Many thanks to Jane Hu, who first interviewed me for Slate during the dark days of COVID, for hosting me on this episode of City Cast Seattle. I love talking with her, as you can probably tell– check out our conversation, which is the first segment of the podcast below!

​City Cast Seattle: Affordable Eats at T-Mobile Park, Amazon Lawsuits, and Building Community on the Bus

More about Jane Hu, who's written for every worthwhile major publication you can think of, here.

​Originally written 7.29.2018. Every word still rings true:

Yes, they vary wildly in temperament, outlook, attitude... but isn't that what you want in a group of people? Look at them. There are so many reasons to become an operator, and accordingly you really do have all walks working here. There was a time when most any trade or service job paid enough to raise a family with; those days are long gone, and with them much of the middle class. Bus driving remains a unique anomaly (to the point that saying thank God for unions, as I do, is less a political statement than a practical one).

Some of them are authors, musicians, pastors, comedians, teachers, here so they can afford to live their passion. There are students, morticians, sports coaches, sneaking in for a few hours before heading off to the rest of their lives. Some of us have doctorates and MFAs (when the bus drivers in a city have four year-plus degrees, you know there's something wrong with the job market...). 

For others, this is highest-paying job they've ever had. The gateway to a new life in a new country, a job that actually pays enough to make the dream real. Others are single parents raising children, or homebuyers, or here because the benefits will cover procedures and operations that are important to them, their families, paths to having agency over their lives. Or it's a second career, something you always wanted to do for a few hours a day. 

Some of us just like to drive. The heady mental rush of stimuli.

Some of us appreciate the faux-military nature of the outfit, perhaps familiar from earlier days. Others enjoy having coworkers who speak their language, who pray in their tongue and that of their forbears. And some of us really, really like the people, forwarding the tradition of being on this Earth to serve others. You know how it feels better to help others than to be helped, better to give than to receive?

What all of Metro's drivers have in common is an remarkable amount of aptitude and responsibility. By any reasonable yardstick of measurement, it is difficult to get hired here.

Every driver you see succeeded in jumping through hoop after hoop of licensing certification, written tests, appointments, aptitude tests, equipment knowledge, intensive customer service and operations training, driving tests... they showed up early to class every day for a month, because they knew if you're one minute late, you're gone. 

They stayed up nights studying for the CDL walkaround test, memorizing all the different parts of the bus and what to look for when inspecting each one, so they could recite it and demonstrate their knowledge with no notes and no mistakes, as required. 

They prepared for the infamous air brake test, the one so many of my friends have failed, which involves verbalizing and executing a series of fairly complex actions in a specific order. 

They tried their hand at the even more infamous driving test, where you're thrown out onto the streets of Southcenter, with the full knowledge that if you run over even one curb, you're toast, and it's six months of waiting before you can reapply. It's six months of waiting with no guarantees if you fail at any of the above. All of my colleagues set themselves up for that challenge, applied themselves, knowing the stakes, and managed to succeed, every step of the way. 

I find that impressive. 

They show up to work now in uniform, every day, signing in within a grace period that's measured in seconds. I imagine each operator is probably the most time-aware person in their respective friend/family groups. I know I am....

When I wave at my colleagues driving past, I wave out of solidarity. Only they know, truly, what it feels like to be behind that wheel. The particular aches in our shoulders. The way you can process the entirety of the city's demographic and traffic flow geography instantaneously, on a micro and macro level. How we can roll our eyes together at the zany and ridiculous chaos of these multitudinous streets, together knowing the weird safety in not expecting people to be reasonable or do things that make sense. We've learned the weird bliss of not asking too many questions, of exchanging logic for humor. 

I love you all, my fellow brothers and sisters in arms. I love the lively chatter at Atlantic Base, and I love the mellow rhythms of North. I love you when you're happy, resilient, healthy in mind and body. When you help a blind customer cross the street... and when you succumb to the pressure and abandon your better selves. When you're insecure, standoffish and angry. It has its challenges, this gig; but we do it together. I even love you when you're watching that awful news channel on the North Base TV set. (Meanwhile, somebody please grab the remote....) But most of all, during every moment you inspire me by trying to be a good person.

