I'm at the 3 terminal in Queen Anne, walking around Rogers Park. Six PM, and the sun is still streaming across the open lawn. Far away from the madness now, literally walking on greener pastures and chomping on my pesto sandwich. I stroll about in aimless circles, food in one hand and book in the other. I'm doing that odd dance with my hands, trying to turn the pages with one hand while I eat and walk. You know the feeling.

Over there, in the middle distance, is a small picnic; voices mingle with the warm breeze. Sounds always seem to carry further on the hot nights. Wafting gently toward me are their voices, and I hear snatches of their conversation, filtered by the summer air:

"That guy over there's the best bus driver."
"Where?"
"There. Walking by himself."
"That's a bus driver?"
"Yeah. No, he's the best driver ever. He's amazing. He says hi to every person that gets on the bus. And I mean every single person, doesn't matter..."
"Huh. He looks like a kid!"

I smile to myself. How can I not? Briefly I consider walking over to them, to thank them, to ask after their day- but no, no need to wallow further in congratulations. It's not about that. I'll let them have their picnic. Somehow it's better this way. I've heard what I needed to hear. Everything in its right place. 

Just some whispers on a summer breeze.

I'm inbound from Queen Anne, at 6pm, on my way to Center Park. Route 4. This trip is traditionally a bit lighter; rush hour will be over by the time I go through downtown. We'll fill up the bus, but there's always a few seats left over, and nobody will have to stand. The leg of the route between Queen Anne and downtown is usually particularly empty. 

Imagine my surprise, then, when I pull up in to a zone in Seattle Center and see fif- is that- yes, fifty! Fifty people at the Space Needle stop waiting to get on! They're all dressed in business casual, and most have name tags. Naturally they're all part of the same group, and they make their way in hesitantly. What is this strange Metro bus? Each has an Orca card, and none has ever used such a thing before; I take advantage of the opportunity to welcome them in and make them comfortable. 

Best of all, they are very loud, creating a din of pleasant chatter that makes the place feel like a mix between business convention and school bus field trip. And they're not just going to downtown, no- they're headed all the way to 12th and Jefferson. They're here for the long haul, going all the way across town! Additionally, by "pleasant chatter" I mean a veritable roaring cacophony through which I can barely hear myself blaring the announcements. Personally, I think this is all pretty fantastic. How will all the regular passengers fit? Only time has the answer.

It is a festive and excited group, and one rather out of their element. They watch me with warm fascination as I interact with the regular folk getting on. After a while I ask after their day, and what brings them out here. They're a Kansas City leadership group. That's not too surprising, but what is surprising is the fact that they've chosen to incoporate the public bus- and not just any bus, but the 3/4, no less- into their itenerary, and I tell them so. 

A younger woman informs me that some of the fellows on the team are transit enthusiasts, and couldn't help but plan this quite specifically. As we trundle down Third, picking up our regular motley crew of folk on their way to Harborview and points beyond, the crowd onboard in no way diminishes their roaring din of happy business-oriented conversation. It's the evening commute as wedding reception. 

Mild confusion and light bemusement shows on the faces of the street folk entering, confronted as they are with the scene inside. You can see them thinking, "this is the 4 to the Central District, at 7pm. Why are there fifty white people riding this bus?" I'm thrilled to welcome everyone, and be at my best in my interactions. "We're on a number 4 today, goin' out to the Center Park project housing," I announce in a jovial voice. It feels like the party bus- even more so than the 4 already normally does. I'm practically yelling into the mic- the decibel level is still so loud I can hardly hear myself... Ah, heaven.

I overhear other passengers, regulars, telling the KC group about me. "This driver is always like this," somebody says by way of practically apologetic explanation. "So many crazy people ride this bus, but he's always like this... to everybody!"

"It's the happy bus," I tell them, butting in. "This route is insane. It's madness, pretty much all the time- but that's what makes it so completely awesome! I'm so glad you guys get to be part of all this!"

A woman in a tailored dark blazer looks at me. After a moment she realizes I'm being serious.
"What amazes me is how many people you know," she says.
"I just really love all this stuff," I say as a self-styled 'hard-ackin brutha' steps on, utterly confused by the mob in front of him. "The fuuuuu...?" he muses to himself, in a pleasant tone.

I tell the young woman and the man beside her about the uniqueness and novelty of the trolley vehicles. They're interested. At Third and James we make our left turn, and our bus can hardly hold any more people, but- it's Third and James. Is there a mob waiting? Of course there is. The motley crew is waiting, and we're late because of how busy we've been, and the mob's been growing in size, an expanding and compounding sea of faces and walkers and smiles and oxygen tanks and garbage bags...

I'm starting to feel giddy.

