From Raucous Reality to Sudden Serenity

I'd rather have my mouth duct-taped to the tail pipe of a transit bus and drug naked through a prickly pear cactus patch while being chased by a pack of wild javelina than drive a bus load of school kids to/from school.

When I choose a run, I make a priority listing of what I want and what I don't want in a run. School runs and East Bay runs are always a deal-breaker. I don't do school runs and I don't do East Bay runs. Sundays off are a priority with me and I endure whatever I have to in order to have Sunday off. When I signed on to this new shake-up, I had to take a San Rafael run in order to get Saturdays/Sundays off. This means I eat up nearly two hours of my day in commuting. But, that's what I do to get Sundays off.

You can imagine my vexation and absolute chagrin when I discovered that despite my diligent and studious perusing of the available runs prior to my bid day, I completely missed the leviathon in disguise: Run 66, lurking in the brakish waters, waiting to devour the unsuspecting initiate!

On Monday morning I came to work, charged and ready to work. The morning commute into the City was a piece of cake. Nice looking and nice smelling, polite business people headed into the Financial District.

After my morning commute, I have a two-hour break. And it is what followed this two-hour break that made me want to walk barefoot across smoldering embers in an attempt to make it go away.

Routes 49 and 51 lazily wend through the backroads of northern Marin County. It's a beautiful route, taking two hours to complete. On my northbound schedule, I picked up only fifteen passengers. Compared with the slammin' jammin' 80's, this was the R&R to which I was looking forward.

At 2:01 pm, I started my southbound Route 51 ... and the "fun" began. I arrived at Marin High School where 25 students anxiously awaited my arrival. These kids, for the most part, are civil, have their fares ready and even though they talk loudly, they're not rude.

I arrived at the Redwood and Grant stop and another 15 students boarded my bus. I began to wonder, "What's going on here?" I drove to Vintage Oak Shopping Center, down South Novato Boulevard and then ... the leviathon raised its nefarious head.

As I rounded the corner of Sunset Parkway and Ignacio Blvd., I saw a mob of junior high kids from the San Jose Middle School at the bus stop. Pushing and shoving each other into the street, throwing backpacks around, punching each other and shouting to the top of their voices ... my heart sank! Oh my god! Is this my destiny?

As I approached the stop, three kids were pushed onto the road directly into my path. I thought, "What if I run over one of these kids? Who is going to understand what is going on here?"

There were forty-one of these hormonal-raging imps in all. There are only 45 seats in the bus. This means that twenty school kids were now standing in the aisle. "Great!" I thought. "This is just friggin' great."

I then drove into the Indian Valley Campus (IVC) of Marin Community College. At the stop, five students were waiting. All but one brave soul came on board, observed the chaos and decided to wait for the next bus. Now mind you, the next bus doesn't come for one hour. So loud and obnoxious were these kids that my potential IVC passengers would rather wait another hour than to endure thirty minutes with these hoodlums!

As we drove along Ignacio Boulevard, the stop request chime rang. "Hallelujah!" I thought. "Perhaps by some divine act, all of these @#&&*^%#'s will get off at this stop.

Not so! I pulled to the curb and NO ONE GOT OFF THE FREAKIN' BUS! By now I was pissed beyond belief. I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening: I had bid for a School Run. I didn't deserve this!

I gathered the necessary composure, put the bus in Park, unbuckled my seat belt and walked to the center of the bus. I delivered my "you ring the bell, you get off the bus" speech. I told them that every time the stop request bell rang, I would pull over. And ... if no one got off, I would get off the bus with my phone and place a call to my friend, or smoke a cigarette, or take pictures of the flora and fauna for 5 minutes before proceeding with the route.

Several howls of protest arose among the students as I informed them that there was a new sheriff in town and this was the way things were going to be. They lamented, whined, travailed, whimpered, scowled and groaned, but I told them to police their own.

The last of these hooligans finally got off my bus at Hamilton Field.

I thought, "Well, I only have 30 minutes of chaos." I then rounded the corner at Terra Linda where fifty-six kids boarded my bus ...

Between my morning commute and afternoon nightmare, I have a two-hour break in San Rafael -- only 13 miles away from the Marin Headlands. While driving home, sweat-sticky from the grueling day of driving 130, testosterone-driven, unruly and disrespectful stinky school kids around in my bus, it hit me: Why not go to the beach?

So today, I went to the beach.

As I laid down on my towel and listened to the sounds of an occasional gull crying out while the waves relentlessly pounded the beach, I heeded Robin Williams' charge to disregard the cacophony of the present, all the while "... sucking the marrow out of life." I opened myself to the soothing sounds of nature, all in preparation for what was to follow.

This afternoon I boarded the same youngsters as I had all week. But I heard in my head, the sounds of the waves crashing against the beach and all of a sudden, the leviathon diminished and whimpered as it dove beneath the surf, searching for a new initiate.

When Two Worlds Collide or Just Another Day at the Office

All of a sudden I simultaneously heard the crash and felt the lurch as I clipped the tail of another bus while pulling into the transit hub.

