city life – Transit Transients and Other Stories

Just Before Lunch

Next stop
5 or 6 passengers are spread out at the stop area, with a distance from the bench, where a woman in her 50s, dressed for the streets is sitting alone.
I recognize her, Mental Illness. Not sure how she gets by in the world
I think she stays at several different shelters, she is loud, has aggressive expressions, cuss words, she is angry

A couple in their 30s step onto the Bus on College way.

He has a $5 bill that he slides into the cash box as I hand him 2 transfers.

“Thank you, sir, I have a question” sure I said leaning toward my plexiglass screen to hear him.

“My wife and I are having lunch in the International district.

Will this bus get us there?”

Yes, it will be my last stop, and I’ll make sure I announce we are there.

“Thank you”

They make thier way to their seats in front just behind the ADA section on the door side.

Next stop:

5 or 6 passengers are spread out at the stop area, with a distance from the bench, where a woman in her 50s, dressed for the streets is sitting alone.

I recognize her, Mental Illness. Not sure how she gets by in the world

I think she stays at several different shelters, she is loud, has aggressive expressions, cuss words, she is angry.

The passengers hurriedly load before her, she takes her time to grab her stuff, sits in the ADA section just in front of the young couple.

As I pull out she is starting to cuss and chew out the invisible people in front and behind her.

At the next stop, a few people move away towards the back.

We continue through Ballard, Freemont, and Westlake as she relives whatever torments her as her volume gets louder, then she’s quiet, then starts in again.

We are downtown on 3^rd and Marion,

She exists the bus, in front of the couple, He leans in in front of his wife

Protecting her from what might be an unexpected blow from her,

The woman is looking at me as she exists and is yelling at me

As I am now the focus of her anger as she exits.

The couple relax and lower their heads when she is gone.

My next stop is 3^rd and James.

(1 stop away from the last stop)

Another woman, a little bit older,

Same condition gets on the bus,

Sits a few seats behind the couple,

Begins her rant,

We arrive at the end of the route, 3^rd, and Main,

I ask if they are good from here,

Their eyes are wide open, she is visibly shaken.

He is not happy with their choice of transportation for the day.

“yea, were good” he says as his head shakes.

My layover at the base was quiet

Cookie and coffee.

Made my way back North

3^rd and Union,

I have one passenger on my bus.

There is a Man, 20s with blood on his head, inebriated,

I watch him as I pull in and hope he doesn’t want on.

He sees my bus and backs up indicating to me, that this is not his bus.

I begin to pull away.

He walks into the side of the bus,

I stop.

He swaggers, then falls

I call it in.

My supervisor arrives, fire dept.

The one passenger steps off waits for another bus, wishing me luck.

A pedestrian has the incident on her phone and explains to the supervisor how he just walked into the bus.

And was drunk and yelling about a girl before the incident.

He is ok as the fire department arrived

He refused care, wished us all a good day, and to drive safe.

Metro towed the bus back to base (no damage just to do some prep work in case he tries to sue)

They drive me back to base, arrange another bus for me, send me out

I finish my day at the end of the next run,

Go back to base,

Fill out the paperwork

Go home, make myself a peanut butter sandwich,

Go to bed listening to a Sasquatch Podcast.

Last Moments Of A Mallard

Her babies nervously quacking and jittering movements the Mom quacking back torn between leaving him and protecting her babies.

I’m driving North on College way at about 7:15 am on a Saturday.

It lays in front of North Seattle Community College, which has a Park like feeling with Natural growth trees and wetland.

I have seen birds of all varieties, rabbits, raccoons, many squirrels.

It makes a nice drive as it is in contrast to my trip through town with its landscape of homeless camps, broken windows, traffic.

That morning as I arrived at 98^th street stop sign,

To the right, almost to the sidewalk, a mother duck was pecking at what I believe was her male. Its Greenhead twisted over its back, legs splayed in a way that isn’t possible for unbroken bones.

Her babies nervously quacking and jittering movements the Mom quacking back torn between leaving him and protecting her babies.

Ducks seem to struggle daily to get by.

I pull into my next stop.

One of my regulars, an elderly gentleman whose right arm hangs dead

He tucks the hand of that arm into his jacket pocket as he moves by me.

A young couple are blowing out a mouthful of weed before they enter the bus.