Ordinarily I would tell people about how there's a 3 just down the street behind us. But today I'm too excited to let these fine folks pass up an opportunity to ride on this absurd carnival taking place inside my coach- happy out-of-town executives, secretaries, and managers- right alongside nurses, wannabes, clerks, students, freeloaders, the have-nots and will-nots, the working folk, all crowding in here...and jovial banter amongst all. 

"Let's try to please move back and make room for all these really nice people getting on," I announce, as my familiar ragtag crew looks on in bewilderment. Eighty-odd people on a bus with only forty-two seats, and most of them in suits, holding manila folders and apparently thrilled to be here... "Don't wanna leave my buddies behind here, let's see if we can make it happen..."

"You're optimistic," says  a woman in the street.

We do indeed make it happen. Somehow we also fit a few more people- though not all- on at Fifth Avenue. "See if we can make room for our friends getting on here.." There's no real sense of urgency, since there's another bus a block behind us; mainly I'm just addicted to the atmosphere, and love the tectonic collision of worlds taking place. Whoever that driver is behind me, well, he's having a really easy trip. It's working out for the best for both of us.

"Say hi to your neighbor, make some new friends," I suggest into the mic.

Eventually we arrive at their destination, Twelfth Avenue. "Here's the stop you've all been waiting for-" cheers and whoops- "yes, the Great Twelfth Avenue, by the Juvenile Court, King County Recovery Center..." and so on. All kinds of good stuff over here! They're going to a restaurant several blocks north. 

They prepare to get out while we're still at the red light, momentarily confused- "we'll let you out at the bus stop right across the street here. Just gonna enjoy this red light a little longer, folks, build up the suspense a little... There we go. Thanks for hangin' out with me, and have a great time tonight..." They do a fantastic job of representing Kansas City, that's for sure. They're all smiles and thank-yous as they pile out excitedly onto the street. 

Who says adults can't be as happy as children? 

One man, coming up from the back like so many others to personally thank me, tells me of what two guys in the back told him- "that you're like this every day, and that just by bein' friendly and sayin' something you make their whole day better, and they feel great whenever they get on your bus." 

I never know what to say to things like that. Such things humble me, and remind me how wonderfully small I am. I could say precisely the same thing about what I get out of driving the bus and being with the people. The change we can offer to other lives is incremental, and tiny, but it is change, and it is elemental. 

Victor Hugo said it 150 years ago: there are no small moments. These passing experiences, ephemeral and in-between, are the firmament of life. They are the memories that will come to us, years from now. After the crowd had all left, I began to wish they were still here, and that this ride could drift on endlessly, but of course it couldn't; it is already all fading inexorably into the past. 

A few quick notes-

If you haven't already, know that you still have a chance to check out my show before it closes on Saturday! I'll be taking down the show at 5pm Saturday (you might catch me there earlier in the day as well), but feel free to stop in between now and then anytime! 

Michael Upchurch of the Seattle Times reviews the show here. Gallery hours (basically, 1-5) and directions here. Information about the show here, including video of the opening monologue.

Also, a long-overdue new batch of photographs await in the Photography section of the site.

Check back for a sizable new story I'm particularly excited about in a day or so!

The afternoon sun was burning off, fading slowly as the shadows took over. The energy of the day may be waning, but on the 4 things are as lively as ever. We've got a good crowd tonight, headed home to the Central District after a hot day. There's a festive quality, fed perhaps by myself, but also by the gregarious nature of some of the passengers, which encourages people to open up. Sounds like a birthday party in here.

At 20th a lanky teenager comes forward; this was during the days of 'pay as you leave.' He'd been taking part in the joy, joking and relaxing as if all these strangers were friends. We have to remember that many teens, especially those who don't work with the public, haven't really had the chance to talk with people they don't know. It's a new experience, and a  significant one. You can't be quite so self-absorbed. I get exhilarated watching him talk, holding his own with the others, of different generations and races; sometimes, if the light is right, you feel like you can almost see it- one of those tiny moments where people come of age.

Afterwards, he comes up, about to get off the bus. "Hey man, I don't got no money left," he says to me, throwing his hands in the air.  People are listening.

"That is all right," I respond. "I appreciate you tellin' me!"
"Thanks, man," he says sincerely.

Spontaneously, he adds, "Sometimes I lie... But not this time!"

The bus dies laughing. I say something like, "Thank you! I'm honored!" and we continue giggling over it as we drive on. His statement is endearing, in addition to being totally ridiculous; but what it also is is honest. Inwardly I smile, that we were able to build an environment where he felt comfortable enough to be his cheeky growing self.

"You've gotta watch out for that Ethiopian guy in the back," a white man in a spandex bike outfit once told me, referring to the underweight man in the massive black jacket, with rotting teeth and dirty fingers, sitting in the back talking with his friend. 

