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It's Never Over Til It's Over
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She looked apprehensive.
I probably did too. The clock had just struck midnight, and angry voices boomed in our periphery. She was out there, waiting for the bus in a white and yellow summer dress, breezy, perhaps wishing there was someone around, anybody, besides this angry yelling man approaching. I was inside my darkened bus, waking up disoriented from a short nap. The shift was almost done, and it had been a breeze… but it's never over 'til it's over.
Bus drivers sometimes ride my bus to get a feel for the night 7, different ways of handling it. Certain passenger friends call a ride on my 7 "Bus Therapy," while some drivers have dubbed it "The Nathan Vass Refresher Course." I doubt it qualifies for that lofty moniker (I prefer calling it my "office hours"), but I did have an evening where three operators, unbeknownst to each other, all came out to ride the last half of my shift. I was telling them it's never over until it's completely over, 'til you've parked the bus on the lane inside the yard. You could be a hundred feet away from home base, and it could all still fall apart.
As it happened, we were about a hundred feet away from home base, these drivers and I, wrapping up the shift, when… wouldn't you know it, a woman came running out of the bushes with blood on her hands and waist, waving her arms and asking us for assistance with her boyfriend, who had been stabbing her.
It's never over 'til it's over.
We called for help and she got the assistance she needed. I try not to offer relationship advice to random strangers, but given the circumstances....
"Um. You might think about dumping this guy," I said.
"Oh God yes," she said.
It was with these thoughts I stood and stretched out of my nap. Some real angry voices out there. I sighed. It didn't matter how carefree the day had been. In its last minutes you still might have to step up, summon your better angels and steer the moment as best you can.
I opened the door and turned on the interior lights. Summer Dress and I made nervous eye contact, neither one of us quite sure what was transpiring. She was still standing out there, I was standing by the farebox, as a belligerent voice came closer….
"Hi," I said to her with kind eyes. Any friendly stranger is a friend, not a stranger, in an intense situation.
"Hey," she replied. Cute blue eyes, short, with headphones she knew not to be listening to right now.
"DON'T NOBODY TALK TO ME THAT WAY," said a tall man in dark clothes and a beanie, a bass-inflected gravel rasp to his throaty din. It sounded vaguely familiar: where've I heard that voice before? Ah, yes. I put it together right before I saw his face. Marcus loomed in out of the shadows, walking down from the bus behind me.
Boy, does it ever pay off to know a man's name.
You never know when you'll see someone again, or how. The genial history he and I have paid off in spades now. The present instantly defused, and the girl's eyes lit up with surprise, comfort, and relaxation as I said in a friendly tone just a tad quieter than normal:
"Hey, Marcus." Pause. "You don't sound too happy."
He exhaled. Calming down. "Naw, man. This guy trying to tell me to 'take my shit and get off the bus.'"
"You can always hang out on my bus..."
"Ah know. But this guy's just…"
"I'm sorry to hear it, dude. You know you can always hang in here."
The young lady was searching her purse for change. She looked up at him, saying, "oh, you go ahead."
I think Marcus realized then that he was scaring people. He looked at her now, over the rims of his wire-frame glasses, not lasciviously but how a father looks at girls his daughter's age; with caring. I love watching people think. He deflated further back to his normal self and said, "oh, no. I always let ladies go first."
He smiled and she returned the same, feeling the tension slack loose.
I said, "so he was givin' you some attitude?"
Marcus didn't even need to vent. "I'm okay," he said wearily. "It's just too hot for all that!"
"Yeah, we gotta keep it low-key!"
Tone of voice. Choice of words. I've asked hundreds of people, including Marcus himself, to step off the bus at various ends of the line. I've never told them to though, and I've definitely never used the words he quoted the other (brand new) driver as saying. If I told all those people to "take their shit and get off my bus," I don't think I would even be alive. Instead I have the respect of friends in more corners of society than I ever could have imagined, corners I never knew existed. Seeing the young lady realize she could relax, that everything was okay, that for some reason this driver knew this guy by name and they could talk things down… I didn't know that would be the highlight of my night.
It's never over 'til it's over.
I probably did too. The clock had just struck midnight, and angry voices boomed in our periphery. She was out there, waiting for the bus in a white and yellow summer dress, breezy, perhaps wishing there was someone around, anybody, besides this angry yelling man approaching. I was inside my darkened bus, waking up disoriented from a short nap. The shift was almost done, and it had been a breeze… but it's never over 'til it's over.
Bus drivers sometimes ride my bus to get a feel for the night 7, different ways of handling it. Certain passenger friends call a ride on my 7 "Bus Therapy," while some drivers have dubbed it "The Nathan Vass Refresher Course." I doubt it qualifies for that lofty moniker (I prefer calling it my "office hours"), but I did have an evening where three operators, unbeknownst to each other, all came out to ride the last half of my shift. I was telling them it's never over until it's completely over, 'til you've parked the bus on the lane inside the yard. You could be a hundred feet away from home base, and it could all still fall apart.
As it happened, we were about a hundred feet away from home base, these drivers and I, wrapping up the shift, when… wouldn't you know it, a woman came running out of the bushes with blood on her hands and waist, waving her arms and asking us for assistance with her boyfriend, who had been stabbing her.