Shit! Psychologists say that if you curse, you actually do feel better. Shit! I can't believe I did this! I'm such a good driver, yet one instant of inattention brought two worlds into a collision course.

There are a lot of fortunate aspects to this singular event. Both vehicles belong to our fleet, no one was hurt, both vehicles were able to be driven from the scene, our excellent auto body department will have these two coaches up and in service quicker than you can drive the 80 route and service was disrupted only for thirty minutes on these two lines.

So now, the mandatory DOT (Department of Transportation) drug and alcohol testing, the paperwork to document my lapse of judgement, the mandatory suspension while the accident is reviewed. The humiliation and snickering of fellow drivers who aren't really glad that it happened, they're just glad it didn't happen to them.

I guess I needed a day off anyway. That's part of focusing on the bright side. So I'm sitting here at home, enjoying my second cup of coffee, writing on my blog, thankful that the accident was as minor as it was.

The City of OZ

Anyone who has ever traveled to San Francisco knows that the weather patterns here are as fickle as a grade school crush. On one moment and off the next -- yes I'm talking about clothes! Come now, how do you think the layered-look in apparel catapulted to the top of the fashion charts? Yep, it was heavily influenced by the San Franciscan lifestyle.

Each morning as I drive my commuter bus southward, I anticipate the view at the end of the Waldo Tunnel like a child anticipates Christmas morning. Every day, the City takes on a different look and on many days, more than one. Like a fashionista, changing outfits for a runway performance, the City effortlessly slides in and out of the fog and sun.

This morning as I exited the tunnel, the view was unlike any I had ever before seen. The entire city looked as if it was nestled on top of a huge feathered pillow of fog. The light, intensified by the fog, distorted the landscape into a light gray skyline, having neither depth nor definition.

In some ways, it can be compared to the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. In the movie, I remember the far-away city, glowing in the distance at the end of the yellow brick road. And that's the feeling I experienced this morning. I always have my camera with me, but taking photos while driving a commuter bus is not something that is recommended. I thought I'd missed the shot.

After finishing my commute, I drove my bus northward and as I crossed the bridge, the City was still riding the pillowed fog and so I pulled into the Vista Point parking area at the north end of the bridge. As I drove through the lot, I could see that I was not the only one to be hypnotized by this sight. The lot was packed (unusual for this time of morning) and a crowd of nearly two hundred people, most with cameras or using their camera phone option, were clicking away, documenting this glorious sight.

I parked my bus and joined the throng, hoping to catch a meaningful shot or two to share with my blog readers. So here you have it.

Enjoy!

Turkeys

Wild turkeys abound in the NorthBay area of California. During one of my breaks, I took a series of photos of this particular Tom who was rooting around the Gerstle Park area in San Rafael, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was in a suburban neighborhood, rather than the forested area nearby.

Turkeys are an intelligent bird, but can be quite destructive in backyard gardens and flower beds. Their constant scruffing and searching for food bits, keeps their bodies lithe and fit. Ever since a domesticated genetic line was introduced to a wild flock, the turkey population in the NorthBay (and in much of the U.S.A.) has never been the same.

And that's kind of like life. We're a homogeneous society, derived from many cultures, ethnic backgrounds and creeds. We're intelligent, tough and resilient, and yet when it all boils down to the minutiae, we're all just turkeys.

But that's okay. Here are some facts about turkeys:

... Did you know that Benjamin Franklin wanted the wild turkey (not the bald eagle) to be our nation's bird. Perhaps he had some insight into the wily hardiness of turkeys. While bald eagles nearly faced extinction and are now on a protected species endangered list, turkeys thrive despite the fact that 75 million of them are devoured each Thanksgiving. That's okay; I don't think Bald Eagle for Thanksgiving dinner would fit the bill.

... the first Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1621.

... the first turkeys were domesticated in Mexico and Central America.

... only the male turkey (the tom) gobbles -- the female (the hen) clucks.

... the average turkey has 3,500 feathers.

... of all states, Minnesota produces the most turkeys annually (is that a surprise?) and Israel consumes the most turkeys per capita.

... turkeys can fly up to 55 mph. I wonder if that's how the 55 mph national speed limit was decided back in the 70's?

L.etting O.thers V.oluntarily E.volve

I suffer from slogaphilia. I admit it. I'm not ashamed and I don't wish to retract the statement. "What on earth is 'slogaphilia' you ask? Well, it's a word I made up, but it means that I love slogans. I read every bumper sticker, every T-shirt, every belt buckle, every sign I happen to see.

This evening while driving the northbound 80, a young man wearing a maroon colored T-shirt, boarded my bus. Emblazoned on the front of his shirt in stacked block print were the letters

L

O

V

E

What followed each letter was the true message of the shirt.

Letting

Others

Voluntarily

Evolve

I thought about Darwin and his theories of evolution as well as natural selection and wondered about the slogan's origin.

When I got home, I Googled the phrase but could find nothing on the web with these four words occurring together.

In further ruminations about the slogan, it came to me that this was one man's way of shirking his responsibility to fellow human beings. A selfish modality that pretends to recognize everyone's individualism, but in truth, withdraws from any collective responsibility. While he might think that this is a safe plane, there is danger in this philosophy. If all people thought this way, who would there then be to help steer him, or others, clear of harm's way?

