"What a Difference a Bus Makes"

     I am a lazy, no account artist, so my first appointment of the day is at noon. I regularly have sketches and designs to do for clients, so I am known to frequent the shop at all hours.
   Since taking the bus, I have marveled at many things seen therein, but I had wrongly assumed that all buses and bus rides were created equal. Not so. 
   A certain cat I know, takes the train to work and while there are a number of characters to be sure, I always perceived the train to be a step up. Bourgeois fare for the mass transit set. A level buses could only aspire to. But today I stepped into a whole new world.

     The nine o'clock bus is one I've missed in my travels. Ones before, crowded with commuters of all ilk, later ones practically empty, or scattered with weirdos and stragglers. Everyone on the early bus rushing into the city for the daily grind; worker bees preparing to wait on the city's masses. The latter ones serving to cart around the slackers as they trickled in. But this was the 9:10, a unique entity. The sweet spot in the schedule.
   This bus wasn't filled with losers or blue-collared cattle, no, no, this bus had style. I would hang out with the people on this bus. They weren't here because they had to be, they were here because they chose to be. Urbanite travelers on the lumbering blood cells of the city's arterial veins.
   They all knew each other and hugged their hellos, smartly dressed with beverages in tow.
   "What are you doing on my bus?" A rider asked of his estranged friend. They knew who belonged on this bus and who didn't. It was a well coutured crowd of movers and shakers that were carriaged into town at this time. Only after the help scurried in to prepare, did they make their way into the city. Suddenly, I felt like an interloper. I was the rabble on this bus. Arriving at my stop, bewildered and under-dressed, I exited, vowing to return and find my purchase in this newly discovered secret society.

    
   

Bus Times

     Saw a blind woman with an ill-mannered service dog on the bus today. That must be helpful, having to wrangle an unruly animal and not see. Little bit later, a homeless guy got on with his wheeled 'luggage' and asked the driver to deploy the wheelchair ramp so he could load his trailer with ease. After many whirring noises and about ten minutes, he finally boarded the bus, only to exit with the same fanfare at the next stop.

     Y'know, I don't begrudge folks the little niceties in life, but c'mon people, I've got stuff to do. And what's with the, 'I'm so gangster I take forever to cross the street' move? I guess I might finally be beginning to chaff from all the exposure to the unwashed masses, but it seems that some people are so starved for attention that they will do anything for it. Last week, 'Birthday Girl'- some of you might remember her- was talking loudly and obnoxiously to a stranger, as she likes to do, and when the bus driver stopped at a stop, screamed for her to open the back door. She wasn't the one exiting. I know people call out for the back door, but this is not what I'm talking about; She yelled it. No one really said anything. When she did it again at the very next stop though, the driver yelled back at her,
   "Lady, you scream like that again, and your gettin' off this bus!"
   "Yes Ma'am." 


     We live in a society people, let's try to get along with each other. It's common courtesy to not push every button in the elevator before you get off, or to 'release a chocolate ghost' in a crowded theater. I assume people know these things, but maybe not. I can't help hearing my grandfather voice his displeasure in my head when I witness this kind of stuff. Vulgar. Base in nature.
   Maybe I'm just getting older, but it occurred to me the other day, while I was watering my front lawn in black socks and my underwear, that folks these days ain't had no good schoolin' for cripes sake! Who raised these people anyway?!? Now, I shouldn't get my blood up, but I just get so angry thinking about it. Welp, it's time for my stories, so I have to go. Now, where did I put my glasses?




   Oh, here they are.

     

"Bike to Downtown"

     


     So, I rode home with a middle-aged biker on the bus. No, not that kind of biker, bicycle biker. His bike had a flat and he took forever to get it on the rack on the front of the bus, but he ended up sitting next to me, and I just had to ask him how far he rode everyday. Turns out, he lives a little farther from downtown than I do, and he turned me on to some sweet bike trail info. I could hardly wait for my bike riding adventure, and to document it on video.


     You're welcome.

"18"

"Ballard to Downtown"

"Lonely"

     My blog is so lonely, it has no friends. Weep weep, sob sob.


     Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?!? Join my fucken blog!

