The Elder Bus Driver

Sorry I haven't posted any new stories in a while. I am being sucked into the time vortex known to those on the outside as "tax season." I'll try to be more prolific.

The afternoon Express busses change drivers every season. About a year ago, Express 1 got a truly hateful driver. He was an older guy with white hair who was always pissed off. Let's call him the Elder Driver.

There's no reason to be pissed off on Express 1, but this guy sure was. We're good people; quiet, respectful, professional. It's not like this guy had to be crappy with us because he was fed up with us. He wasn't driving the 358, for God's sake.

If you ran for the bus, he would stop, take in a deep dramatic sigh, then tell you to arrive earlier next time. If you flagged him down, he'd open the door and yell at you for making him stop. He waited for no one, but at the same time he wouldn't take off like other drivers. Elder Driver wanted you to fully understand his frustration at having to pick you up and take you somewhere.

If you didn't have your fare ready, he'd get upset. If your ORCA card didn't go through the first time, he'd get upset. He was quite vocal and fully animated. If traffic was heavy on 2nd Avenue, he'd curse loudly at the BASTARDS in F*CKING traffic. He'd slam on his brakes for no reason, not caring that he just cut someone off and half the passengers nearly fell out of their seats.

When it came time for riders to get off, he'd yell at them. "Hurry up, we don't have all night!" Everyone on his bus would be upset by the time they got off.

He looked a little like a rough, slimmer Kenny Rogers. There was no Dolly Parton, which may have been the cause of his displeasure. He lost his Island In The Stream. That is what they were.

Once I arrived at my bus stop seconds after everyone had boarded. He'd already shut the door. I waved and smiled, knowing what I was in for. Elder Driver stared me down and angrily opened the door.

Elder Driver: [siiighh] "You need to be waiting at the stop when I pull up."
Me: "If it's that much of a problem for you to let me on, I'll just catch Express 2."
Elder Driver: [Stares, hands on seated hips.]
Me: "Really, it's not that big of a deal for me. I see it's a big deal for you. Never mind."
Elder Driver: "No, no. Get on!"
Me: [Getting on the bus.] "It's your job to pick us up and transport us, you know."
Elder Driver: [Grunts.]

When I got home that night I did something I've never done; I filled out a complaint form at Metro's web site. So did many other regular passengers. He was much more pleasant about a week later, so I think he heard about it at work. Elder Driver drove Express 1 for about 3 months.

In any case, Monday night's bus ride was not worthy of a post. The bus was on time and the ride was average. We took the long way around Kent Station, which was unusual but I figured they were doing road work at the corner or something. I pulled the cord when my stop approached, I walked up toward the door.

Elder Driver yelled at me a couple of times back in the day for walking up to pay before he stopped.

"DO NOT EVER CROSS THE YELLOW LINE. I can't see the curb FOR GOD'S SAKE! JESUS."

So I have been programmed to never pay until the driver has the curb lined up. I waited until the bus stopped, and walked up to pay. The driver laughed and said with a huge smile, "Hey! Ha ha! I remember this is your stop from last time I had this route!"

Yep. It's Elder Driver. He's baaaack. And apparently he's on some happy pills.

I'm sure he'll go off on someone, so I'll keep you posted.

This is Kenny Rogers. He would probably make a great bus driver, especially if he sang the stops into the speaker.

(Picture courtesy of allmusic.com.)

You gotta know when to hold 'em. Know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away. And know when to run. And you damn well better know how to ride Metro right.

Moustache Man

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to tell you about Moustache Man.

I've given Facebook teasers about him for a long time, and I've been avoiding writing about him. That's because I do not like him. I don't like him at all. Usually I tolerate just about everyone on the bus, if not because they're pleasant, because they are entertaining. I see hundreds of people a month on the buses and 90% of the time I have no opinion one way or the other. Moustache Man is a little different.

Moustache Man is a regular on the Express buses. He's been riding them longer than I have, so he knows a few people on the normal routes. He's been irritating me since I first started riding the Express buses almost four years ago.

As I've said before, I used to sit in the front of the bus. I had a few people in the morning that I'd chit chat with. Sometimes the morning people would ride the afternoon bus, and the chats would continue. Usually at night I don't want to talk. I want to zone out, sleep, or just think. The bus is actually the place where I can relax. My home is a busy one. The long bus rides are my last chance for peace before going home. So I have limited myself to who I talk to. I have found that if you talk to someone once, they expect it.

