially and you get a grandparent's fierce devotion.
Sigh. So here I am, just finished my 35th(?) signup as a bus operator. My Friday night has been devoted once again to writing the bus. It's a way to wind down after the rigors of this job have bent my spine yet not broken my soul. Wishing I could retire, but the lotto numbers went awry (again). Two days of freedom, galavanting about with little Mila while her Grandmama rests a bit. Relishing the joy a two-year-old firebrand of energy and making memories I hope she'll cherish even a fraction of the amount I will. Then it's off to a new schedule Tuesday, Getting up earlier and off three hours prior to the last three months. New faces beckon, perhaps old ones too.
Whew. Safe travels, y'all.
I haven't kept track of my sign ups. They've varied from 5, then 4, then back to 5, and now back to 4 times a year, so well over 125. I'm fortunate that my route has few evaders, and the vast majority of my riders acknowledge my existence, as I do theirs. Some are throw off my my greeting and appreciation of their fare payment. Even the one young fellow with no fare for any of his rides, whom 2 of the other 3 operators on my route drive past as he never pays, always came to the front to say thank you when alighting.
ReplyDeleteWe don't build the same relationship with our riders any more. Being plugged in, and not having the "idiot" seat of the high floor buses has removed that, and standing in the front aisle is definitely discouraged.
Fortunately, back is still good but after 8 hours behind the wheel I'm exhausted and not inclined to want to do much at all after work.