It's never over 'til it's over.
We called for help and she got the assistance she needed. I try not to offer relationship advice to random strangers, but given the circumstances....
"Um. You might think about dumping this guy," I said.
"Oh God yes," she said.
It was with these thoughts I stood and stretched out of my nap. Some real angry voices out there. I sighed. It didn't matter how carefree the day had been. In its last minutes you still might have to step up, summon your better angels and steer the moment as best you can.
I opened the door and turned on the interior lights. Summer Dress and I made nervous eye contact, neither one of us quite sure what was transpiring. She was still standing out there, I was standing by the farebox, as a belligerent voice came closer….
"Hi," I said to her with kind eyes. Any friendly stranger is a friend, not a stranger, in an intense situation.
"Hey," she replied. Cute blue eyes, short, with headphones she knew not to be listening to right now.
"DON'T NOBODY TALK TO ME THAT WAY," said a tall man in dark clothes and a beanie, a bass-inflected gravel rasp to his throaty din. It sounded vaguely familiar: where've I heard that voice before? Ah, yes. I put it together right before I saw his face. Marcus loomed in out of the shadows, walking down from the bus behind me.
Boy, does it ever pay off to know a man's name.
You never know when you'll see someone again, or how. The genial history he and I have paid off in spades now. The present instantly defused, and the girl's eyes lit up with surprise, comfort, and relaxation as I said in a friendly tone just a tad quieter than normal:
"Hey, Marcus." Pause. "You don't sound too happy."
He exhaled. Calming down. "Naw, man. This guy trying to tell me to 'take my shit and get off the bus.'"
"You can always hang out on my bus..."
"Ah know. But this guy's just…"
"I'm sorry to hear it, dude. You know you can always hang in here."
The young lady was searching her purse for change. She looked up at him, saying, "oh, you go ahead."
I think Marcus realized then that he was scaring people. He looked at her now, over the rims of his wire-frame glasses, not lasciviously but how a father looks at girls his daughter's age; with caring. I love watching people think. He deflated further back to his normal self and said, "oh, no. I always let ladies go first."
He smiled and she returned the same, feeling the tension slack loose.
I said, "so he was givin' you some attitude?"
Marcus didn't even need to vent. "I'm okay," he said wearily. "It's just too hot for all that!"
"Yeah, we gotta keep it low-key!"
Tone of voice. Choice of words. I've asked hundreds of people, including Marcus himself, to step off the bus at various ends of the line. I've never told them to though, and I've definitely never used the words he quoted the other (brand new) driver as saying. If I told all those people to "take their shit and get off my bus," I don't think I would even be alive. Instead I have the respect of friends in more corners of society than I ever could have imagined, corners I never knew existed. Seeing the young lady realize she could relax, that everything was okay, that for some reason this driver knew this guy by name and they could talk things down… I didn't know that would be the highlight of my night.
It's never over 'til it's over.
I couldn't ask for higher praise. Thank you. I'm so moved by when people, like the gentleman in the story, give life to their better angels. To take part and be a witness in equal portion is a treat this job offers for which I am hugely thankful.
Thanks as ever for reading, and for your comments here– what an honor! I couldn't agree more with your words. If we can't control it....
You're too kind! Thank you. I tell operators sometimes, this job is performed by us humans, but we're expected to be saints. We have to try to be saints. We won't get there, sure, but the effort will make one heck of a palpable difference. For me it takes a recommitment, every day, to throw that good energy out there and take the effort to process certain things, and not think too hard about others.
What an honor to be the recipient of such words! Sometimes I feel as though I'm doing much besides just being myself, and being what any number of other people are too: friendly, compassionate, willing to take the mental energy and time to be considerate. Which is why the existence of the Times article blows me away! So humbling!
Thank you for this reminder. There are days that are not easy, and your words are comforting. A homeless sleeper once told me that of all the art I've done, the best and most resonant art piece I've accomplished was the act of being myself on the road to everyone out there. I was moved beyond words.
What can I say but Thank You! It's a pleasure to do it all, seriously. Share the blog around!
I'm so thankful people end up on my bus sometimes, for a couple of reasons– sometimes I believe it's I can make a difference in their day, or other times they're a challenge to the point that I'm thankful they're bothering me, instead of some other driver who might be more stressed, more tired, etc.
I love that I shared the front page with the hate crimes article! That had to be a considered editorial move, right? What a potent dichotomy!
I couldn't be more honored by your words here. Thank you, and thanks for coming to the blog and commenting! The coincidental intersection of what you were training your colleagues in and the existence of the article is really pretty astounding!
I still remember my school bus driver from elementary, because one day he called me "young man." No one had ever called me that before, and I loved it.
Thanks for coming to the blog! The mental health issue here is overwhelming. I scratch the surface by helping people feel human, but so much more work needs to be done there. The obviousness, the pervasive visual evidence of our society's structuring them out of a position where they can contribute is overwhelming at times.
I can't do much beyond what I do, but I hope those in positions of power take an interest. Can you imagine somebody like Amazon throwing some of their weight into that conversation? It'd certainly be no loss to them...
I'm so glad I know you. Thank you so much.