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.

Puffin' on the Bus

Sometimes I just don't get how it is that people can do the lamest things on a bus and believe it's okay. Lame things like peeing on the floor, putting gum under the seats, talking loudly on a cell phone, carrying on a conversation with a friend who is sitting six rows away, drinking alcohol, having sex, opening the window which is actually an emergency exit, letting a child run up and down the aisle while the bus is moving, changing a child's diaper and leaving the crap-filled diaper under the seat, to name a few.

I've seen them all and sooner or later, a story will be posted about each, but today's blog entry is about puffin' on the bus.

Several years ago, while driving late night 80's, I picked up a fairly attractive young lady at a bus stop on Van Ness. Her eyes were blown (full pupils, no iris color), her speech was slurred and she was in a trance-like state. (Hint -- think drug abuse).

Since I've shed my law enforcement authority, I have to ignore this aspect of human behavior. Eight years ago, she would have been going to jail and booked on an 11550 H&S - Under the Influence charge, but since I am no longer a cop, I just have to let it slide and let her ride the bus.

As she struggled to put her fare into the box (another hint -- dropping coins in an over-sized slot is not like a game of chance; it's just not that difficult), I noticed that she was tightly grasping a cylindrical glass object in her right hand. (another clue -- it was a crack pipe).

I gave her a short speech about the perils of drug abuse and focused my fatherly lecture on the evils of smoking crack on public transit buses. She promised that she would obey the rules and not light one off until after she had reached her destination.

She walked to the back of the bus (another hint -- the back of the bus is where shit happens) and settled into the last row, corner seat. I adjusted my rear view mirror so I could watch her as I drove, to ensure her compliance with the "no puffin" rule.

All was good as we drove down Van Ness; all was good as we drove down Lombard. We passed the toll plaza and all was still okay on the bus. As I passed beneath the south tower of the bridge, I began to feel a smug sense of satisfaction in my abilities to get a message across. Maybe, I thought, some people did listen and did understand the dangers of drug abuse.

But then, I saw it. I saw a spark of light from the back of the bus and then the pungent, acrid smell of crack cocaine. How could she do this to me? Here we were, mid-span, and there was not a thing I could do about it at this point. It was well past midnight and no road supervisors were available. My last hope was in the Bridge Police who I had just passed at the toll plaza. What was I to do. I made an announcement on the PA, ordering her to stop smoking which she didn't heed.

I quickened my pace to Marin City where I opened the doors to air out the bus, walked to the back of the bus and ordered her out. She said she wasn't leaving unless I gave her a transfer. Two of her fellow male passengers decided to take on the role of saviour and challenged my authority to turn her out of the warm bus and into the cold night.

I invited them as well to leave the bus without a transfer. When they refused, I informed them that I would get them a transfer and proceeded to call the Sheriff. When they protested, I explained that they had asked for a transfer and I was accommodating them by offering them a transfer into the back seat of the next available police cruiser.

With that, the dope smoker and her newly found friends left the bus and I continued on my way.

"But the other driver ... "

Driving a bus should be fairly easy, aside from the external challenges of maneuvering through traffic and avoiding taxicabs, unlicensed drivers, road ragers and of course challenging passengers. But, bus operators shouldn't have the added challenge of having to explain away the negligence of other bus operators. Sad fact however, is that we do.

Now every large public entity has a list of rules and regulations longer than both forearms. And, to some extent, I can understand why employees would be reticent to "study" the rules with the same fervor as that of a second year law student cramming before the bar exams. But there are a dozen or so ground rules that every bus operator should know and enforce; it just makes things easier.

However, the lazy, lackadaisical operators (and there are not that many) who don't enforce ANY rules, make it difficult for the rest of us. We know all too well when one of our passengers has encountered one of these operators when I explain a rule to a passenger and they reply, "But the other driver doesn't do it that way."

Just last night, I had a half dozen of these conversations.

Marin County Red Tickets:

Marin County issues $2.00 vouchers that look like raffle tickets and they're red. They are issued to charity cases through homeless service centers, hospitals, soup kitchens, the Salvation Army and any number of non-profit service agencies. These tickets are good for one trip on any Marin local bus. That means they can be used to travel anywhere in Marin county as long as the bus (not the passenger) doesn't leave Marin County.

Last night, while driving the route 80 (a bus that passes through three counties) no less than four people presented the infamous "red ticket" for a ride. When I explained that "red tickets" were not valid on the route 80, each of them responded, "But the other driver let me use them!" Now I have no doubt that the other driver let them and I tell them so, but I also tell them that "the other driver" is not following the rules.

While three of the four passengers accepted this explanation, the fourth proceeded to argue with me. One of my passengers in the front seat, tired of the exchange, started in on the passenger and gave him the what-for. She told him to just pay the $*@(^)@! fare because he was holding up the bus.

After he relented and paid the fare, he went to the back of the bus. The passenger that spoke up for me said, "I know you can't talk smack to the passengers so I did it for you!"

Driving up Lincoln Avenue:

The last three route 80's of any given night take a slightly different route than the other 80's. They go through downtown Sausalito and after serving the transit center in San Rafael, drive up Lincoln Avenue.

Last night as I turned onto Third Street, a passenger in the front asked why we were going a different route. I explained that the last three 80's of the night drive up Lincoln. His response: "But the other driver last night didn't go that way."

Bicycles on Buses:

All of our buses are equipped with bicycle racks that carry two bikes. We have three-bike, bike racks in the warehouse, and why we don't get them installed I haven't a clue, but every now and then, I'll have to refuse service to a bicycle because my rack is full.

I approached Tiburon Wye with two bicycles on the rack and as I pulled into the bus pad, I saw a passenger with a bicycle waiting for me. When I came to a stop and opened the door, he asked, "Would you open the back door so I can load it in the back?" I explained that I could not allow bicycles in the bus.

His response, "But the other driver let me do it last night!"

Excessively Large Luggage:

... to be continued