Jack, Jesse, Patricia, Kristina, Paul, Abiyu, Ibrahim, Catherine, Michael, Mitch, Mandeep, Mohammed, Greg, Dawna, Abdi, Brian, Tyler... the way they love the people. The way they keep an even keel, through all this ridiculous madness. Apathy is easy; they put in the discipline for something greater.

Siret and I, both running late today, planning out a way to share the load using two buses leaving at the same time. The Control Center won't help us now, at the height of rush hour; we figure it out ourselves, with aplomb. Our combined efforts result in him getting a break at the terminal he wouldn't have gotten otherwise– and he spends part of it with me, sharing food from his home country by way of thanks, in brotherhood.

The way we breathed a grin of exhausted relief at the end of the busy trip. No one else can understand the unique multitude of things contained in that grin. That's the swagger I'm honored to be a part of, and excited to share on this blog with you.

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Things I've learned from other operators.

Jonathan Evison, the NYT bestselling author and recipient of numerous literary awards, has been called "the most honest white man alive." Read more about Evison here. I feel lucky to be the inaugural guest for the 2026 year of his long-running podcast, "A Fresh Face in Hell," which is billed as "a podcast that challenges its audience to find inspiration and creative renewal in a challenging time." Hopefully the interview below gets within at least shouting distance of that. Thank you, Jonathan!

A year and change after Shawn Yim’s passing (read my essay on him here), I find myself having thoughts. 

I notice that where there should be answers, there remain only questions. In 2024 I wondered if this event might finally be the one to galvanize our elected officials into taking action and cleaning up our city (remember, it's not Metro but our local governments we should be looking to: it isn't buses that are unsafe, but Seattle at large). 

Unfortunately such hope has thus far gone unrewarded. 

Nothing, not even fentanyl, is as addictive as maintaining the status quo. And the status quo bothers me because it favors the few over the needs of the many. It isn't just that people like Richard, Shawn's murderer, are suffering; it's that folks like Shawn, and Richard’s murdered roommate, and all their friends and family, have to suffer too.
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People who are a danger to themselves and others should not be left to rot in public, nor to act out as they please, with no regard for their neighbors. We naively believed people would obey laws even if there were no consequences for breaking them. We hoped people with problems would proactively self-select their own healthy solutions. What beauty there is in this optimism. I wish we lived in that world. 

We do not. 

Apathy is simply too easy, too tempting a thing to enact, especially if it's dished out to you daily. My friends on the street feel abandoned, ignored, and despised, and they accordingly respond with their own version of the same. As long as securing a job that pays for rent remains nigh-impossible; as long as basic needs and mental health solutions hide behind a forest of bureaucracy; as long as society works to make each person feel isolated, unheard and alone– violence will remain what it always has been: a voice for the oppressed. An opportunity to feel liberation, power, however briefly. A way of finally being seen. I see the satisfaction some of them take in annoying or scaring normies like me, they, who have a degree of struggle, and a degree of freedom, the rest of us will likely never know. 

Recently my entire bus was harassed by a screaming person with schizophrenic tendencies who refused to leave my bus, resisting every polite, respectful, cajoling, and finally firm attempt by me, even after I was out of service. No help responded, and no security was in sight. All I could do was sit there as he ranted, myself a prisoner to his whims and his schedule, forced to watch as he declared he had COVID and commenced coughing on me, reaching up over the shield. I noticed I was shaking afterwards.

We live in a city where such behaviors go largely unchecked. If you've never been a victim of street crime, this is easier to tolerate. If you have, it becomes harder to remember that systemic oppression enables and causes these behaviors. You notice what is also true, which is that Jeffrey (that was his name) in no way felt oppressed. He felt what he paradoxically also was: free. Jeffrey can be himself however his brain dictates, acting out against whomever and wherever he chooses, without consequences. What problem? I saw genuine joy as he toyed with me, and the others, a brain running on profane and gleeful overdrive. Any student of anthropology knows that societies cannot function without restrictions on individual freedoms; but how much freedom is too much?

In my recent Elliott Bay talk I was asked how one would solve Seattle’s homelessness/safety/mental health/drugs problem. At the time I fumbled for an answer. If I were answering now I think I'd say that I don't think our elected officials or other power brokers will ever succeed in fixing the crisis... unless they can be convinced that it's a for-profit venture. I'm terribly sorry to sound so cynical but in our capitalistic society, I unfortunately think that's the only thing that will provide liftoff. Sort of like how the environmental movement didn't meaningfully get going until they figured out how to turn it into an excuse for people to buy stuff– cars, light bulbs, and so on. 

