That Crazy 7.

I haven't left my house in four days because of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, so I have no recent bus stories to report. However, just because I have been a shut-in doesn't mean I haven't heard great stories.

Our good family friend, Ceci, has lived in Seattle since 1991. She's bussed it around town for 20 years now and has plenty of stories to share. In fact, over the weekend she told me two great stories about the 7. Oh yeah! The crazy, dangerous 7. But it wasn't always so scary and dangerous.

The first story was about how, in the middle of the night, the 7 was the only bus that would come around her neighborhood (the Capital Hill area). The driver was really weird and instead of displaying the "7 DOWNTOWN" or wherever the destination is on the front top of the bus, this guy's bus read simply, "DISNEYLAND." Everyone knew it was the 7, and the regular riders knew the driver, so it was okay.

The best part about this driver was he entertained the passengers during the whole route. He'd talk to them, sing over the microphone, you name it. When your stop came, he wouldn't open the door to let you off until you smiled at him. He cared more about the smile than the fare. Certainly most people would have smiled anyway at how bizarre the experience was, but some people were tired from work or irritated about something and didn't want to smile. He wouldn't open that door until they gave him a grin.

The other funny 7 story involves a bus stop at 10th & Aloha on Capital Hill and snow. The City of Seattle just isn't equipped to handle snow and ice. The hills are dangerous when slick and the drivers just don't know how to drive in wintry conditions. Anytime it gets icy, the news is filled with videos of buses sliding around, getting stuck, and drivers in fender benders.

The guy driving the 7 on the day I heard about was the most super bitchin' bus driver EVER. Ceci had gotten on at (or near) the stop at 10 & Aloha. This was before the 7s were articulated. Realizing he would have no control over the bus going down the sloping hill -- and rounding the turn at the bottom -- he pulled over and stopped the coach.

"Everyone, I'm gonna need your help to make it down this hill. I need for you all to sit by the windows on either side of the bus."

Better balanced, the driver set forth down the hill. He didn't accelerate. He slid. Well, according to the story, he slid partially sideways down the center of the street. It was slow, controlled, and amazingly deliberate. At the bottom of the hill where the turn was, the bus was already sliding in the direction of the turn and made the turn in the most natural way. Thankfully there were no other cars trying to drive on any of the streets in the path.

Nowadays, all of the 7s are articulated. Today, this story would be on KIRO News about the double bus that jackknifed on the Hill. That day, passengers made it safely to their stops, but I'm sure they were pretty scared when they got there.

MAIL HANDLER

There's an older man who rides the same Express buses as I do. I never see him in the morning, but I see him all the time at night. This man is terrifying.

He gets on by the 7-11 in Kent - next to the trailer park. His name is MAIL HANDLER. I call him MAIL HANDLER because he always wears a black satin jacket that has a local mail handlers' union insignia on the back. He's kind of a big guy, always pissed off, loud, and very aggressive. MAIL HANDLER is looking for a fight. He is the stereotypical postal worker, and yet not, because the mail handlers have their own union. And don't you dare forget it!

MAIL HANDLER is rough, that's for sure. I try not to make eye contact with him. I always have my iPod on, so I'm usually not aware of him unless I see him get on at my evening bus stop or until he gets up in the bus to leave. Every time his stop is coming, he gets up way too early. He has to walk all the way from the back, and the route leading up to his stop is bumpy and full of sudden stops. So MAIL HANDLER ends up stumbling a few times, cursing, and getting upset.

A very nice woman who rides my night bus gets off at MAIL HANDLER's stop. I don't know her name, so I'll call her Mary. She looks like a "Mary." Mary said when MAIL HANDLER catches the bus in the morning at her stop, he will go out of his way to have a rambling conversation with her. Mary knows better than to start talking with him; he won't stop trying to talk with her. So she just smiles and nods. Great idea, as you certainly don't want to inadvertently make him mad.

MAIL HANDLER likes to loudly complain about the driver, the weather, the stops, the bumpy road, and the people he passes. I don't think he's 100% mentally there, because no one can be that pissed off all the time. He openly leers at women as he's getting off the bus. If someone has their bag out in the aisle, he'll say something about it. He'll get to the front of the bus, then plop down next to an unsuspecting passenger in the front and wait for his stop, glaring at the person until it's time to pay and leave.

I am afraid to add a picture of the union logo from the back of his jacket in case he sees this somehow. I don't think he knows how to use a computer, but I can't risk the asskicking he would certainly give me.

Mmmm...Cake!

I resume my usual bus schedule tomorrow morning, so I'll have plenty of morning stories to share. Until then, let's review one of my favorite Facebook Teasers.

This story was told to me by a co-worker. Not only do I witness crazy stuff on the bus myself, other people tell me their stories. Never a dull Metro moment! This is how I know where the majority of bus routes go in the city.

