• Published on

    Not Just Funkin' Around: the Micro and Macro of How Metro Cares

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    In the post below, I mention a difference between northern and southern bus service here in Seattle, and was going to explain further with a footnote. But this is too fascinating for a mere afterthought. It’s time for some serious tech talk.

    I like long, busy trunk routes like the 7 or the E. Those usually run often. Driving out of North Base has reminded me of another world; the dynamic is very different when there isn't another bus for an hour. As I mention in my recent KUOW interview, I drive them differently. If someone's running for an infrequent route, I wait, no matter the circumstances. I tend not do that on the more frequent 7/49. I've waited ten minutes for a bus. Not a big deal. An hour, on the other hand....  

    Your bus is rare. It feels more special, more important. You really have to make sure you get everybody. The people you pick up may have been waiting for a long time, and may well have oriented their day's plans around your schedule. I recently did an outbound 308; there’s only three of those all day, spaced an hour apart. You better believe I craned my neck looking for those last-minute stragglers. 

    I wonder what my 7 riders who now live in places like Haller Lake and Ballinger Terrace make of the contrast in bus service. If they once lived in the Central District, the 3/4 took them into town every 8 minutes, with last trips at 1am (now 3am); the 7 has ten-minute headways and runs 24 hours; but the 331, where I've noticed a number of familiar faces... runs every thirty minutes, with last trips at seven P.M. and hourly Sundays. If that's not a lifestyle change, I don't know what is! To the used car-lot we go....

    I want to specify these service levels as endemic to North King County (and other parts of the County outside the city), not North Seattle. North Seattle has surpassed South Seattle in having the best bus service. Since the UW Link restructure, nearly the entire network up there has 15-minute headways or better, and the routes are thoughtfully interconnected and conveniently thru-routed,* with 15-minute east-west service (nonexistent in South Seattle at the time of this writing) and a lot of night service that remains frequent. The north-headed 5, D, 40, 41, and 62 all maintain 15-minute service until about 11pm nightly. That’s fantastic. Of south-pointing service, not even the 36 does that; only the 7.

    Further concrete examples of this divide can be found in the 26/131 thru-route, on which the northern half (26 to Northgate) runs more frequently at night than the southern half (131 to Burien), despite the 131 being more used and needed. The very same goes for the 28/132, 24/124, and the 5 and 40 vs. the 120– the 5 (Shoreline) has frequent service til 11:30pm and all-night Owl service, whereas the 120 (Burien) goes to thirty-minute service at 8pm and doesn't run all night, despite being more crowded at those times. Another mystery is the 5/21, famous among drivers for its outdated and unrealistic schedule* on the 5 part, which offers 15-minute service on the 21 part until 10pm… on Sundays only. For the rest of the week the 21 stops frequent service at 8pm. Go figure.**

    You may ask, as I do: why does North Seattle get better bus service when South Seattle is obviously more in need? Is Metro catering to choice riders and not transit-dependent ones? No. The answer is multifaceted.

    On one hand, I think it's important to be mindful that sizable chunks of the population served in South Seattle do not have as ready an access to the internet, ease with the English language, or knowledge that speaking out can effect changes in transit planning. There is the agency of a population fluent in English and online, better equipped and more inclined to voice their concerns. A lot of countries our friendly neighbours come from don't have governments who thoughtfully alter transit service in response to customer feedback. You have to know it's even possible before also having the time, resources, and know-how to do so.

    Nothing's more tiresome to me than transit geeks who don't live in the South Side or South End proposing nonsensical alterations to real-world lives (I once read an article that actually thought cutting the 7 at Othello was a good idea, and another that deleting the 4 was okay because people "can just transfer" to get from Judkins to Swedish, taking 2 buses instead of 1 to travel a distance of 2 miles). I don't wish to discount all their opinions, and admit I'm swayed by the human element: I actually know the people who use the service out there. But such proposals are not a suitable replacement voice, and fit within the definition of gentrification: changing a neighborhood without the consent or participation of its residents.

    More boring, less talked about, and far more significant is that the problem is complicated by funding elements. It's not because Metro doesn't like poor people; pardon me while I roll my eyes at the very idea. More on that in a moment.