"Downtown to Ballard"

"People Watching"

     Wow, what an incredible week. I don't usually let the rigors of everyday life get to me, but this week has been an exception. My only solace has been watching the dregs of society on the bus, and thanking the good Lord that there are always those worse off than you. What follows is a short compendium of my last three or four travels via the King County Metro System.

   1. 'Mentally Challenged Asian Grocery Worker'
    
     I can only assume from the way he was dressed, and the fact that grocery stores often do employ the handicapped, that this is where he worked. To be fair, he may not have been truly mentally handicapped, but if not, he was damn close. What he absolutely was, was socially challenged, although this did not stop his gregarious nature in the slightest.

     He entered the bus and sat down in the sideways facing handicapped seats - this is not what made me think he was different, plenty of regular folks sit in those seats - but it was rather his immediate turn and launch into conversation with the couple (in costume) that were sitting in the first seats next to him. The man was dressed in white face make-up, a gray wig, and a cowboy hat.
   "Oh, Beetlejuice! I haven't seen anyone dressed as Beetlejuice for years, mostly now all you see are slutty nurses, or maybe witches, but all the girls like to dress sexy at Halloween, I don't know why they all want to dress sexy, I'm in my work clothes right now because my company is so busy at Halloween and they need me to work a lot, but I can't get my work clothes dirty because then I would have to clean them and dry cleaning is so expensive and you have to go and pick it up and that can be hard when you take the bus, I see a lot of zombies too, not really sexy zombies, but a lot of different kinds of zombies, bloody zombies, scary zombies, boy zombies, girl zombies, funny zombies, coconut zombies, barbecue shrimp, shrimp stew..." 

     The couple was in obvious shock at their good fortune of seating choice, but was absolutely polite throughout, with the gentleman throwing out a few, 'yeahs' and 'uh-huhs' while the steady stream of conscience poured from without this chatty bag-boy.
   "I'm going to have a really great costume this year and it's going to be really awesome, but I can't party real hard 'cause I have to be the designated driver for all my friends so I can drive them around to all the really awesome parties that we are going to go to and..." 
   'Ding' Stop requested. Couple exits bus, for all I know, miles before their street. I can't blame them.


     2. 'Birthday Girl'


     Entering the bus, to the driver:
   "It's my birthday today!"
   "That's great, can you step behind the line please?"
   "Oh, yeah." She sits down and turns to the gentleman seated next to her.
   "It's my birthday." Smiles.
   "Can you give me twenty five cents?"
   "Sure, here."
   "Oh, thank you, now I have just enough for my groceries." A woman enters with two young girls in tow and sits across from Birthday Girl.
   "It's my birthday today, I'm thirty nine."
   "Oh," she said, a little startled, "that's nice."
   "Can you give me two dollars?"
   "Uh...I don't have two dollars." At this point, I've put two and two together and figured out that it probably isn't her birthday. Not to be deterred.
   "I just got back from my aunt's house. She took me to Sizzler's and bought me dinner. Tomorrow my mom is coming over and she is going to buy me lunch and give me a present too."
     'Ding' Stop requested. Mother and daughters exit bus. 


     A few stops later, a young twenty something guy and his friend get up to leave and as they're walking by the Birthday Girl, he says,
   "Hey, you dropped a dollar." She didn't, but this prompts her to call after him.
   "What? Did he say I dropped a dollar? Where? Do you see a dollar? Is it on the floor? Excuse me, sir, is there a dollar somewhere on the floor underneath my seat?" After an extensive search, she concludes that he was just teasing her and wonders aloud why on Earth he would do such a mean spirited thing on, of all days, her birthday.


     3. 'Eskihobos'


     I wish I could properly paint a picture of these two bleary-eyed transients, that would explain them in all their disheveled glory, but I fear that I am nowhere near the wordsmith necessary to convey the alcohol soaked, concert T-shirted, backpacked awesomeness that was, 'Eskihobos'.


     As they entered the bus they were already deep in conversation about two of their cohorts that they had apparently just left.
   "Yeah, when I knocked on the door I could hear some rustling and one of them shushed the other one, but after that, they were quiet."
   "They had probably just taken their hit."
   "Yeah, when they came out their eyes were so big they looked like two owls in the dark." After some discussion about their friends' crack cocaine usage and whether another acquaintance, 'Benny' had scored some heroin that morning, they began to wonder at the amount of money their friends might have left over from their assistance check, after said drug purchases.
   "They prolly still have a twenty left."
   "Man, that's two fifths of vodka right there!" Obvious connoisseurs of fine spirits.