They look at me confused when I say good morning, move to the back without a word or paying.

Traffic is a bit heavy that morning as I make my way to Market Street in Ballard. Then right to head south on Leary way.

I pass homeless tents that have been there through the pandemic.

One of the Tents has a fire going in their pit. Its black smoke is dirty from burning some oil-based product.

The Sun hits my eyes pretty strong just before I pass under the Ballard bridge as I move closer to Freemont.

I open my door at the Leary way and 8^th street stop.

A young man, 20 maybe…. Has his fentanyl pipe out, as my doors are open he says, wait a minute… then lights his pipe.

I close my doors refusing him entry as I continue on to Freemont.

He is yelling at the bus as I pull away

“Are you kidding me”??

“Fuck you”!!

I’m stopped in Freemont where the bridge is up, load up another regular on his way to work, taps his card, and sits in the center bench seat very back.

The young couple try to engage him in conversation,

He has no time for them.

I’m driving through downtown, on 3^rd ave, they have done a lot to clean up the streets.

Less tents, less garbage, but I get the impression they are playing homeless “whack amole “as people are just more spread out now.

Union stop I let someone off

A homeless guy unshaven for months, old dirty jeans, t-shirt dirty coat, hair crusted with gunk jumps on eating his cereal out of a plastic cup. Gets off at the next stop, grunts then throws his cereal cup onto the floor spilling its milk and raisin bran onto the floor.

I’m now at my layover in front of the Central base.

The Security and Sheriff people are with another homeless guy who is laying on the sidewalk next to a bus stop.

His pants are below his hip, the rest of his clothes are a mess,

The Sheriff is loudly asking him…..

Heroin? Did you take Heroin?

The sun is directly over them, blue sky with very few white clouds, there are shadows cast by standing people in the center of this turmoil, sidewalk with trash of old food, cans, liquor bottles.

Police car lights flashing orange, red, white.

It is the Mallard I think of,

Crossing the street with his family in front of him at the sidewalk as he is struck, twisting his neck and back as he is forced under the car then thrown to the side.

His last moment had his family in view walking towards a pond amongst trees with the sun in the sky with few white clouds to cloud his day.

8th and Massachusetts

a pit bull, a rough looking guy, whose bones seem stiff, he is grey with white spots, big barrel chest, skinny legs, his demeaner is somewhat attached as he watches the humans sit, there is a collection of dog food cans, I see him pee on the fence behind the RV, his collection of feces piles around the garbage.

My mornings usually start with my cat Sheba letting me know its time to wake up, step outside, take our walk around the yard. She does want me to follow her around her path, then sit and enjoy the morning with its stars with her and listen to the birds waking and beginning their day.

She gazes at me between her bushes of territory, her look of that connection that loving pets have, this is home and life is good.

When the time is right, she lets me know when its time for her to receive her breakfast.

We step back up the stairs, into our house, I feed her, then begin preparing for my day at work as she gives me a disappointed look and reminds me, she has the track ball, bird on string, and other games that have no possible equal of fun and importance outside of those doors.

As I step into my car, then turn onto the street,

Its difficult to find an argument with her.

8^th and Massachusettes has been a “layover” spot for me for a number of months now.

Its also a rather permanent tent encampment.

There are a few RV’s, trucks with campers, and a dozen or more tents.

All in various and continuous states of decline.

There are early mornings I drive by and see a few sitting by a fire or “rough made” BBQ making their meal or coffee but sightings of people there are rare.

The evidence by their comings and goings is evidenced by their garbage and their constant addition of “stuff” broken furniture, lawnmowers, various metal and wood objects, things that make no sense to me, as it seems there is effort at carrying this stuff to the location for no reason at all except for the possibility that it makes a fence around their dwellings, a trip hazard, or lose definition of their space.

Garbage begins to fill in between the spaces of the objects, paper, unwashed clothes, food wrapping, boxes.

The height of this “fence” begins to equal the height of the tent.

One of the RV’s is in rough decline, it started out ok, then windows break, panels fall, tires leak then go flat, the garbage and collection of stuff around it gather high. They have a BBQ, a pit bull, a rough looking guy,

whose bones seem stiff, he is grey with white spots, big barrel chest, skinny legs, his demeaner is somewhat attached as he watches the humans sit, there is a collection of dog food cans, I see him pee on the fence behind the RV, his collection of feces piles around the garbage.