    Routes that leave the city limits cannot be financed by the same revenue streams as those that stay within it. Several agreements stipulate that funds can only be applied when a specified majority percentage (80% at the time of this writing) of the route exists within the city limits. Everyone knows the 120, 124, 131, and 132 all have more people on their night trips than the 24, 26, 28, 33 etc, but what those 100-series routes also all have in common is that they travel significantly beyond Seattle city boundaries, and as a result of funding allocations their riders don’t get the service they need. Those 124’s are packed at 1am, and they shouldn’t be.***

    That’s all about to change, though; SDOT plans to relax its percentage thresholds regarding city limits to 65 percent, not 80. That bone is very much for the E Line, the most heavily ridden single route, and which has been artificially held back at lower frequencies at night due to this soon-to-be-cut red tape. Same goes for the 106 and 120 in short order. Whispers tell me of improvements in the Fall. 

    I write above about a trigger-happy attitude among certain transit enthusiasts to monkey around with service they don't use, because reorganizing routes on a map would look cool. I'm thankful that Metro's administration comes from a different perspective, abundantly evident whenever I talk to them. It's a perspective rooted in concern and care for the underserved. The previous administration at Metro and the current one, both of whom I feel fortunate to know personally, care strongly about the working-class and low income. 

    They've imposed stipulations which require planners to serve certain demographics and provide lifeline service to those who need it most. They focus on unified treatment and are careful to avoid any development of class stigma in modes of transit offered. They don't cut back service on a route just because of security incidents, or avoid serving otherwise challenged areas. They just held an audit on the Fare Enforcement program and concluded it was unfairly disadvantaging the homeless, and have already taken steps to improve those issues. I may have things to say about scheduling,**** but when it comes to overarching vision, within the numerous restrictions they're up against and alongside the multitudinous interest groups involved, Metro's beating heart is in the right place. I know it would be more exciting to reveal that some sort of high-up institutional corruption was afoot... wait, isn't this more compelling? A case in point:

    The A Line, which serves Tukwila, Sea-Tac and Federal Way, was and is Metro's inaugural RapidRide route. The B Line corridor, in Bellevue/Redmond, was actually ready to go first, but Metro knew that would send the wrong message. The best and most high-profile service type couldn't debut in Bellevue, for Heaven's sake. It would send an elitist message of who Metro caters to for the rest of RapidRide's days. The powers that be held off a short bit to allow the intensely working-class Pac Highway corridor to be the first to have RapidRide. "'Cause this service is for the people," a staffer told me with pride, explaining the story. For the people. Not the elite, not where the money is, but everybody. I don't need to point out how unusual this outlook is for a large organization. You understand. I imagine this is possible because Metro is not a business but a service, provided simply to improve quality of life and economy for everyone. That's their bottom line. 

    You've gotta love these guys. 

    It's one of my favorite things about working for Metro. I'm not sure I'd be here if it were otherwise. It's what I think about every time I see an A Line drive by. Bureaucracy and politics have a way of gnarling things up, making that hard to see and harder to realize. We just have to keep on keepin' on, getting those folks in the southern reaches some comment cards, and continuing to work away at that red tape.
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    Footnotes:

    ​*This is a scheduling problem more than a planning one. Passengers love thru-routes. Everyone hates transferring, especially at night (a major percentage of my 7/49 crew travels through both routes). I know how expensive it is to add 5 minutes to every northbound 5 and southbound 21, but it would be cheaper than breaking the thru-route and better than inconveniencing people. 

    **I’ve got a shiny new dime for anyone who can explain that one to me, or why the 41 has thirty-minute frequency until the end of service… on Sundays only, or why the 41 shifted its last southbound trip leaving Lake City to before midnight… on Saturdays only, rather than 12:20 like the rest of the week. That was the lifeline trip for the Fred Meyer employees there, who get off at 12. I know people who’ve had to leave their jobs there as a result.

    ***Planners, while I have your ear: three cheers for extending the 124 to Sea-Tac during non-Link hours. I’ve used the service myself and much appreciated it. But if I may: what of the infamous 2.5 hour gap, during which there is no northbound service to downtown from 2:30am to the first Link at 5am (worse on Sundays, 6am)? Two more northbound Sea-Tac-starting 124 trips would be ideal, but even one to split that 2.5-3.5 hour time span would make a difference, and allow us to say we offer 24-hour service not just to 24-hour Sea-Tac, but from it. I’ve come this close to missing that last 2:31am trip....