The crisis needs to be presented either as an opportunity to make tons of money, or a scenario that is currently preventing the making of tons of money. And the thing is, it is possible to make that argument, with reference to declining property values vis-a-vis real crime and perceived crime, all of our closed storefronts, Seattle’s growing reputation as a dangerous place, etc. But this argument would have to compete with the current state of affairs: not solving homelessness is clearly very lucrative for somebody. I’ll let others do the finger-pointing here.

Whenever this eventually gets solved, it will be too late. For now, more years will pass, and my friends on the street will continue to thrive within the confines they're given. As people rendered invisible by the system, some of them will continue to treat those around them with corresponding inhumanity. My colleagues and I will still be harassed, intimidated and maybe killed. My female friends– drivers, passengers, commuters– will continue to tell me the horrors they've suffered on buses and sidewalks, horrors which leave scars that never go away.

My street peeps will tell me of the stunning inhumanity only they know, how it continues casually, a tide you can hardly fight against, the barrage of constant messaging telling you you’re worthless. We wonder why they walk into the middle of the street. I think of Delillo’s line from Underworld every time: “If you [believe] your life is worth nothing, only a gamble with death can gratify your vanity.” They will continue wandering out there, hoping for contact, and I will continue to deny them the pleasure. They may not value their lives, but I do.

My passengers will go on telling me how they're investing in weapons, cars, tasers, e-bikes, plans to move away, plans to change their hours– anything but this. As the only person on the bus not allowed to carry a weapon, the only person not allowed to leave a dangerous situation, I listen politely, trying to remember the difference between real solutions and mere Band-Aids.

And the systems in power will sing their considerate song while ultimately doing nothing for either side. Loneliness, the disease of every epoch but especially ours, will continue seeping into our blood, spreading, raising the walls between us until we forget that we are made of the same clay and have most of the same experiences.

We will also continue to have hope. 

We will imagine better worlds and wonder why our leaders aren't similarly interested. It will still feel electrifying to connect, commune, assist, contribute. The buzzing altruistic rush we feel when we connect with another, when we bring someone joy and belonging; who could forget how much better it feels to give, than to receive?

What I hope most for in writing this despairing essay is to be proven wrong. I want our city's exciting new leadership to quickly render the above problems dated and obsolete. I dream of a day when the selfish apathy of our time reveals itself as a facade. When all our basic needs are met, and for that to be evident to us, because only then can we begin caring for those around us. Only then can empathy blossom on a large scale. 

We will survive, meanwhile, and we will hope. We will take small steps toward goodness. It is what we can do, and what we have to do.

​Better late than never– here's the full video of this very special event. I'm so honored to have been invited to that hallowed stage, upon which so many inspirational luminaries of mine have trod, and to be privileged enough to share the stage with the great Tom Eykemans. That it was Elliott Bay, and not just Elliott Bay but a standing-room only, sold-out event at Elliott Bay humbles me beyond words. I know I don't deserve this. Thanks to everyone who came– and to those who tried (afterwards, I was told of someone who tried to attend and rode the 8 to get there… but true to form, the 8 was so “L8” that she missed the entire event!! Big virtual hug to whoever you are, for making the effort!).

I also wanted to use this blog space to expand upon some of my replies in the Q&A. It's hard to come up with something in the moment, in front of an audience, in a way that you feel represents your views well enough to withstand the perpetuity of internet-land. As you can see, I fumble for what to say when the estimable Ryan Packer asks his question about what the solution is for Seattle's homelessness crisis. It really is the million-dollar question of our city. My answer, upon further reflection, is a big one, though I'm reluctant to share it right this second– it involves Shawn Yim, who's on my mind after passing almost exactly a year ago. Give me more time to find the right words. (For now, click for my essay and NPR interview from the time of his death.)

I also fail to give a straight answer when answering another great question– how to reduce the distance between management and operations, a distance which is the cause of so much inefficacy and strife not just at King County Metro but pretty much every other bureaucratic or corporate space. Thankfully the solution for that question is simple, even if I couldn't come up with it on the spot: hire internally. 

Enjoy the full event below! More on the book, including many more videos and other press, here.