Surely we are not our brother's keepers, BUT (and a big BUT it is) our life experiences can and indeed MUST serve as guideposts along the trail not yet traveled by those who follow. As much as we would like to at times, we can't grab a person and force our history into their will and thus into their reality. However, the lessons we've learned must be passed along so that those who have an ear to hear, will do so.

As my father was fond of saying, "A word to the wise is sufficient, but a fool never learns."

The Good Samaritan

Domestic violence in any form is wrong -- plain and simple! If two people can't get along, there are plenty of options for reducing the strain and anxiety of a dysfunctional relationship. Divorce, separation, counseling, time-outs and so forth. But resorting to violence is an unacceptable option.

This evening as I pulled into the Civic Center bus stop (a drop-off only zone) a 30'ish year old, thin rail of a man with dark hair, sunken eyes that spoke of pain, gaunt expression and disheveled clothing apologetically came to the door of the bus and asked if he could please get on the bus. Before I had time to explain that this was a drop-off zone only, he quickly explained that he was leaving his partner who had, for the third time in as many years, beaten him and punched him in the jaw.

With this new information, I looked at him more intently and saw that the left side of his jaw was puffier than the right and that it was starting to bruise. He said he was desparate to leave the City for a safer place in Marin. What was I to do? I of course let him board the bus in order to assist him in his search for a safe haven.

I finished dropping off the remaining passengers on my bus and by the time we arrived at the Trans-Bay Terminal, we were the only two people on the bus. I pulled the bus to the curb and as I set the brake, I turned to look at the still-seated man. He asked me what the fare to San Rafael was and when I told him, he began searching his pockets and wallet and then began to cry. I could clearly see and feel his pain. My heart ached to apply a soothing balm to his soul.

In an instant, I reflected on the parable of the Good Samaritan who went out of his way to not only rescue a man who had been beaten, robbed and left for dead, but who also provided for this same man's sustenance during his recuperation period. The Good Samaritan was set apart by his compassionate actions. Nowhere in the Bible do we learn anything more about this victim. Nothing is said about his race, gender, political swayings, sexual orientation, religious belief system. Nothing is said about these things because perhaps, just perhaps, they are not important.

It could not have been clearer what it was for me to do. I printed out a San Rafael transfer and handed it to him. I opened my lunch box, took out my ice pack, wrapped it in paper towels and handed it to him. "Here, take this and hold it against your cheek." I then pointed out the location of the northbound bus stop. "The next bus will be here in less than ten minutes."

A grateful man then extended his hand and even without uttering a word, the look in his eyes was clear. Nothing more needed to be said. I stifled a lump in my throat and as my eyes began to moisten I thought, how blessed I have been.

Conversations

Conversations on a bus are interesting. The dynamic is such that a large group of totally unrelated people from all walks of life, get on a bus. They selectively choose who to sit with and who to avoid based upon appearances (and sometimes smells) alone. And then, they decide to either remain quiet or engage in a conversation with a total stranger, or my favorite, pull out their phone and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!

A very drunk young man dressed in a pin-stripped suit, with rumpled shirt and tie in disarray got on my bus and announced in a very loud voice, "My girlfriend just dumped me!" He then walked two seat rows back and sat next to a young blonde haired girl of about 18 years and proceeded to explain in detail what led up to the breakup.

Seated in the front seat, a dowdily dressed middle-aged woman took out her cell phone, placed a call and then proceeded to order a book from Amazon.com. She provided, with great clarity, her name, the correct spelling, her credit card number, expiration date, mailing address and phone number. Wow! Talk about an opportunity for identity theft. She couldn't have made it any easier for a nefarious eavesdropper.

Four young men dressed in baggy pants and black ball caps on backwards, boarded the bus, paid their fare and swaggered to the back. There they proceeded to converse, every other word being a derivitive of the "F" word.

I had to get on the overhead speaker and ask them to clean up their language.

Two Hispanic ladies, excitedly talking with each other, obviously about something thrilling, because interspersed in their conversation with each other, I hear squeals of delight. I wish I understood Spanish better -- or maybe not!

A middle aged man, dressed in a dress shirt, tie and slacks earnestly tries to convince someone on his cell phone, that it is in their best interest to approach their client in a certain way. He was fairly careless in his conversation because the client's name was mentioned several times and the pros and cons of their business proposal were clearly heard by those around him.

Earlier in the day, a woman received a call from the principal's office, with news that her son would be in detention after school for some kind of school infraction. As soon as she sits down, she calls her son and loudly scolds him for his intolerable behavior and the inconvenience that she will now have to endure because he missed the bus home.

In the wheelchair area a sexily dressed lady strikes up a conversation with a man at least 20 years senior to her. Her non-verbals convey her interest in this man and it doesn't take long until he too shows his interest. He moves from the seat behind her to the seat across the aisle and they continue their conversation. By the time we arrive at her stop, business cards with phone number are exchanged. As she walks to the front of the bus, she turns to steal one last glance and as she does, she winks at him.