    ****Schedulers, I love you. But when articles like the one linked above imply we have finally have enough funding to address some things... fixing runcards can be done during our current driver and equipment shortage. Come to the bases more often, please. The lack of transparency between those scheduling the service and those operating it (not to mention those riding) creates enormous friction and misunderstanding. Here's what I would share from experience:
    • The 41 needs 20 minutes to get from Fred Meyer to Northgate on weekday afternoons, not fifteen. Getting from 35th/130th to 5th/125th in 7 minutes is amusing as an idea, but utterly unrealizable.
    • The wild unpredictability of southbound I-5 requires more layover time afterwards, before starting northbound afternoon 41 and 74 trips; the supposed 5-minute 41 frequency is thrown haywire daily. 
    • No need for me to say anything that hasn't already been said about the 70;
    • The northbound 65 needs 8 more minutes between UW Link and 17th/143rd during peak, and 5 more off-peak (having 1 zone every 2 blocks between 60th and 100th doesn't exactly help matters...);
    • Adding a 5-minute "W" wait for the southbound 3/4 at 3rd/Union at 11:55pm would make it consistent with the 2 and 7 that also wait there until 12:00, and allow for the 3/4 to have 15-minute frequency until 12:15 rather than 11:45;
    • Ever since the 11 has been live-looped it's become less predictable, not more. Running the 10 up Pine, a more critical corridor than John at night, and the 11 up Olive as once planned might help; given that was the original plan I assume something prevented it from happening. Currently the entire late-night Hill crowd on Pike/Pine east of Harvard is limited to 30-minute service after 7:41pm.
    • Inbound 31/32's need about 4 more minutes to reach Campus during afternoon peak.​
    • This is service planning, not scheduling, but– to the group who wanted to keep the 43: you guys were right all along. Creating more supply by restoring peak trips would increase usage. Something similar goes for the 7's Prentice loop and its early quit time, plus the infamous 90-minute gap in afternoon peak, both further ruminated on here.
  • Published on

    Where I Belong

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    As you may know, I've been taking a break from the 7/49 for art-time-school reasons detailed here, instead driving suburban routes in North King County. This whole North Base adventure (I haven't picked up there since they deleted the 358) has been nothing if not charming. The operative word is pleasant. Five years ago I might've said boring, but there's no reason to put a pejorative label on transporting low maintenance, gainfully employed north-end residents.

    The generally subdued air has its own pleasures. After four straight years of driving the 7/49 exclusively at night, I've been downright shocked at the sheer numbers of people up here who are healthily equipped to take care of themselves. They do things like follow rules, pay fare, and even wake up at terminals... in droves!! Such responsibility! I'd look around in confusion, almost disappointed. Where was I? What town was this?? 

    Truthfully, it's been a thrill to be reminded how well so much of the population is doing. I'm not just referring to affluent white folks, but the steadily growing immigrant presence in North King County, many of whom are faces I once served on the 7, but who have been pushed out due to the gentrification happening in Rainer Valley. (I can recall an even earlier time when those I knew on the 7 were people I once served on the 3/4, back before the Central District bumped everyone further south.) Never mind the completely different type of bus service;* it's a beautiful place to live. 

    I'm reminded of growing up in pre-Microsoft Redmond, backroads of immigrant families, that time when living in the suburbs had no status significance. Boomers will recall that buying a house and raising a couple of kids in somewhere like Leschi or Bellevue or Ballard didn't used to mean anything. The ostracizing spectre of class and the scarcity of resources causing it hadn't infiltrated this dynamic yet. They were just affordable neighborhoods. You didn't need two working spouses or an inheritance to do it. People moved here from California because it was– can you imagine? –cheaper! Why not raise your kid on a safe, tree-lined street, with a yard and dog and families as neighbors? We know all that has changed now, but there are sections of North and South King County where the 'burbs retain that unpretentious flavour, where a yard is just a yard and things quiet down at night. Don't pretend you don't love that. 

