I will preface this post with a disclaimer: I love TriMet and sing its praises here often. I’m grateful that, for about the price of two tanks of gas, I can commute all month. I meet lots of interesting people, and observe lots more. I love the time it gives me to ponder the universe, to experience aromas not meant to be shared. A good commute is a group effort, and while it can’t go perfectly all the time, I appreciate it when everyone tries.
Yesterday? Not so good..
TriMet’s drivers change shifts and routes every three months, unless they have enough seniority to keep a favorite route. I’ve noticed as the end of a sign-up approaches, the service gets spotty at times. Not all lines, certainly not all drivers, but it’s happened enough that I’ve noticed. I got a dose of Power-Trip Driver today.
Bus service in my neighborhood isn’t as frequent on weekends, and non-existent nearby; I have to walk twelve blocks to the bus stop on Sundays. I’ve done this enough times to know how long it takes to get there, what time the bus leaves and how much leeway I need in case they improvise with the schedule. The last part of the trek is about two blocks of straight-away under an overpass, with the bus stop at the far end. I knew it was close. My cell phone displays the same time as on the reader board inside the bus, and I had a minute and a half until the scheduled departure time. The bus began to pull out just as I reached the rear bumper. “HEY!” I yelled, waving my umbrella. The girl with the open window looked out at me, the bus hesitated for a second, then lurched into traffic, clearing a yellow light and heading off into the sunset, leaving me huffing and puffing and ready to beat the living crap out of the bus stop sign with my umbrella.
I didn’t wish the driver a happy mother’s day, but the word “Mother” got a workout. With a few added syllables.
I had fifteen and a half minutes to build a rage, or calm down and resign myself to the fact that I’d simply be on time, instead of ‘casual-early’. I chose to relax and plan my revenge cool and calm-like. It’s so much more satisfying that way.
What to do? Complain? Drivers like that always pull this crap at the end of the sign-up, so that by the time the complaint is forwarded they are on a different route anyway. Nah, I’ll just check on him via Transit Tracker. Maybe that minute and a half will keep him on time the rest of the day, and I will have done my part for the greater good of my fellow commuters.
Not the case. By the time I got downtown, we were four minutes behind him. Which means it was probably a miserable ride, filled with drunken buffoons, high-maintenance fare requests and standing-room-only coziness. I counted my blessings, and hoped that minute and a half was worth it. In hindsight, it was most worth it to me. Peaceful ride, no standing. Exactly on schedule.
Which brings to mind my favorite Bus/Karma story. A long time ago, in a neighborhood not so far away, I boarded the bus to work. A group of bozos that looked like they were fresh from a taping of The Jerry Springer Show were making comments about everyone as they boarded the bus, saying it low but just loud enough for people to hear. I heard their comments, their giggles, then their uncontrollable giggles. Their words were unkind, uncalled for.
As they got up to disembark, I turned and gave them my best Manson eyes. (Charles, not Marilyn.) I pushed a bunch of hatred their way, hearing ‘CrazyCarrieCrazyCarrieCrazyCarrie’ in my head and wishing telekinesis were a viable force. I’ll be goddamned if it didn’t work. Their bag of groceries burst!
As their mood went from obnoxious superiority to embarrassment, they began rounding up the two-liter pops and canned food. I felt something bump my foot. It was a runaway tomato. You know how you roll a hard-boiled egg to loosen the shell for easy peeling? Their tomato got that treatment with my shoe, right before I ever-so-gently sent it rolling to the front of the bus. Bon appetit, motherfucker.
So instead of complaining to TriMet, I choose to believe that the driver, by scoring his little victory over me, got his just desserts by enduring an hour’s worth of job-related hell. I flashed back to my tomato-stomping bit of revenge, and decided that was good enough for today.
I reiterate: This rant has nothing to do with 98% of TriMet’s drivers. It’s directed at the 1-2% of the drivers who should be driving light rail or vacuuming buses and staying the hell away from the public. The purpose of TriMet is to get people from Point A to Point B, not indulge personal power trips. I understand dealing with the public can be stressful, and I suppose watching older, overweight people attempt to run after a bus has its sadistic amusements, but if you’re gonna do it, make sure the person you’re embarrassing and leaving behind is someone who deserves it.
Otherwise, hope and pray my foot never meets your tomato.
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