     'Ding' stop requested.
  


    
     

"Day 3 the Ride in to Work"

     I was going to just simply list everyone that boarded the bus this morning, by naming them: Freckular Kid, Too Old to Wear His Hat That Way Guy, No Need For That Jacket Dude, etc. But my morning was overshadowed by two gentlemen returning downtown after visiting the plasma donation center in Ballard.

     Eavesdropping is more art than science, although these two sat right across the aisle from me, so I couldn't have ignored them if I tried. Even so, you can't appear to be actively listening to someone's conversation, even if that someone is two loudmouth low-lifes on a bus.

     After sitting down, they began commiserating about how the new phlebotomist at the clinic had apparently been quite inept, and had to stick one of them several times before getting it right.
   "Man, after the first time, she shoulda just given you your forty bucks and let you go!" They discussed this injustice for quite a while before moving on to the importance of having sour cream when preparing tacos.
   "Did you get shells?"
   "Yeah man, I got shells."
   "Did you get sour cream?"
   "Awe shit man, I forgot sour cream!"
   "Man you gotta have sour cream if you're makin' tacos." Both nod in agreement.

     Later subjects ranged from where to find the best deals on drugs in the area,
   "Sometimes those natives in the park will really hook you up." To how hard it would be to fist fight a certain butch lesbian they both know. All much to the chagrin of the two girls in front of me.

     These two had no shame in being middle-aged grown men, still residing at institutional living facilities, suckling at the teat of liberal society. The fact that they had spent their morning giving blood for drug money didn't stop them from being indignant about the level of care provided them by the state.
   "I hate it when I go to the food bank, and they don't have the shit I want. That pisses me off." End quote.

     I don't like it when people make me think like a conservative. It's distasteful.

"Day 2 Home"

     Not much to report on the ride home. Fairly subdued crowd. As the bus was pulling up, some guy tried asking me to trade cash for some bus vouchers. I told him I used a pass. Almost no seats, but I found one next to some crusty old security guard. I'm not sure who or what this guy was protecting, but he fumbled for his phone and dropped it, struggling for a minute to reach, until I got down on my knees to fetch it for him.
   "Thanks."
   "No problem."


     White Dreadlock Guy kept peering around the bus, scanning for someone he knew - or he could have been looking for somewhere to shower - I doubt it.


     Kind of a lively bunch in the back for awhile. They were all laughing and talking, but you could tell they weren't all together in a group; probably just common riders that see each other regularly.


     Greasy Grandpa alerted some lady that she was leaving her bag behind, and Well-Dressed Hipster Kid gave the bus crowd a parting look as if to say,
   "Farewell commuters, until tomorrow."


     The air of community on these bus lines is amazing. Truly disparate groups of people, commonly linked by travel method. There is no judgement, truly, for if there was, the system wouldn't work. Civility and respect, and almost without exception each passenger greets the driver upon entering and thanks him when they leave. The drivers vary themselves to a great degree. Men, women, quiet, gregarious. Some are very helpful, calling the main stops out as the bus approaches. The driver yesterday put out so much information over the P.A. that it felt much like a flight being addressed by the captain.


     I like this city. I like the bus.

"The Ride Home and Day 2"

     I don't know that I'll catch the bus home at 6:30 again. I think I'll try a later bus. Last night was crowded at the stop downtown. The Pike Street stop must hub a dozen or more lines. I waited through what seemed like every other bus number but mine, and finally took another line that went to my neighborhood.

     There were no seats when I got on, and stood until about Queen Anne. After some seats opened up, I sat across from some punk rock kid with an hasidic haircut, nodding out on his grocery bag of crap, fingers swollen from all the shit mixed in with the smack he's shooting, that his liver can't process.

     The woman in front of him is complaining into her phone about not being able to find her bus pass. Loud enough for the driver to hear, maybe as a little 'heads up' for the confrontation to come.