    I've had a great time in this different world. It's quieter. It's easy. It's allowed me the mental freedom to focus on school and art. I was convinced I'd stay up here for one more shakeup, the Summer season, before heading back to my beloved downtown trolleys. That was my plan, right up until the night before the Pick.

    Then it happened.

    I thought I'd look over a few runcards (bus shift schedules) before going to bed. Picking for the next season is a big deal for bus drivers. It borders on a job change, and can affect so much of your life: different days off, times of day worked, amounts of overtime, new colleagues, bosses, routes, passengers, work sites, commute times. You think carefully about it. I knew I’d probably stay at North, but thought I’d peruse a few runcards. You know. Just to be sure. 

    I clicked on the internal link for Atlantic Base, scrolling down to nights on the 7. I looked at the street names. I thought of the turns. The faces. The through-route to the 49. Jackson. Henderson. Broadway. Rainier Avenue, and the wire singing out behind you, sparking in the late evening, the sheer majesty of those things, sixty feet articulated, feeling every bump in the road, an emblem of a time and a place and the stop-start flow of life in flux, truly lived. A state of mind.

    A shiver of joy ran down my spine.

    Mine was the choice between comfort, convenience and ease, as opposed to feeling valuable, helpful, useful. Loved. Both are great, don't get me wrong. There's a time for each. But this wasn't something I needed to waste time actually thinking about. 

    Do you know what it means to feel loved, like this? 

    To be adored by those close to you makes you feel loved for being who you are. Nothing beats that. However: the joy that comes from an equalizing interaction with a stranger makes you feel like you belong to the entire human race. You're part of something massive and it's just like you, it is you, and it contains goodness. You, we. Same thing. 

    You cannot get that sensation anywhere else, in any other way except through positive interactions with, specifically, strangers. That's why we remember those beautiful moments on street corners we've all had. And that's what the potential of inner-city bus driving is, all day.

    "You go out to one of those satellite bases, thinking you'll come back, and you just end up staying out there," I've heard so many drivers say. "The work is just too good. It's so easy." The words echoed in my mind, up until I started looking at these runcards. I recalled the Atlantic window man yelling playfully at me, when he discovered last shakeup that I was going to North, as he laughed away when I said I would return: "you're never coming back! They neeeeeever come back!" 

    I thought of the genuinely disappointed look a dear friend gave me three months ago, someone who'd looked up to me and my writing and my enthusiasm for the people, who'd gotten through a difficult time in her work life by reading my blog. I’ve gone through a lot in the past year, and while I know it’s possible to grow, to break habits and form new ones, there’s a core in us that’s deep down, and it seems constant. I keep getting told it’ll dry up. I respond with this quote from Richard Linklater's excellent Before trilogy:
    “I read this study  where they followed people who won the lottery, and people  who had become paraplegic, right. You'd think that... you know, one extreme is gonna make you... euphoric, and the other suicidal. But the study shows that  after about six months, as soon as people got used to their new situation, they were more or less the same.” 
    “The same?”  
    “Well, yeah... Like if they were basically  an optimistic, jovial person, they're now an optimistic,  jovial person, in a wheelchair. If they're a petty miserable asshole, ok, they're a petty miserable asshole with a new Cadillac, a house and a boat.”
    We are who we are who we are, in other words. They say you never forget the ending of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath; I came upon it in middle school, and was moved by the stark kindness shown to strangers in the book’s final moments. But what burned a deeper imprint for me has always been Tom Joad’s last words to Ma, where he explains why he needs to be where the action is, where everything’s going wrong. Maybe “a fella ain't got a soul of his own, but on'y a piece of a big one,” he says, echoing filmmaker Terrence Malick’s notion of humanity as a collective, and the fundamentally right sensation of contributing to that collective, those other parts of ourself.

    Maybe that's what I'll always be trying to aspire towards.


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    Some more specific thoughts on what the 7 is and why I like it (and how I'm thankful for colleagues tolerating my nutty inclinations) here, from a night in 2015, and in the post linked above from a few months ago, as I was leaving the route.