He makes his way around the perimeter, sniffs, on guard as he seems to know its his job to keep a look out, be ready.

I am confident, that whatever the humans do not notice, he does.

Tarps will stretch across multiples of these homes, there are walkways inside and under these tarps ties to the garbage and collections of stuff.

Seagulls, Crows, Rabbits who keep wary of the dogs, Rats I see often scamper from one point to another.

There is a woman I guess to be in her 30s that lives in one of the better kept RV’s, she has found a business across the corner of her parked home has left their spicket available. She access this water for filling cooking pots, general water for drinking and cleaning.

She drops her gray sweatpants relieves herself as she leans against the building. A rat makes a rush for her grocery bag she leans to her left, picks up a rock and is able to hit the bag, the rat darts away, she pulls up her pants, her dirty white t shirt is sweat soaked and no bra.

A man riding one of the red rent a bikes rides begins to ride by, he is gliding a rent a scooter in his hand as he drives by and says something to her, she flips him off.

A small unhealthy-looking Rat makes a run across the intersection, a dirty brown grey gull dives on it, they fight, the gull picks it up in its beak and shakes it dead, two other gulls, a bright white one and a dirty grey one fight the hunter for its meal. They tear at the Rat, but the hunter makes off with the Rat in its mouth while its tail dangles out of its beak.

The woman with the grey sweatpants opens the door to her RV, a can falls out, she kicks it under the RV, then steps up, closes the door behind her.

I begin my route again heading to Northgate.

It’s a busy day, more people than usual for our “covid period”

I hear an older male voice talking to another passenger about what a great looking dog she has and is it ok to pet?

“Yes! Please do… he loves to say hi, they begin talking, her stop is next and she exits.

He starts talking to me about his dog. A dog he lost 4 months ago,

She was the best dog in my life, tells me stories of how he got her at a rescue kennel when she was maybe 9 months old. She always went to work with him at his Martial Arts Studio where he was a sensei.

They ran together, vacationed together and had a bond that the special pet of a lifetime gives you,

He was hit by a car, it ended his career and he was homebound for an extended period of time.

“She was everything to me, she was home.”

He started crying, bawling, “I’m so sorry he said.”

Sir, I understand, let it out, its ok, I’ve had that special pet, I know what your going through. Its really ok,

“She saved me once, she didn’t have too”

How so?

“I was downtown, it was late, my back was turned on a group of guys, and one reached out to mug me with a knife.

Before I could knock him down,

She grabbed his arm then tore into him, he stabbed her down her side, she needed 25 stitches and almost didn’t make it.

She was so gentle to the vet, as she laid on the table, she licked his hand as he cleaned her, she was always so sweet, I had no idea she was a fighter until she did that.”

Wow, I said, she really sounds amazing to me,

At the next stop, his hand appeared under my covid clear plexi shield and showed me a picture of her, she was a beautiful brown and white, blue healer, sitting proudly next to her sensei.

He told me more about her, he cried some more, saying, he hadn’t cried since she passed and again, he was so sorry.

We arrived at his stop, he asked me, “do you mind if I step off the front, I don’t want people seeing me like this”……

Of course sir, take care of yourself,

He silently stepped off, he was older than I first thought, may have been 80, dressed in black, black baseball hat, dark sunglasses, his skin stark white, he looked smaller than his voice, he leaned on the brick building and was breathing deep as I pulled away.

It took me a few minutes to recover my breath,

I thought of my previous cat and how long it took to get over her.

I thought of Sheba, and how she greets me when I get home.

Laying on the floor, stretched out, belly open waiting for a gentle rub, her ears perked, her eyes gazing at me with praise that I am home again

And its time for a walk in the garden with her, sit listen to the birds,

Then time for her to receive her dinner.

I will be home.

For Better, or for Worse

I have seen them as I drive by, sitting on their mattress, eating, drinking, laughing together, chatting.

For Better, or For Worse

Just south of the overpass called Freeway Park

On the West side of the freeway is a space between columns,

It’s a small incline that ends with a cement wall that separates the space

From 6^th avenue.

The freeway just beside it exits to James.

I watch it as there are a homeless couple who have made a tent there,

Or rather a collection of items that include a broken tent. Of which

Stands next to their mattress, which is surrounded by increasing amounts of garbage.