One evening as I was staring out the window in the first forward facing seats, Moustache Man plopped down in front of me in the sideways seat. He looks at me and begins talking.

Moustache Man: Blah blah blah blah [His lips are moving but my earbuds are in]
Me: [I remove the earbuds.] What's that?
Moustache Man: I see you're on this bus a lot.
Me: Yeah.
Moustache Man: And you're always listening to music.
Me: Mm hmm.
Moustache Man: What are you listening to on your music player?
Me: Music. [Tone changes from conversational to informative.] Uhm, this is my last chance to relax before I go home to my kid who is usually very loud. I'm going to continue listening to my music.
Moustache Man: [Sour grapes.] Oh, okay then.

And that was it. I started a reaction within that man's soul. From this warm summer evening in 2008, he has been hellbent on talking to me.

I wish I had this power on everyone.

Before I continue, I should give you more background on this guy.

• He stares people down until they talk to him.
• He smiles and waves at the regulars, even though they don't talk to him.
• I believe Moustache Man thinks I'm a total prick with a terrible life. He just wants to make me laugh. That would complete him.
• He wears sunglasses even when it's dark and stares at people.
• Seriously, he was banned from the morning Express bus because women had complained to the driver that he was intentionally rubbing his leg against theirs during the bus rides.
• Not only did he rub legs on purpose, he also got off behind the women and walked behind them until they got to their offices. It happened to like five different regular bus riders. He's a full on creep.
• He did sit next to me months and months ago on the middle sideways seats and he did not rub his leg on mine.
• He reads a children's encyclopedia of the presidents. Either he's reading up to become a better conversationalist or a Jeopardy! contestant. He's not cool enough to go on Jeopardy!.
• He looks just like a younger Dennis Franz from NYPD Blue, but he's super short.

This is Dennis Franz from NYPD Blue. If he tried to lure me into a lame ass conversation on the bus I'd be pissed at him, too. (Photo: SFGate.com)

In the days following our botched conversation about my "music player" (WTF: Is it a Fisher Price boom box or something?) Moustache Man took on a different side. He became the victim. The victim of my silence. He would stare at me until I looked over at him, then he'd look forlorn and shift his pathetic gaze out the window. This happened numerous times. I even tested it thinking I was the crazy one. Nope. It was him. He was playing a weird bus game with me. I did not like this.

I absolutely cannot stand people who play the victim. It might be in my Top 5 Pet Peeves.

Soon, when he'd stare at me I would respond with a glare. A really hateful, ugly glare. Icy daggers shot right through him. He would look so sad, eyes darting nervously around. My friend who has a very pleasant face and personality puts on her "Philly Face" in public so people won't mess with her. I haven't been to Philadelphia, but apparently I could fit right in.

He waved at me a few times and I sneered at him. He put on his sunglasses to stare at me, and while I sat peacefully listening to my "music player" I raised my middle finger to him. Then I smiled.

I am not the glaring type. I laugh everything off. I'm never mean to anyone. Except Moustache Man. I had nothing against him in the beginning. But this "Oh poor me - I just want to talk to you" thing really irritates me. Yes, I'm funny. I don't want to entertain someone for an hour a day. And really, Metro rules state you should respect those around you. That means leaving them alone when they ask you to.

Moustache Man would watch sadly through his cheap sunglasses as I laughed it up with the Fijian I.R.S. agent, the front desk gal from the chiropractor, and the security guards who work the Husky games. Sometimes he'd start talking to the people next to him, glancing back at me repeatedly to make me jealous. This made me even happier to talk with the cool people.

It's gotten to the point he won't sit near me. I think my scary looks have started freaking him out. The other night I had the last open seat on the bus and he skipped by me.

I won the game.

I get what Moustache Man's problem is. He's lonely. That is sad. Loneliness sucks, but a grown man playing a pitiful me/victim game with another grown man on the bus -- and you don't even know each other? That is why he's lonely. Well, that and the pervy crap he pulls on the ladies.

This is a Philadelphia bus. I would totally get my ass beat on one of these.

(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia.)