    Looking for more 7 stories? Take a peek at the archives, on the sidebar to the right and below! Most everything on this blog from mid-2014 onwards is from the 7/49. Winter 2012 and 2013 are the 358, and the other seasons of those years are primarily the 3/4. 


    *More on this in an upcoming post.
  • Published on

    Staying (In)sane: A Perfect Day

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    "Don't think about it. Or else you'll end up going home. Forget's what happened, or what's gonna happen. Focus on what's happening now. The rest doesn't exist here."

    -A Perfect Day (2015), dir. Fernando León de Aranoa. Trailer.

    I won't sit here and try to tell you it's a great film. It isn’t. But it has an uncanny outlook I want to share with you. 

    As other public service workers accustomed to insane environments will attest, there are not a lot of films that capture a certain unique and very valuable mindset that looks strange from the outside, and is hard to describe to others. Set in 1995, A Perfect Day is about humanitarian aid workers stationed in war-torn Bosnia.

    It's also a comedy.

    The entire picture concerns a small quartet's efforts to extract a corpse from a village well, and the unending parade of obstacles that prevent them from doing so. Outdated regulations, communication misfires, personal prejudices, and bureaucratic red tape from militias and well-meaning aid organizations alike thwart their every turn, and they expend great effort accomplishing almost nothing.

    An optimistically warped reader like myself will recognize the key word there: almost.

    ​How do you stay sane in an insane environment? How do you not go crazy with despair both intimate and existential? What works for our characters in the Balkans also works in the crazy world of on-the-ground urban public and transit service:


    You do what you can. The rest, you laugh about. You have to laugh. Don't go looking for logic in these parts. Don't think too hard about things, or ask yourself too many questions. It gets in the way of the smile you can give someone. And those do help. Just laugh about it, put in some effort, and be something other than a problem. You won't solve hardly anything, and that's okay. 

    You're accomplishing more than you think.

    ​Above image courtesy IFC Films.
  • Published on

    Nathan on NPR: II

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    Did you miss my interview on KUOW 94.9? No worries! Here is the full seventeen-minute interview! Hope you enjoy!

    A note for Community Transit and First Transit operators– I love you! You know I'm poking fun here in loving jest only. You're just as capable as the best of them, and you'll always get a wave from me, no matter what agency you work for. We're all in this together.

    A warm thank you to the great Ross Reynolds, Adwoa Gyimah-Brempong and Bond Huberman... and all you lovely listeners. 

    ​See you on the road!
  • Published on

    Rockin' the In-Between

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    The sensation was that of riding on air, a wave of euphoria whose origin I could hardly trace.

    I told them about the reroute. This was going to be exciting– if for no one else than at least myself, what with the pleasant diversion of driving a nine-foot wide, sixty-foot long articulated coach on new streets. Almost immediately a young woman bounced up and asked furtively, politely, "I know this isn't a bus stop but is there any chance, possibly, maybe, that you could, just for today...."

    "Sure," I replied with a smile. "Quick, before, anyone sees!"

    Her normal stop was twenty-seven blocks away. Look at that smile. Was she cute? Of course she was. Everybody's cute, when they're in the mood she was in.

    I caught up to the bus scheduled just before me (my "leader," in bus parlance), who'd neglected the reroute and was now paying the price in lost time. He was busy and crowded; we ambled along behind, hardly working and half empty, looking for people to pick up to make his job easier. Bus-savvy passengers know the second bus of two is always the preferred choice, and half the time ends up in the lead anyway. There's room to sprawl out in here.

    As I parked behind my leader at the transit center, my relief driver ambled over with a smile, understanding the situation at a glance. I explained the brilliance of the reroute to him, and we talked about turns and clearances and express lanes. Don't you love how work jargon rolls right off the tongue? Bruce. He and I are birds of a feather.

    I gestured to another passenger onboard, motioning the half-lost middle-aged mother to come forward and fret not, it's okay now, Bruce the friendly bus driver is taking over and all is well again. I identified her to Bruce as "the wonderful young lady up front," and she laughed, maybe because she needed to: she was on her way to comfort a sick sibling, had flown in from out of town to do so. Ah, family. I gave Bruce the bus and walked away with a smile, listening to their two voices merging.