Paper, food containers, plastic what nots, cans, bottles.

They dress like they may have blue collar jobs and keep clothes somewhat in reach of their mattress.

Of which is bare, weathered, stained.

I have seen them as I drive by,

Sitting on the mattress, eating, drinking, laughing together, chatting.

One afternoon about 5 on a Saturday, I finished route 5 and was deadheading back to base

As I drove by their place

They were naked, making love on their mattress amongst the garbage and trash,

It was sunny out, near 80.

They were vigorous and passionate.

Seeming unaware of the freeway as

traffic was heavy, busy as cars changed lanes vying for places in line.

The next Saturday,

As I drove by again, finished with route 5

The area had been cleaned,

The broken tent was gone, the mattress gone.

The area had been raked clean of all the garbage.

In the area where the mattress had laid,

The Dirt seemed darker, barer.

I remembered the look on her face as they made love,

Her open mouth, eyes closed, brow furrowed.

Her feet laid on garbage,

For better, or for worse,

For Richness or poorer,

Sickness or in health.

Somedays I wish for a Zombie Apocalypse. The good news though, Seahawks are 4-0

I have more than once heard: A society is measured by how they treat the most vulnerable.
I think it’s evident how we measure up.

I’m going to rant a little bit.
I like my job. I find it interesting. It’s a job like no other if you’re a people watcher. It’s been said that bus drivers encounter more people than Presidents or the Pope on a weekly basis.
So, that is what gives me a license to rant.
Today, 3rd and Cherry, I have seen this man several times this past year. He sits in a provided manual basic wheelchair, the kind Hospitals give to people who need them just before they are sent back into the street or shelter.
He has no legs. He is far too skinny to look healthy.
He has one arm.
He struggles to use this chair. I have seen him trying to push the wheels forward. It’s, to say the least: Awkward.
Back to today. 2 pm. He sits on the street side of the sidewalk, facing uphill on 3rd and Cherry. His head is tilted to the side, his eyes vacant. His one arm dangles next to the wheel. He looks exhausted. He is in a dangerous place as a car speeds up the hill and misses him by a couple of feet.
I see a Prostitute that I have seen with him before. They have struck me as friends, not business. She is a blond, short polyester skirt, stained with street muck, white leather jacket; blond hair pulled back. White skin that is blotchy red, she is moving as quickly towards him as she can to help him.
My light turns green. I move south on 3rd ave.
I am repulsed by what I just saw.
A man with no legs. one arm living on the streets. His best friend, a drug-addicted Prostitute, who probably has a heart of gold. Nonetheless, her occupation creates a risk to her longevity, and her obvious drug addiction also creates risk.
Why do we allow this? Is this the best we can do?
I have more than once heard; A society is measured by how they treat the most vulnerable.
I think it’s evident how we measure up.
The same trip, on 1st between Holgate and Lucile.
Another man has his sweatpants down to mid-thigh, his jockstrap is down too, he is scratching under his testicles, he sees me and tries to wave me down. He has a grin on his face, desperately tries to get me to stop.
I don’t stop; I can’t have that on my bus, I have people that I am responsible for their welfare and safety.
I drive down streets, where both sides of that street have homeless, drugged, handicapped mentally ill. These streets have garbage everywhere, decay, destruction as we build high-end high rises.