So, co-worker was riding the 7. The 7 is a notoriously scary bus that goes through a notoriously bad part of downtown. She was riding it in the morning, which makes it a little better. At night, forget it. Handicapped riders have been beaten up on it and waiting for it. It's that bad. I think they have had to place security personnel on it at night.

There was a lady on the bus talking loudly on her cell phone. There's usually one annoying loud cell phone talker on the bus. In my case, it's an Asian woman - Vietnamese, I believe. She speaks very loudly with machine gun speed. On the 7 that morning, it was a woman speaking Slang. (I'd much rather hear Slang than a totally foreign language before 8 a.m.)

The loud talker was speaking with a friend about a man. She was upset with him and discussing his recent activities over the phone. I believe it started with her complaining about him not taking care of his babies, going out with so-and-so AND so-and-so, and the like. The most important portion of the conversation happened during a heated part of the dialogue and went exactly like this:

"That guy's a fucking asshole! Imma bake his ass a cake!"

According to my Facebook Teaser about this incident, I heard this story on October 12, 2011. I'm still laughing about it and wondering what it meant. I have heard a great deal of Slang in my lifetime, but I have never heard this particular phase. I think it's hilarious.

I have heard of people using the word "cake" to describe something easy or a delicious pastry. I don't think the gentleman sounded easy and the details show he's not worthy of a delicious pastry. I have heard "bake a cake" as in having sex, but really, the loud cell phone talker seemed a little to angry to want sex with him. So I'm at a loss for what it means.

Now that I'm away from work where I can search Urban Dictionary without guilt, I'm looking it up. Behold! I have found the answer! To "bake a cake" for someone is a phrase that comes from Southern origin. You would think I'd be familiar with it, but it is apparently a commonly used phrase by the street gang The Bloods.

"Imma bake his ass a cake" is the same as the lady saying she's going to kill or murder him. Actually, "I'm going to murder his ass."

Now I think it's clever. She just confided in her friend that she wanted to kill this guy, or at least had considered it, in code. Just in case he turned up missing. Or in case she actually carried it out. The whole bus was wondering why this guy was getting a cake for being an asshole. I thought he was getting the Asshole Of The Year Award or something.

My Favorite Nigerian Bus Driver

Every so often there's a bus driver that you just like. I try to get the 6:10 Express bus out of town, but every so often I can't run fast enough to get it and I get stuck on the 6:30 Express bus. The 6:10 bus takes me up the huge hill by my apartment, whereas the later bus stops at Kent Station, where I have to wait for 30 minutes for a connector bus to take me up the hill. Or I could walk it, but it is a very steep hill.

One night I was running for the 6:10 bus, and I missed it. Dammit! I waited around for the later bus, irritated and sad. When the later bus finally arrived, I walked on and was surprised to see the happiest driver ever. He was all teeth, smiling like nobody's business. "Welcome," he said to each passenger as they got on.

I took my seat behind the articulation (i.e., the Camel Toe). For some reason I had removed my earbuds, which is unusual. We pulled away, down 2nd Avenue. Then, I heard the driver announce the streets for the next stop. Not uncommon downtown, but this time there was a twist: He sounded like a Nigerian porn star.

"SSSssseneca and Ssspring," the driver hissed through the intercom as smooth as a light jazz radio station D.J. Well, a Nigerian light jazz radio station D.J. I looked up, amazed, and giggled a little. We stopped, picked people up, and continued along our way.

"Mmmmmadiison and Mmmmmmarion," hummed my new favorite bus driver. "Ssssseattle Art Museum." I was cracking up laughing at this point.

"Colummbiaaahh and Cherrrry" were the next streets. The sultry roll of his r's was killing me. This really was the best late bus I'd ever taken. Other riders were laughing, too, by now.

"Dis is dee last stop in the Rrride Frree Zzzssone." Okay. I put my earbuds in now because we're about to get on the freeway. He shouldn't say anything else until we get to the Des Moines exit. I've got to listen when he announces the other stops, but it'll be about 30 minutes until we get off the freeway again.

We merge onto I-5 and navigate through the West Seattle Bridge traffic into the carpool lane. And then -- BAM! The driver floors it. The bus accelerates quickly for its size (it's a double bus with the Camel Toe). And when the articulated buses are going really fast, the back end of the bus sways like a boat on rough waters. I'm guessing he was going about 75 or 80 miles per hour. We were swaying dramatically, passing other motorists like they were parked. I was simultaneously becoming scared and motion sick.

The driver was probably laughing to himself, remembering his bus driver training in Lagos in that rundown hunk of junk. He always wanted more, and he promised himself if he ever really made it, he'd never take his new life for granted. He sure wasn't. He pushed that Metro as hard as he could, catapulting us down I-5 like a steel lightning rod.