Generalizations notwithstanding, 99% of first-generation people, especially Africans, never give me any problems.  The East and Central African communities are among the friendliest groups out here. 
Out loud I say, "It's all good. Those guys never give me beef."
"That guy does."

There are exceptions to every rule. On that day the man in question, along with his friend, did end up hollering at some women in the back of the bus- they all knew each other- forcefully asking the women for something I couldn't understand. "Hold the bus," Black Jacket Man yelled up at me, while one of the women gave him some money, apparently trying to placate him with a short-term solution. 

It pays off to be friendly, though; as the men stepped out the back, I yelled a farewell- "thanks, my friend!", and he didn't forget to thank me for my time. As stated earlier, I benefit by remembering that my interactions need to be informed by the fact that I will see these same folks again, and again, and again. They're out there. 

A week or so later I wait for a runner- no, sprinter is more like it- positively streaking toward my bus, defying physics as he bounds toward my open door. It's him, Black Jacket.* I actually like this guy. He's a ticking time bomb waiting to explode- there are stories of his ugly behavior- but I like his huge smile. He beams with pleasure upon recognizing me, his bright eyes and decaying teeth practically glowing. He mumbles animatedly in the direction of the transfers, and understands when I tell him I'll give him one on his way out. I've discovered this is a useful way to keep no-paying customers in check for the duration of the ride. 

He's an absolute gentleman today. I have a feeling he would've been fine even if I had denied him a transfer; but you never know. It's not worth it to find out sometimes. There are boundaries that don't need to be tested. At the end of his ride, he bounds out of the back door, skipping past the overloaded bus to the front; "My brother!" he yells up at me. 

"My friend!" I respond. A promise made is a promise kept. His smile is the face of someone who feels valued. We shake hands in the sunlight, and he goes glimmering off into the busy afternoon, the gleam still carrying on his face. 


*Black Jacket has an identical twin, Blue Jacket (not his real name!), who possesses the same mannerisms, if not the same coat. I'm on first-name terms with one of them, but have no idea which. 

This story is continued from the previous post, available here or directly below-

At Pine, LSBW gets off. Before doing so, she takes a moment to slip back in character, telling Spry Lady, "I'm getting out at PINE. I'll kick your ass, you anorexic bitch!"

"Aw, we don't need to say stuff like that," I say, in the tone of a disappointed Auntie talking to her lovable grand-neices. "Have a good night."
"Okay," she says. I was prepared for anything, but her response is so unexpectedly ordinary I can't help but laugh.

Now it's just myself, Gent, and Spry at the front. The bus fills up a little on its way to the next stop, Union, but the conversation between the three of us stays focused. I immediately thank Spry for having the patience to put up with LSBW.

"Oh, it's fine, I've seen her around.  She's mentally disabled," she explains to Gent, "her mom's white and her dad's black, and she thinks people don't like her because of that."
"Which doesn't make sense at all, because there's such a variety of people in this city, and it's a fairly tolerant place-"
"Exactly, nobody cares about that stuff here,"
"Yeah, we're a rainbow city!" 
To Spry, I butt in again with, "thanks again for your patience. You're wonderful."
"Oh it's okay, it's fine, I know her. I mean I don't know know her-" you can see she's trying to make a good impression on Gent-
"Yeah, I do too," I say. "She's always like this."
Gent, quite a bit more tolerant and empathetic than I would've guessed: "Yes, her mind is telling her to say things..."
"-that would make her blush, if she actually knew," I say.
"Exactly. You can't take it to heart."
"It's not you."

I look at them and smile to myself. What a pleasure it is to see these two people, one in a suit an the other in rags, of the same generation but from the absolute opposite ends of the spectrum, trying to make each other feel better. Making real the thread that ties them together.

Gent gets out to go enjoy his concert at Benaroya. Spry remains, and we chat up a storm about this and that, I can hardly remember what, my mind still reeling from what had just happened, processing it all. Spry has long since moved on, and is happily babbling about something else. When she gets off to go back inside Harborview, I thank her again for her strength of character. "And you're not anorexic," I say at one point-

"Oh, but I am. I'm havin' serious problems with it now, that's why I'm staying at the hospital. Never been over a hundred pounds my whole life."

I'm humbled by how strong this person is. LSBW had struck what undoubtedly has to be a raw nerve, and she hadn't flinched, and more than that, she'd forgotten about it within minutes. "Well, I think you're awesome," I tell her. "You have a great character. You're doing great. Don't listen to that other stuff, it's not coming from anywhere."

"Oh , I know. Listen, if I'd a gotten out at Pine with her, she'd a been terrified. It's all good."
"Have a great night."
"I will. You too!"

We'd try to pick her up a little, Gent and I. But she didn't really need it.