     On Market Street, a couple of large Hispanic gentlemen board, and upon sitting, one of them starts passing out small caramel candies, one to the hasidic junkie and a couple to the Asian cats across the aisle. Thank yous, and everybody eats. It occurs to me at this moment that this is a very Seattle happening that I am witness to. In L.A. cholos aren't big on handing out candy, and even if they were, I'm not sure anyone would eat it. I almost felt left out. 

     I trudged up the hill home, already thinking about the morning ride.

     In the morning, I ran, showered, and was at the stop by 9:30. After two look-alike women passengers boarded - on different consecutive stops - a girl in the back started singing. Not to herself, or even just to her friends, but as if to the whole bus. She wasn't 'bad' but it was still just weird. It made me wonder about people that seem to seek attention in public situations. Nothing wrong with it I guess, and on some level I appreciate the confidence it shows. Still, weird.

     After the kid next to me left, an older woman, with a growth on her neck, and gray chin whiskers that would have made a China man jealous, sat in his place. A couple of stops later, she started to mumble, I thought just to herself. A little ways into her monologue, I distinctly heard her whisper,
   "...in case you didn't know that; although I have no business talking to strangers." I tried to pay attention after that, but I think she saw me listening and lowered her voice even more.

     Off at Pike, walk to work, hoping I didn't get much crazy on me.

"First Ride"

    I rode the bus today. Not something I'm wont to do usually, but necessity is the mother of adventure. Or stepmother, whatever. If asked, I'd probably say I'd rather take out my own liver with a dull grapefruit spoon, than ride public transit with the unwashed masses; but, for better or worse, I started my three month journey with all the good humor I could muster, I thermos full of coffee, my book, an Ipod, and a willing spirit.

     The stop by my house is two blocks away and at the end of the line. When I got on, there was only one other person beside me and the driver. I fiddled with the idea of reading or listening to the radio, but decided instead to bear witness to the cross-section of society that would be accompanying me to downtown. 

     This is Seattle, not L.A. so the quality of riders is noticeably better here. Skinny hipster dudes with scraggy beards and Chrome bags, cute little northwestern girl commuters with their knee-high boots, awkward student types and the like. And then, there were the interesting people, the stand outs. 

     In Crown Hill the bus stopped at 70th and opened it's doors. After what seemed like a long pause, I see a handled cooking pot crest the handrail, followed by the neck of an old guitar. The Che sticker on the back of the guitar was only slightly less worn than the guitar's owner. Clad in a red beanie, three hoodies, a jacket, and a beard that looked as if it used to just be a moustache, but had lingered long enough to grow into its own entity; was a street performer of considerable age and questionable ability.
   "Can you get me home?" He said, in an almost unintelligible raspy voice, and sat down without even an attempt at payment. The bus driver closed the door and pulled away from the curb. It had taken quite a bit of effort to climb the three steps up into the bus, and so he rested for a moment before painfully fumbling through an assortment of scrap paper, finally selecting a particular shred to show to the driver. The driver waved him off, and let him ride, probably more out of pity than whatever had been on the waded piece of garbage he had to show him. 

     The unmistakable sound of no more than two or three dimes, rattled around inside of his pot as he settled in. He sat in the first seat by the door, pulled his hoodie over his eyes, and napped, mouth agape. 'Home' turned out to be another bus stop in Queen Anne, and I watched briefly as he set up for his afternoon show.

     A few stops later, as the bus was getting ready to pull away from the curb after letting some people off, there came some frantic calls from behind.
   "Wait bus!"
   "Wait bus!"
   "Wait bus!" The last few calls coming only inches from the door, although just as loud as the first. Scrambling up the steps clambered an obese but jovial man with a racquetball in hand. After paying and sitting in the same seat previously occupied by crusty guitar player, he stared out the window, smiling and using his racquetball as a sort of 'viewfinder' focusing in on this and that. His smile faded as his gaze turned towards me, and slowly lowered his racquetball, as if I was displeased with his actions. Of course, I wasn't, and was also a little hurt that the mere sight of me was enough to sully the mood of this otherwise gregarious soul. I attempted a smile back, but it was a little too little, a little too late.

     I exited the bus at Pike Street, amid faux gangsters, office types, and homeless wanderers. I made my way to work, wondering what characters the evening trip might bring.