How much?

Several times a day, while boarding passengers, I hear a single question prefaced with absolutely no information. And, with this question, I am expected to provide an informed response.

The question? ----- "How much?"

How much what?

... do you weigh?

... pain can you endure?

... wood can a woodchuck chuck?

... can you drink without passing out?

... is that doggie in the window?

... pizza should I order for Monday night football with the guys?

... time before we go?

... do you love me?

So ... how am I to respond?

Of course I know they mean "How much is the fare?" But, we have nine different fare zones, and in order to accurately answer the question, I need an inkling of an idea as to the intended final destination. That being said, I'll admit there was a time when I was a fairly accurate mind-reader, but that ability began to diminish when the last of my three children moved out of the house. It's kind of like the "use it or lose it" concept.

During one such verbal exchange I was finally able to elicit a response from a man concerning his intended destination. He boarded at the Golden Gate Bridge and wanted to go to Santa Rosa. When I told him the fare was $8.80, he opened his hand to reveal exactly eight dollars and eighty cents, which made me ask myself, "Why did he even bother to inquire about the fare?" But then again, this is the bus business and dealing with people is what hones my skills, tunes my wit and prepares me for survival in the event that I am chosen to be a contestant on Survivor Island.

In November of last year, our youngest daughter, a victim of the recession, lost her job; three months ago, she moved back home with her four cats, and with her return, I am pleased to report that my ability to read minds is improving.

The SQT&F Team

Several times each week, Golden Gate bus drivers are called upon to transport members of the SQT&F team to home bases scattered across the Northern California area.

“That sounds mighty prestigious,” you say, but then realizing you don’t have a clue as to what you’ve just said you ask, “Just what or who is the SQT&F team?”

Well, let me enlighten you. The SQT&F team is an acronym for the San Quentin Track and Field team. You didn’t know San Quentin had such a team did you? Yup they do and their team color is grey with white Converse tennis shoes.

Two to three times a week the SQT&F team’s van, adorned with a California State Department of Corrections logo on the driver door, pulls into the San Rafael Transit Center and off-loads anywhere from six to ten team members, all dressed in grey sweatshirts and grey sweatpants.

The team leaders (guards) dressed in army green utility suits, packing iron and stun guns, dutifully hand out manila envelopes to each team member as they exit the bus. We later discover these packets contain money, personal effects, directions to the nearest parole office and any other lawful pieces of memorabilia the team member was able to collect while in training (prison).

Before boarding our bus, each has to successfully maneuver an obstacle course that would make contestants of the Amazing Race or Survivor Island look sophomoric.

The first test is the 10 meter cigarette dash. For this challenge, each team member must exit the corrections van, gather his manila folder and run to one of two convenience stores located at either end of the main terminal and successfully purchase at least one packet of cigarettes.

The second test of endurance is the treasure hunt. After collecting his cigarettes, each team member must find “a light” from any unsuspecting bus patron waiting for his/her bus. Bonus points are given to the team members who score a Zippo lighter.

The third test involves the team members ability to convince an unsuspecting patron that they "absolutely must" use his or her cell phone to place a call (usually to their homie, drug dealer, girlfriend or other connect that is an obvious violation of their parole).

The fourth test is THE BEER RUN! This test utilizes team members' abilities to carry out clandestine activity without gaining the attention of the team leader.

This test inherently carries with it the most risk because alcohol is a violation of all parole. In this test, the team member must enter the restroom area at the transit center and when the team leader is not looking, sneak out the back door, bolt one and a half blocks to Perry's Deli, purchase two 40-ouncers, run back to the transit center restroom and emerge with the booty discretely wrapped in his sweatshirt.

The fifth phase tests the intelligence level of Team Golden Gate. This test has two parts. In the first part, each SQT&F team member must try to convince the bus driver that they lost their transfer and in their plea successfully board the bus without payment of fare.

In the second part, the team member with the hidden alcohol must go to the back of the bus and successfully drink both 40 ouncers without drawing the Team Golden Gate member's attention.

Sadly this phase is where most team members lose, but the resourceful ones who were able to pull off the beer run and additionally prearranged a set of civilian clothing secreted in the bathroom by their accomplice, make the change to civilian life with flair and panache. These are the SQT&F team members who will rise above and become the Bernard Madoffs of tomorrow.

The others, sadly, will be returned to training, only to be released again to Team Golden Gate.

Take your Shirt OFF!

Wow! What an interesting day! I'm sure I'm not alone here, but just in case none of my readers has ever felt this way, let me explain. I'm not totally pleased with my body -- you know, I'm always looking at aspects of other men's bodies and asking God why He chose not to endow me with those certain unalienable parts (wait no that's "rights" and that's from the Declaration of Independence -- sounded good)!

Anyway, I read an article in the Chron (San Francisco Chronicle) today about Paul Newman. Here is a man born into a life of wealth with ne'ry a worry or care. He led a charmed life, surrounded by family and friends who cheered him on and now that he's gone, he's known best for two things: his incredible blue eyes and his success in the salad dressing industry. Go figure!

That being said, I'm definitely not Paul Newman, nor Harrison Ford, nor Omar Sharif (I had to mention Omar because my wife thought he was a hunk in his hey-day) nor anyone close to that (although some have said that I look like Andy Warhol (just teasing)).

When you think about it, It sucks being an average Joe unless you're Joe Namath but the downside of that is that you get stuck doing car advertisements with old women!

Now don't you dare tell me you can't relate to these feelings because EVERY MAN I know who has access to my blog is AVERAGE at best!