I’m a little angry at this point. I have to say, this kind of sequence of events is not outside the norm. This is the world we have built, and its no different in just about any big city across this country, and I’m sure other nations as well.
We are Irresponsible people.
I am one person; I fully admit that I do not have the money or resources to change anyone’s life. I simply have enough money to get by day to day and save a little for tomorrow and hope for the best. There is also only so many good deeds that I am capable of doing and still take care of my own life.
I recently saw the Walking Dead.
It’s a great series, not just for the acting, writing, effects, and eye candy. It’s great because of the portrayal of what happens when we don’t take care of each other.
The people in that series return to tribal status. They have found themselves with a group of people; they work for the better good. When they don’t, things predictably go wrong.
So, they bone up; they take care of each other the best way they can. It’s not always about being a better fighter, sometimes its intelligence, creativity, choosing to walk away, or learning to enjoy the moment. Every person has a place there; every person is important to their tribe.
We obviously do not do this.
We have the wealthiest nation on earth. We have the most powerful nation on earth.
We have a divided nation. The have’s are telling us, that there is nothing to be done to help the homeless, the poor, the disabled, the druggies. Nor can we afford to educate people. They say we can’t afford to help people that won’t help themselves. We cannot afford healthcare; it is not a right; it’s a privilege.
They think these people are lazy, unworthy.
They say this while the rich, the extremely rich get more tax breaks, broader control over the planet, more overall control over consumers. In other words, we spend our money foolishly on the wealthy.
We are a sick Nation, there are days I try my best in my own world to help the people around me, and I do these things selfishly because my world is better because of it. Then I feel better about my world.
I am a Seahawk fan. I am thrilled that they are now 4-0.
Isn’t it great that we have young millionaires playing a game. Owned by the super-rich who makes more money from people with enough money to buy tickets and merchandise to support this lifestyle.
( I say this knowing that so many of those players and teams do good things in their communities.)
Is this the best we can do?
Seriously, who would you rather talk to about life?
A football player, or a teacher, or a social worker. Who would give you the most wisdom regarding life?
I pull into a stop at Chinook street under the West Seattle bridge,
I lower the bus for an elderly man pushing his belongings in a rigged up cart of a dolly and plastic milk boxes.
It tips and spills his items out of the top milk box, some toilet paper, a half loaf of bread, a peanut butter jar, some clothing. He cusses. The 2nd milk box holds a pup tent. A young man with a skateboard who was waiting for his turn to board bends to help him. The old man starts to cry, and it’s obvious he is embarrassed; the young man gets things stacked again, pats him on the shoulder, then boards.
It’s about 230 pm.
I am pissed.
I have tears in my eye.
I drive slow to Avondale, where I take a left, head up a hill.
I am thinking a Zombie Apocalypse just might be deserved.
I am not kidding.

When People Dance

There is a saying, “dance like nobody is watching”

It refers to the internal struggle of accepting of who we, or you are, not to be inhibited by the stares and judgements of others.

Driving down Pine street today, passing a construction zone, the Paramount Theatre, the Carlisle club, a Sushi restaurant, an African American man mid-30s, dressed somewhat professionally, danced in the middle of the street, halting traffic and pedestrians as people reacted to the scene with caution.

First thought of course was “drugs” there was no music if you don’t count the sound of jack hammers, car noise and the emergency response vehicle siren bouncing of buildings in echo in the background.

There was a purpose to his dance, was first hips centered above his feet his shoulders in shimmy keeping time, I could tell his dance was in 4/4, his hips subtle swing, as someone would do at a disco, his head snapped up then he left the street with flamenco steps stage right then walked as any pedestrian would down Pine street to who knows where.

Maybe someday…

While Stopped

a Lovely brunette in her mid twenties is turning as the seamstress pins the hem

I pull into a stop on Greenwood Ave, I have a view of a Bridal Gown store, a lovely Brunette in her mid-20s is turning as the seamstress pins the hem, her Mom is taking pictures with a camera, a friend takes pictures with her phone. On my left I’m passed by an electric bike with the cargo spot in front carrying a set of what I think are twins, toddler age, I begin to get ready to pull out and am passed by a small car with a husky hanging out the window, he barks at the lady riding the bike, she veer’s to the right but manages to avoid hitting a parked car. Across the street the Fire House doors begin to open, a siren turns on and the flock of pigeons lined on a power line take flight.

Sunrise I’m at a stop, facing Mt Rainier, the foot of the mountain is pink, then is dark blue at the summit, the mountain dominates the seen as the buildings, cars, people become unnoticeable, sheep clouds are red underneath, then cotton white at the top. I watch the blinking red lights of a plane as its on its way to Sea Tac, my window is open, and the air is fresh as it gusts in my window. The early Seattle city planners designed the road this way and this is why we call it Rainier Avenue

I’m headed down a hill and stopped just before a busy intersection downtown, it’s Game day, there is a Seahawk fan in full garb, hat, coat, shorts, shoes and socks in hawk colors throwing a football to other fans across intersections, he points at me, I shake my head no, and he throws the ball over my bus and to another person dressed in garb on the other side. The crowd laughs and he throws the ball over to another corner, as I wait for the light, the ball has been thrown 4 or 5 times to different people. There is a dog pulling at the leash wanting to get into the game, a street singer saws “Go Hawks” on her microphone, the crowd yells “Go Hawks.” There is an old gentleman at a bus stop bench sleeping.

