Every time my granddaughter sees a bus
on the road she says "Hi Papa!"
Deke's Note: At this stage of this transit journey there is little which surprises me. It's different than saying there's nothing left to learn, because once that's uttered, life slaps you upside the head. No, it's more like Groundhog Day. Same shit day in day out, very little out of the ordinary. Spying the positive becomes difficult when you expect monotony. Lately, the almost imperceptible wonders are bouncing back onto my radar. Let's take a ride attaways. (And yes, spellcheck and what ever else is spying on my keystrokes, I used a non-word there. Get over it.)
* * * * *
Usually quiet and businesslike in the seat, I rarely interact with passengers lately. Years ago when the cellphone plague began I pegged people as plugged in and tuned out. Each year since, the social chasm has grown so vast it feels I'm ferrying a group of brain dead zombies to their next apocalyptic/non-socializing doom scroll location. A full bus is quieter than a funeral when the attendees are asked if anyone would like to say a few words. When it gets that way, I often queue up the PA to say what I hope is something witty. The resulting/remaining/resounding reply is overwhelmingly silent.
"Tough room," I say. "Be here all week." Bus hums, groans, farts, humming along as usual. Much louder response than the two dozen souls on board.
This week however, I won the Bus Operator Lotto! Not just one, but THREE of my favorite passengers boarded within as many stops one night. Given that very few even look at me as they board let alone reply to my greeting, I was ecstatic. First, my buddy Jose the cook/pool shark/ladies man with the warmest heart and deep love of humanity. Later, Mariano fist-bumping silver-haired multi-lingual lounge musician/philosopher/medical translator who spends several minutes asking about my life. Then the sweet/irreverent/tough but true 30-something Maria who bartends/serves at a downtown hotel bar. Each would fit seamlessly into my neighborhood's Porch Sit Club, people I would enjoy seeing outside of my profession over drinks around a firepit.
Jose recently lost his fiancee last year, was heartbroken but his spirit remained strong. Has a firm grasp on finding spiritual connection with those he meets. He is an amazing conversationalist, a gardener with a brilliance I need to tap into given my love for rooted things. We need to tip a few and have a few hours of deep conversation. Same with Mariano. Maria has two sons to raise and a husband who probably wouldn't agree with her making friends with a bus operator. No worries. It's always nice to chat with her. Given very few people on my run speak to, let alone with me, I celebrate Maria nonetheless.
To Cole, the ever-patient building maintenance worker at a downtown apartment sky village, maybe my next roll will bring us together more often. To Bennett, a former regular who surprised me by boarding a few nights ago, maybe I'll see you more often. My dear Wizard of Odds ("Wiz" for short) who graced me with his own written wisdom and heartfelt brotherhood, I hope you're okay because I haven't seen or heard from you in months.
That's transit, working the same line every season. You appreciate the regulars, make new acquaintances, get ignored more often that not. Better odds than the lotto, and my rewards are better. Next month, my schedule changes and these passengers will have another operator serving them. I know they will treat my brother/sister with the same respect and kindness. And I thank them for being who they are regardless of who sits in my seat.
* * * * *
Speaking of rewards, I enjoyed a commendation this week. Not from a passenger. My line of choice has its own benefits, but passenger acknowledgements are not included. That's okay. They're self-absorbed but I enjoy a beautiful ride no matter their indifference. My rare compliment came from within, which is an even greater honor.
A few weeks ago I encountered a freight train where it is rare. Stopped dead in its tracks. Sorry, a pun not mis-spun. For several minutes I was blocked at a traffic signal for a right turn. Impatient Ishy to my left honking at the poor teenage driver ahead of her who would not turn right on red. Ishy didn't have the intelligence to realize the problem was deeper than her foolish rage. Just beyond her vision, the right turn she was so intent upon making, was the rail crossing. Arms dropped, alarm blinking. Train obviously blocked for whatever reason. Ishy's right turn would not have accomplished anything more than placing her just 20 feet around the corner. I tried reasoning with her to ease her teen victim's discomfort of being constantly honked at for her reluctance to turn right on a red arrow. Even though it 's legal to do so in Oregon, what was the point? I told the poor lass to ignore Ishy's rudeness, but it was increasingly impossible to do so myself, stopped directly next to the loud and entitled Range Roving Hoover. I urged Teeny Tina to close her window and crank the tunes.
Giving up on Ishy's road rage, I walked around the corner up to the rail crossing. Looked both ways of a usually-short train but could not see either end. A tow truck sat in first position, casually listening to his stereo. Walking up to the driver side, I engaged him.
"Looks like we'll wait a bit," I said.
"Yeah," he replied. "Been sitting 40 minutes already."
I had been there half that. "Oh well, I get paid the same regardless," he added.
Had to laugh, because yeah. Me too. Yet my only concern was for the five passengers remaining on my bus. They asked what the "plan" was. Late at night, one was concerned about catching the last bus out of Oregon City. The others had destinations between our dilemma and the end of the line. All I could tell them was, "Patience, grasshoppers. We'll turn around and take a roundabout way to Oregon City, then I'll get you home." Sighs, then acceptance.
Dispatch told me a Road Supervisor was enroute to my location. To my relief, the one who arrived was Ivan, a veteran with a plan. By then, Tow Truck Tommy had turned around and rerouted himself, as had those in the left lane. Ivan deftly spotted me as I U-turned with only one backup. Took a reroute I hadn't driven in forever but knew from a decade-old bus driving memory.
Yesterday when I returned to the garage after my shift I noticed there was mail for me. To my great surprise and wonder, it was a commendation (transit term for "attaboy"). Not from one of those passengers, but from the Dispatcher who kept in contact with me throughout the delay. Sister complimented me for my patience and desire to serve those passengers inconvenienced by a train which encountered a problem further down the track. As a veteran of Line 35 for over a decade, I know better than to expect a passenger commendation. As a union brother of the sister who took the time to send me a compliment for simply part of the job, I was truly touched.
Thank you Jennifer in Dispatch. Not only for your assurance over the radio that help was on its way, which I understood already, but mostly for giving me kudos for just doing my job. It's a compliment unexpected yet appreciated even more because it comes from someone who has been in my seat.
* * * * *
These few points might not seem like much to most. To someone who's reached the point where simply completing a shift without incident is celebratory, it's icing on a diabetic's cake.
Smooth rolls, folks. I'm out.
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