By the grace of God, we made it to the Des Moines exit. He failed to announce the stops once we got off the freeway, though. I was disappointed. We stopped at the first few and let people off. Then, someone rang the bell to get off by the golf course at an isolated stop. The driver flew right past it.

"Hey driver! You missed my stop!"
"It isss alrrright. Just a meeenut."

So he stopped at the next stop and let the lady off. He continued missing stops - flying past them. He seemed to know the route, but either wasn't interested in stopping or I was giving him too much credit for knowing the route. I got off at the last stop, Kent Station, which he knew he had to stop at. I got off the bus, laughing a little, and paid my fare. He told me, "Aaa man! Have a good night!" He was still smiling his crazy, pleased smile.

I made sure to try to ride that bus when I could, and my favorite driver continued barreling ass down I-5 and blowing past requested stops. I think he got fired, because I haven't seen him in a while.

The Old People Quickie

A few years ago, my girlfriend and I used to take the 41 and the 66 to Northgate Mall from downtown. The ride wasn't too long, and we didn't have a car because we lived in the city. We would walk down, get a bus to Target, and bus it back.

There is a Park & Ride right across from Target. Park & Rides, for those who aren't familiar with U.S. public transportation, are places you park your car and catch a bus somewhere. You return later and get your car in the giant parking lot. Park & Rides are great because they increase your chances of getting a bus quickly as tons of buses go through them.

The 66 and the 41 used to pull into this Park & Ride, turn the engines off, and wait for 15 minutes or so before boarding and departing. During these, the driver could go to the restroom, smoke a cigarette, and hit up Target for small things. One day, we had gotten out of the store and headed over the the Park & Ride to catch a bus home. The 41 was pulling away, but the 66 was still waiting, dark, locked up, and quiet. We waited patiently, and that's when we saw it.

(Photo courtesy of Examiner.com)

The Old People Quickie! Ugggghh.

We saw the driver inside the locked Metro stand up near the back. He moved quickly over to his seat and proceeded to start the engine. Just as he opened the front door to let us is, an older woman emerged from the back of the bus. Both driver and lady looked very happy.

We stayed in the front part of the bus for the ride home. Guess that gives Park & Ride a whole other meaning, doesn't it?

The Man Who Sounds Like The Devil

To those of you who are not familiar with the Seattle Metro downtown routes, there is such a thing as the Ride Free Zone. It starts just before downtown and goes almost to the Space Needle. From 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., you can ride any Metro bus through town for free. This is great for tourists, people who live downtown, and drunken, drugged up train wrecks who prefer the comfort and safety of a vehicle to the street. The Ride Free Zone is also where most of the buses leaving town originate.


When I lived downtown, my apartment was right next to the last stop in the Ride Free Zone, which made it handy to get home without walking up Yesler hill. Yes. Yesler. I lived in a pretty rough area, but the view was unbeatable. The 27 was the bus that went up there, and there was never a dull moment on it. After my stop, the 27 would continue up the hill into the even sketchier parts of that area. The ones Sir Mix-a-Lot used to rap about. "23rd & Jackson, lookin' for some action…."


So, my friend Heidi and I used to wait for the bus together on 3rd by the Wells Fargo building in the afternoons. She would get on the (also entertaining) 36, which always came before the 27. The 27 was always late and about every other time, would not show up at all. One evening, as we were chatting about something, we heard the scariest sound ever.
It was the voice of the Devil.


The Man Who Sounds Like The Devil was one of the people you see downtown from time to time. Actually, you hear him long before you see him. That's what made him so frightening. His voice was the scratchiest, loudest voice ever. Very deep, like a booming P.A. system, and slightly metallic. It sounded almost like someone had tried to rip this guy's throat out but he'd escaped and swallowed a microphone that was always on. Really, it was a decibel and tone that wasn't human. It was like no other voice either of us had ever heard.

The Man Who Sounds Like The Devil had plenty to say. He talked almost non-stop, mainly to himself. No one could understand what he was saying because it was so loud and deep. And garbled. It was not unlike listening to a record being played backwards. He was quite the conversationalist, and he wasn't so out of it that he couldn't chit chat with those around him; however, no normal person would want to talk to him because his voice seriously messed with your soul.


When the 27 arrived, I boarded right away. We had settled in and started rolling down 3rd when I heard it coming from the back. "GWAH HA%THARU[PJFNWE,D!" The Man Who Sounds Like The Devil was also taking the 27! When the utterance flew from his Satanic mouth, heads shot up in unison throughout the front half of the bus. People looked around, horrified, in search of the Beast. Eyes were wide and fearful as people looked around to see where that noise came from. His voice was so deep and thunderous it could be heard from the driver to the back seat, over noise cancelling earbuds. It drowned out podcasts, erased words from Kindles, and woke up the intoxicated. He continued "talking" the whole ride home. Each time he spoke, it was like something had hit me in the back and knocked a little wind out of me.