I’m at a stop that is by the front door of a small chain restaurant, they have a line on Sundays that goes about a half a block, people are drinking Starbucks, couples are meeting other couples, a family of 5 is carrying presents as to celebrate a Birthday. Inside the restaurant the tables are full, the windows are slightly fogged. At the door the hostess is calling the next table. I pick up a couple that just finished eating and they ask me if I go near the zoo. A younger man wearing a hoodie and headphones pushes by without paying or caring that he knocked food out of their hand, walks towards the back, they look at him briefly, shake their heads then find a seat in front. He gets off later at a busy downtown stop and pushes through the crowd, another younger guy swings back at him and hits him on the shoulder, he ignores it and goes into a drug store.

The crosswalk is full of people dressed in various types of garb, going left, right, phones, briefcases, purses, wheel chairs, bags of food, clothes, dogs on leashes, hats, sunglasses, scarves set up multi moving patterns of color that hints of the stories they are telling.

Burning Bush

My workmate and I chat as we scan, and often people chime in and join the conversation, we like this and we cover a lot of subjects

“What does it take to show an illustration
Of the hurt and the pain of a nation.
One glowing look upon a ragged canvas
Tells the story of our past and present situation“
Maurice White, EWF

Seattle has its perfect summer days, the kind of days where strangers meet at bus stops and say, wow, this is perfect, not too hot, breeze is nice, you can smell the sound the sea gulls and pigeons are busy, a couple of puffy clouds, its 5 pm the sun is behind the buildings the streets are shaded and people are heading home or to out door restaurants, shopping, boating, BBQ with friends, you can feel that people want to make the most of the rest of this day.
3 days a week in the afternoon my job description is “Orca Loader” which means I scan people’s Orca cards so they can go in any door of the bus, makes it quicker and easier for everyone…. But, lets be honest, and it hasn’t gone unspoken, my job is to show a presence, be polite, watch after people answer questions and try to give a positive experience, I consider this the best time of my week because I get to watch people, talk to people interact with the “parade”.
My workmate and I chat as we scan, and often people chime in and join the conversation, we like this and we cover a lot of subjects. As we were chatting about his 94 yr old mother in law that he adores, she’s Japanese, old family, old school, came to America when she met her husband during WW2 and the rebuilding of Japan, She is doing well, insists on doing the cleaning and keeps herself busy doing what she calls “women’s work”.
Across from our stop is a TJ Max, a “hang out” of some street folk, often the ones in wheel chairs, some are otherwise “handicapped” and they mix with others they know or chat with, liquor is poured, weed is smoked, and they party until they go their way. As I watch, one guy helps a paraplegic woman drink from a bottle, he wipes her chin and they laugh at something, then a gentleman is walking across the street towards us, older man, 70ish? Small bottle of alcohol in his hand, African American, white cap on his head, clean white T shirt, cacky shorts, He says, “ you gentleman have it made, all these nice looking young ladies, you never get too old to enjoy seeing them’
It is a pleasure I said, we get to meet and chat with all kinds of nice people, Mark here and I were just talking about his mom in law and who is from Japan… “ hows she doing? He asked… “ Shes good” Mark answered, still wants to do house work everyday… “ wow” “ I was in Viet Namn he went on, was there for a long time, spent time in Malaysia, the women are lovely and good women, yes, good women” he said as he took a drink. “ I spent a lot of time in other countries he said, Ive seen a lot of stuff, I love this country, it’s a perfect day, we shoot each other , we cuss each other, but this is a great place to be.. He went on to discuss the need for gun control, “people don’t need military guns, its crazy that people in church, school , anywhere get shot down…. For no reason !

“That old bush just keeps on burning
Nobody seems to show they’re learning
That old bush just keeps on burning.
I wonder will we ever feel the flame.”