    Driving the base car back to the base to clock out, sitting in slow but moving traffic, moving faster now, with the radio tuned to friendly voices, interviews and laughter. The swishing wipers offer a backbeat, the drum rhythm of city life. I dashed into the base, signing my name out and returning the base car. The window man asked if I was coming back for my second shift later on.

    "In a few hours," I replied, quipping, "I'm gonna go home and think about it for a while!"
    "Do you know Nathan?" he asked a nearby supervisor.
    "Do I know Nathan? Of course I know Nathan! Filmmaker, blogger, bus driver photographer extraordinaire..."
    "Oh gosh, you guys," I said.
    The other continued, "but have you met Nathan? There's knowing and there's meeting. I know who the president is..."
    "Oh no, don't compare me to that guy! We're two different people, I swear!"

    I jogged back out into the pouring parking lot, excited to rush home for a few hours, enough time to cook a meal, work on my film, write this draft, and who knows– maybe even relax for a second. I leapt over the water puddles toward my car, calling out to another colleague, "wonderful weather we're having!"
    "Um, yeah," she cried, shaking her head. "I love swimholes!!"

    The metaphor of a pot reaching a boil isn't generally used to describe the sensation of such mundane tasks, but isn't that exactly what the most worthwhile, most deeply earned bliss feels like? These were the moments in between, that by rights should barely register in the raising of our mood, if we're to believe what we're told... who knew these things could make my day? Running to my car in the rain, reroutes and road reliefs?

    There is a type of well-being that floods one's system almost surreptitiously. It is the slow accumulation of interactions in which we feel whole, accepted– loved not by our loved ones but by everyone, included in the fabric of the world at large, the embrace that tells us it's okay to be who we are. It seems to come from nowhere, but it’s a torrent coursing through your veins. Belonging. Oddly, the effect is strongest in interactions with people we barely know. We already know our small network of family and friends loves us. This is the world, speaking through the language of the ordinary, telling you your family is the entire population. 

    When you're nice to a stranger, you may be helping them toward that sensation, building a block, offering one of a series of moments that infuses them with that unspeakably beautiful feeling of acceptance. I've said it before (in the post below, ha!), and I'll say it again– the positive impact you have on others will always be larger than you're aware.

    ----

    In the spirit of this story, I'm compelled to add to the compilation post for new operators another story, written after the death of Eric Garner, that explores the meaning behind these lil' interactions and how effortlessly they teach goodness to others during these bizarre and troubled times.
  • Published on

    Taking Care

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    "Man, she, she was always worried something like this might happen. That's why I been the way I am. For them, just in case she needed me. Just in case it came to this. I stayed out of trouble with the law, never been arrested or charged with anything my whole life. I didn't get involved. Never got married, never had kids, 'cause the financial burden. Din't want to get caught up in any of that, just in case for her. My friends they would always be all like, man, why you don't hang? They be laughin', makin' their fun.... They get it now. They done stopped laughin' now." 

    He rode my evening 7 for months before we began striking up a rapport. Hesitant nods and eyes at first, intermittent, him with his big headphones and quiet eyes, a contrast to his built physique. He was a bouncer, going in for the evening shift. The 7 before mine would drive by, but he preferred my ship, the easy sense of calm and camaraderie I'm told floats through my bus. I'd spy him sitting in the back, always the back corner, big book in hand. 

    We'd gotten to exchanging a few words at the start of a ride or parked outside at the terminal, before he strode back there– "to get my read on." Even if it's in the silences, you get to know certain people as the seasons turn over. 

    I knew enough of him, knew him long enough, to feel the gut sucker punch of his tragedy when he told me. One night I was hearing how his father wasn't doing too well... and now here we are, too soon, two men lost under a streetlight, wondering why the waves of the ocean have stopped moving.

    "These are the days of after," Don Delillo wrote. "Everything now is measured by after."

    Michael. That was his name. Mike. His sorrow had the shape of rueful understanding, in the will of his preparation. Those are his words above, elucidating certain of his life choices; because a mother can only take care of her ailing husband for so long, can only be helped by him when he's alive and able. Can only be held up from collapse by love.

    They done stopped laughing now.

    Who takes care of the caretaker?

    Michael will.