I was very relieved when we got to my stop. He was an intermittent 27 rider. I never got used to hearing or feeling the voice of The Man Who Sounds Like The Devil.

Slash and Her Man

Since I've been riding the early Express bus into Seattle for the past week, there have been no exciting stories for me to tell. The early passengers are all business people. There was a guy in the back who looked just like a young Ice-T today, but that's hardly exciting. It's time for me to reflect on past bus experiences.

Perhaps the foulest, nastiest thing I've ever experienced on any bus was Slash and Her Man. It was two years ago in the spring. I was on the Express bus to downtown, along with a very full bus of professionals going to work. I was sitting in the front. We stopped at the last stop before the freeway, and a very dirty man in a wheelchair got on.

Immediately the stench permeated the bus. "Good GOD!" I thought. It smelled like a mildewy old tent that several people had chainsmoked Pall Malls in. One that had been left out in the baking Arizona sun. On the hottest day of the year. And a thousand heavily used Odor Eaters. "How could one person smell so bad?" Other passengers around me subtly covered their noses and mouths with their scarves, sleeves, whatever was handy.

Then, the man in the wheelchair was joined by Slash from Guns N'Roses. It was a woman, possibly homeless - possibly just really REALLY filthy. She had long, curly/wavy black hair, and she was covered in a scabby rash (face, neck, arms, legs above the socks, everything that was visible). She really did look like Slash, even down to the leather top hat she wore. She secured the wheelchair down and sat across from him in the sideways seats. I was facing him and she was sitting two people over from me.

I looked for another seat, but people were already standing. I was stuck, wedged between my old bus mate Shannon and someone else. The smell was seriously getting to me and I thought I might throw up. People in the back were opening the pathetic windows trying to get fresh air in. All the while, the moldy, hot air was killing the rest of us.

Slash had started rummaging through her plastic bag for something, and after a while pulled out a sandwich. Actually, not just a sandwich. An ALBACORE sandwich. (I swear to God I'm not making this up.) The only thing that could have made the smell worse was fish. And there's Slash, wolfing down an albacore on white.

I stared blankly out the window for the next 35 minutes, imagining myself in a botanical garden, a Glade factory, anywhere else that would have smelled decent. I got off the bus and went to work, traumatized, and continued to smell that horrid smell until after lunch. I couldn't eat. In fact, I was worried I had taken on the smell in my hair or clothes; I asked coworkers if I smelled bad/funny. (They swore I didn't.) Damn that was gross.

I saw Slash a few other times, but only once with Her Man again. One time she was on the same morning bus, and she'd removed her leather top hat to brush her stiff, thick hair. She obssessively removed the loose hair from the soft bristle hairbrush and let the hair fall behind her seat. She smelled mostly as bad as he did, but it was (luckily) only single-power that morning because Her Man stayed home. Another time I saw her walking by the old Rite Aid on Pike Street and 4th, smoking a cigar. She did get on the Express bus again with Her Man, but I got up and ran to the back. I took a bus friend with me. I can't just save my life without saving others.

This is Ted Nugent. He has nothing to do with the story, but this pic came up when I was Googling Slash.

All Aboard!

Here it is! The blog about my bus rides in the Seattle Metro area. Ride along with me as I see the finest in public transportation. I have ridden the Metro for six years now and have seen (and smelled) plenty.

As you'll see, I'm usually entertained by people acting weird on the bus. Every so often I see really good things happen. Actually, I can remember seeing good things happen three times. One of these times was on the 60 going from Capital Hill to my old apartment near the International District.

At one of the stops along Broadway, and an older homeless woman got on. The driver asked her for her fare, and she had no money to pay. She was only going a few blocks up, so the driver let her on. It was a very cold afternoon and the woman wasn't wearing shoes or socks and had on a worn jacket.

As promised, the woman ringed the bell to get off after a short ride. The driver asked her why she wasn't wearing shoes and noted how cold it was outside. She said she didn't have any and exited the bus. The driver set the emergency brake, got up from his seat, and told her to wait. He then pulled his wallet out and gave her some cash. I was sitting close to the front and could see he had given her twenties.

The woman was shocked. The driver asked if she knew where the Value Village was (two blocks away), and told her to go get some shoes. She told him it was too much and tried to hand some of the cash back to him. The driver waved her on. "Then get two pairs of shoes AND a warmer jacket."

As he got back into the driver's seat he shouted out the door, "And if you get on my bus again without shoes, wearing the same jacket, I'm going to be pissed!"