“it didn’t used to be like this” I said, when I grew up, there weren’t mass shootings like this
“Well,” he said, I’ve traveled a lot, I love this place anyway, people seem to hate the little things now.. hate” “we were just talking about this” Mark said, my girl is multi racial and we had to deal with a few things, but not like this, “I married a white woman” he said, “she strayed a little, but I love her and we have a good couple of kids” “Sorry dude” I said, “lts fine, been years, what do you do? As his bus arrived he took another sip from the mini bar bottle, “you guys enjoy the day, tell those pretty ladies I said hi. We waved at him, Mark moved north of the st

“ Our way of life on total exhibition
Shows the way in which we live of an
Imperfect nation.
This tree of life so far from perfection
Share a little love to improve our situation”.

“Who do you work for” ?? she yelled…..
I looked around to see what was happening? “ who do you work for?? She yelled at me again,
“I work for Metro…. King County Metro Transit to be accurate… why?
“ You shouldn’t be talking to people like that” I was a bit shocked, I wondered if we had said something offensive, she was outraged….. “ did we say something offensive? I’d like to know……
“You work for the county and your talking to street trash like that!!!” I couldn’t think of anything offensive, so I asked her again, “ what did we say that offended you….. Id like to know?
“You were talking to street trash, its terrible, those people are terrible, you should be ashamed!!
My god I thought, what? I stepped away and leaned against the building, people moved from her,
I looked at her, mid 40s brunette, hair tied in back, glasses, jeans, shirt, then I saw the Trump 2020 pin. I got angry and knew I needed to shut up right now. (my job) She got on a bus , self-righteous, stepping in front of a couple of people who were in line.
I thought about the man, well mannered well spoken, a kind and likable face, He deserves that drink I thought, Vietnam vet, father, he did his time and lived his life, nothing he said was trashy or disrespectful, in fact…. I completely enjoyed my encounter. I was disgusted with myself for being off guard, breathless in the face of hate like that. This country has some serious problems.

“That old bush just keeps on burning
Share the hope for future learning
I wonder will we ever feel the flame”

Mission

He’s either foolish, or really good with that thing

As I took a right to continue down 3rd to reach Main street, a younger Asian male, 35-40 on a sport wheel chair, the kind used for track or basketball, the wheels are angled, he was gloved as he sped the wheels down the hill and passed me, this was the first time I had seen this man and as I watched him go down the hill and check the 4 way stop intersection and pass through without stopping, then aim at an access corner and pass an ill placed dumpster at something like 25 mph I thought he’s either foolish or really good with that thing… I hope he doesn’t go to my stop. The stop is by the Mission, usually quite a bit of dysfunction there, through the years, the Missions reputation has had its up and downs, I give them kudos for hanging in there and doing what they can.

Earlier in the week, at the corner of 3rd and Pike as I loaded Orca cards, across the street from me, a young blond girl that seemed too skinny, struggled while walking with her 2 pair of shoes, her lace up heals wrapped around tight jeans, with the heals sideways dragging on the street to the outside of each foot wearing tennis shoes, ever see that video of the husky wearing shoes? This is how she moved.
Behind her, an older man in at least his 70’s , long hair and long beard, worn jeans that sagged way down, not so whitey tidies……. He was bent forward with his butt against the building, rubbing it up and down, drooling, He had a white T shirt that appeared to not have been laundered for a while.
The blond started to cross the street towards us, buses slowed and let her go, her movements were reptilian. Think of the Chicken picking its way through the yard. She reached our stop and as people were moving out of her way and looking anywhere else, she arrived at the solar powered trash compactor, there were a couple of donuts laying at the foot of it, sun dried and pecked by pigeons then left in a crumbly pile, she reached down and broke off a piece and pecked at what she had, her blankness expression was breath taking, she then headed north up the street.
Back at the Stop by the Mission, I pulled in and indeed the Young Asian male was there waiting, as I opened my doors he ordered, “ I don’t need the ramp, just lower, and stay in your seat…. You drive, I’ll take care of myself” I wasn’t sure at first how to react, I was concerned about not lowering the ramp as there might be some law or regulation that would put my job at risk… I decided to pay him the respect and not lower the ramp. I tilted the bus anticipating what he might do. I was just a couple inches above the curb, he tilted his chair back and pushed/hopped into the bus, handled the corner, tilted back the chairs and strapped his chair in…. 2 or 3 times quicker than I had seen it done before. I raised the bus and pulled out.
I saw him again today, same stop, he hopped on secured himself in, when we reached his stop a West Seattle Library, I lowered the bus and he hopped off and said “ have a good day bro” “enjoy the weather” I replied as I closed the doors.