So, this past Saturday and Sunday, the temperatures soared into the low 100's putting quite the strain on the HVAC (heating, ventilation, air conditioning) systems of our buses and put them to a test for the first time this year.

YEP It's kind of like the first pitch of the season that defines the pitcher and makes or breaks him for the rest of the season. Can you imagine what would have happened if the Giants' Tim Lincecum's first pitch of the season would have fallen short of home plate and just kind of dribbled over the plate? OH MY GOD!!! There goes his paycheck! But it didn't and he's still the fastest pitcher in the west and awed by us mere mortals even though he truly is a scrawny, scruffy kid with a physical prowess that comes no where near that of Michelangelo's statue of David.

My point is this: Some buses achieve while others falter. So today, as I relieved another driver, I climbed aboard one of our buses. When I did, I felt like I was walking into a sauna. The HVAC system was definitely not working. The still heavy air was permeated with scents of untreated body odor. I mumbled alound, "Gosh it's hot in here!"

A diminuitive lady sitting in the front seat responded, "Why don't you take off your shirt!"

Her remark startled a nervous laugh out of me and as I glanced her way, she winked and said, "I might be 70 but I'm not dead honey and the likes of you could send me to heaven!"

That was the highlight of my day!

So I now walk about proud and thank God that He has indeed endowed me with not all unalienable parts but certain unalienable parts to be sure, and as I ponder this I think to myself, "Tim, please don't take off your shirt!"

What's in a Name?

What's in a name? As parents, we took pride in carefully selecting names for each of our children. We didn't want common names, nor common spellings, and we didn't want names that could be rhymed with obscene or vulgar behavior.

My parents chose my name with the same amount of care, but for some reason, "David" is just not a bus driver's name. That being aside, Golden Gate has sixteen Daves or Davids. I wanted a uniqueness, a masculine and catchy moniker by which all would come to know and hopefully love me.

When I was a kid, my dad's best friend was Howie. It wasn't really Howie, it was Howard, but Howie sounded better somehow and I liked it, but I wasn't a Howie. Another of dad's friends was Mac and he drove a semi-tractor trailer. He was a big burly guy who smoked cigars and his name fit him, but I wasn't a Mac. Gus was another name. Dad car-pooled to work with a man named Gus and let's just say I'm not a Gus.

And so after some thought, in deference to my parent's choice of names, I took the initials of my first and middle name and became "DJ." Now that's a bus driver's name! It sets me apart; there are no other DJs in the district. And, in this new era of green, DJ is a great name, if not for anything else, it takes less ink to write it!

Changing Gears

Changing gears is a term I first came to know as literally shifting a transmission from one gear to another. With the advent of automatic transmissions coming standard on most cars, the younger generations are probably lost on the root of the phrase. Even so, changing gears means something entirely different to me. You see, at 50 years of age, after a satisfying thirty year career in law enforcement, I "changed gears."

I still remember the 1999 Police/Fire Associations' Christmas Dinner. My wife and I sat next to a charming man who began to chat with us as easily as if we had known him forever. His name is Ted and to this day, is a dear friend.

Ted retired from the Fire Department and was young enough in mind and physique to take on another full-time job. He had always been interested in BIG machines like bulldozers, fire trucks, semi-tractor trailer rigs and so it seemed appropriate when he was lured to the call of the road as a Public Transit Operator for the Golden Gate Bridge Highway and Transportation District.

He sang the praises of the district and of the job; my curiosity was instantly piqued. Ted invited me to ride along with him on one of his morning commuter buses and I did. The only term I can use to explain what happened next is "viral." You see, one ride is all it took and I was convinced, even though my retirement was three years in the future, that I would one day be a proud driver for Golden Gate Transit.

I was hired by the district in October of 2002, went through the twelve-week training class and graduated as a full-fledged bus driving cadet in January 2003, but by May, lay-offs began due to monies needed for required bridge retrofit projects and I knew that the axe would land and it wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

Our eldest daughter was to be wed at the end of May, our son was at San Jose State and our youngest daughter was at Sacramento State. The thought of losing my job was tough because I needed the paycheck to balance the lives of my family. So, with great reluctance, I resigned from the district and went to work for Sonoma County Transit. What's so interesting about these two transit entities are that I left the best job ever and took on the worst job I have ever had.

The three years at Sonoma County Transit were a desert experience for me: dry, unhappy, unfulfilling, draining ... and many other negatives. I might blog about that sometime but for now, I choose to not dwell on the mundane as life is too short.

In January of 2006, I received a call from one of the district managers, informing me that Golden Gate was to resume hiring and asked if I would be interested in getting my job back. Is the Pope Catholic? Heck yeah I wanted my job back. The rub was that I would have to re-apply, re-test and if hired, go through another entire twelve-week training course.

I would have done it even if I had to stand on my head for twelve weeks because to me, Golden Gate was the promised land and I was about to escape the shackles of Sonoma County Transit.

And so it was, in May 2006, I was re-hired by the district and once more resumed the "best job I have ever had."

Seven years' worth of experience, stories, vignettes, and so on have transpired and much has been forgotten. I have been proded by many to use my gift of writing to share my life with others but until now, I haven't found a forum or medium suitable for the on-going chronicle of my life: that is until I found BLOGGER.

So here goes ... I hope you all enjoy reading and commenting as much as I have fun composing and posting. And why the name: Sonomarinsco? Because my buses drive through Sonoma, Marin and San Francisco counties. Clever eh? I thought so.

Ciao