Saturday on the 150

I've been waiting for something busworthy to blog about. I've started having to work Saturdays, which gave me the perfect excuse to ride the 150. Riding the 150 gave me the perfect subject matter for a new blog post.

 

I rode the 150 to Seattle in the morning, then caught it again going back to Kent. I went all the way to Convention Place. For bonus points, I also caught the 168 to Maple Valley up the hill near my apartment.

 

In the morning:

• I just missed my intended bus and had to wait 15 minutes for the next one. I jogged for it, but it still took off. I will chase an Express bus and certainly a SoundTransit, but I'm not about to chase a 150. If I miss it, it's fate.
• I got on an early enough 150 to catch the "still drunk from last night" crowd, the ex-cons freshly released from the Kent RJC (jail), and those headed downtown for their Methadone.
• There were several men who got on the bus, stumbled to a seat, and passed out. The bus had pockets of stale alcohol air, but no one barfed. That was a Saturday morning miracle.
• A guy who did run for the bus got on and sat down. He was decked out wearing M.C. Hammer shoes, vertically-striped dress pants, and the biggest jacket I've ever seen. It was a giant, navy blue, synthetic animal. It was downright plush; like a very soft blanket stitched into a jacket. Really, he looked like the stereotypical pimp.
• Across from him was an older woman with super crazy hair. I would let her off the hook because I think messy hair on women can be adorable, but she took a nail file to her nails and that super grossed me out. That powder can become airborne.
• The guy in the blanket jacket (which I want, by the way) moved his bags where I could see them. The bags were clearly marked "My Belongings." They weren't hospital bags. They were jail bags. He is a pimp.

The Pimp is on the right. Nail File Lady is on the left. She's got a crafty black bar over her eyes so you won't recognize her. It's an action shot from behind the articulation...the bus was moving.

In the afternoon:

•  The 150 always has groups of Japanese students on it in the afternoon. They either get off at the International District/Chinatown Station or they ride the bus to Southcenter Mall in Kent. This group chose Chinatown. I had mixed emotions about them leaving. One of the guys was sitting next to me, leaning on my arm. While it was irritating, he was clean so I couldn't complain. We were headed toward Sodo and really, he didn't have leprosy like the Sodo zombies who might take his place.
• At the next stop, which was the Stadium Station, a family got on. A couple and four children. There was a tweenaged girl, two boys who were probably seven years old, and a very small kid. One of the boys sat next to me. He rivaled my son on the hyperactivity scale, although he was a lot happier. This kid was in motion the entire trip and bumped into me probably 50 or 60 times. I'm used to being a human pinata (my kid bumps into me, money comes out), but I would have said something to my son if he'd been so careless.
• The father in this family was a white man with a doo-rag. It didn't look like he was wearing it on a dare. He seemed nice enough, but I question his braids being kept under wraps.
• Doo-Rag Father was sitting in the articulation next to a man who was dosed out. I'm talking heavy Vicoden or Oxycodone. In addition to having a bitchin' moustache, he had a bag from McDonald's and a coffee. I was sure he'd pass out and drop the goods on Doo-Rag Father (and get his ass beat), but he maintained the whole way to Kent Station. His eyes were rolling back in his head and he had the tell-tale opiate sweat going on, but he kept a grip on his Mickey D's. I bet his name was Alejandro.

On the bonus 168 trip

• Doo-Rag Father et al continued their leg of the trip up toward Maple Valley. I stood for the ride because of a huge mass of people that crowded on. I'd been one of three people waiting at Kent Station for 25 minutes for this bus. The 180 from SeaTac came (a rough crowd), and those heathens smashed their way on in front of me.
• There was an older couple at the back of the mass. God love them, they were a collective mess. They had come from some Kent bar where NASCAR re-runs were being televised and they had been swiggin' the Old Milwaukee. They had twangy accents, but not near Tennessee. I'm going to say Eastern Arkansas or maybe Kansas. The guy was holding the lady from behind, both to hold her up and to keep her warm. She saw the little kids in the Doo Rag family and went nuts. "Loookit chu! Awww www ww! Whuda purtty girrrl!" And when the mass started shoving to get in the door she slowly called out, "Ohh Gawd! Let them bayybies git on fuurst!"

And that's pretty much it. Just your typical 150 crowd out enjoying the sunny Saturday.