- Published on
Twilight Hindsight
- Author
-
-
- Name
- Posts
- Posts
-
I share love and respect because it feels good to do so. Nowadays we Seattleites are not expecting such things. People walk past me, past everyone, with eyes averted, earbuds plugged in. They assume they are hated and judged, and thusly I become invisible. They notice only what they expect. Just the other night I'd started saying, “hello–” when the guy boarding screamed so loudly everyone instantly looked up: “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Tonight I explained to a passenger, "They think I'm mad at them, and I haven't even done anything!"
She burst out laughing. "Honey, if they think you're mad… it's them tha's got somethin’ wrong with them! I been riding your bus for how long now? It should be obvious to any, to any sane human, that you're respectful, tha' you tryna be nice!"
And yet, if you're as convinced of the world being against you as some of these folks are, you won't see anything else, obvious or otherwise.
I feel like an anomaly these days. Life in the developed world post-2020 is all about escape– from reality, obligation, introspection and most of all, other people. In this manner some find an overlap between fentanyl and smartphone addiction, as both seek to reduce sensory experience, to remove us from reality. I enjoy phones as a tool but I aim in the opposite direction, seeking refuge in the present, in direct contact with others.
I still say hello because maybe, just maybe, it’ll reach them. Shutting the world out is easier, yes, but we forget after a while how good it feels to connect with others. The sensation of belonging. I want to offer that, keep it alive.
Here is a woman with more than twenty Safeway grocery bags laid out on the bus stop sidewalk. I step off the bus and help carry the bags aboard not because I like her (I don’t), not because it was smart to buy that many groceries and have no way to carry them (it wasn’t), but because she's human.
And because it's what the best version of myself would do. You know this feeling. As I duck in and out the front doors with bags in hand, an elderly Somalian woman tells me, “You’re a good driver.” She had never spoken to me before. Yes, part of me melted inside.
Later, while the grocery-laden woman was cursing someone out and as I helped her with her last bags stepping out, I found myself chatting with a regular on the sidewalk. He leaned on his cane.
"You know, the last two buses passed her up."
I looked at the massive quantity of ice cream she'd spilled on the bus floor. Fentanyl annihilates blood sugar levels, which is why you see people huffing down stolen Tillamook and Ben & Jerry's on street corners everywhere now.
"Well, I don’t blame ‘em," I said. We do need operators who'll pass this sort of thing up, or else no fare-paying passenger would ever get anywhere. But my issue is that I'm Nathan.
"My problem is, I’m too nice, man! I can’t help myself!"
"Hey, nothin’ wrong with that!"
A couple of strangers standing around in the comfortable twilight. I talk to older folks more regularly now. They get it. There will always be those of us who like to gab it up. I leaned against the zone flag and said, "My question is, how the heck is she gonna get all this stuff home?"
He chuckled. "I know, right?"
"You gotta think about stuff like that when you’re at the store!"
We vary in our capacity for abstract thought. Some of us think ahead, and some of us don't. In more than one way, she didn't, but at the end of the day those details fall away like so much chaff. Years from now I will not remember her particulars. There will simply be the memory that I helped someone that day, stretching my legs and talking to the person next to me, trying to be my best self.
The memory will contain the fact that it felt good to do so.
Tonight I explained to a passenger, "They think I'm mad at them, and I haven't even done anything!"
She burst out laughing. "Honey, if they think you're mad… it's them tha's got somethin’ wrong with them! I been riding your bus for how long now? It should be obvious to any, to any sane human, that you're respectful, tha' you tryna be nice!"
And yet, if you're as convinced of the world being against you as some of these folks are, you won't see anything else, obvious or otherwise.
I feel like an anomaly these days. Life in the developed world post-2020 is all about escape– from reality, obligation, introspection and most of all, other people. In this manner some find an overlap between fentanyl and smartphone addiction, as both seek to reduce sensory experience, to remove us from reality. I enjoy phones as a tool but I aim in the opposite direction, seeking refuge in the present, in direct contact with others.
I still say hello because maybe, just maybe, it’ll reach them. Shutting the world out is easier, yes, but we forget after a while how good it feels to connect with others. The sensation of belonging. I want to offer that, keep it alive.
Here is a woman with more than twenty Safeway grocery bags laid out on the bus stop sidewalk. I step off the bus and help carry the bags aboard not because I like her (I don’t), not because it was smart to buy that many groceries and have no way to carry them (it wasn’t), but because she's human.
And because it's what the best version of myself would do. You know this feeling. As I duck in and out the front doors with bags in hand, an elderly Somalian woman tells me, “You’re a good driver.” She had never spoken to me before. Yes, part of me melted inside.
Later, while the grocery-laden woman was cursing someone out and as I helped her with her last bags stepping out, I found myself chatting with a regular on the sidewalk. He leaned on his cane.
"You know, the last two buses passed her up."
I looked at the massive quantity of ice cream she'd spilled on the bus floor. Fentanyl annihilates blood sugar levels, which is why you see people huffing down stolen Tillamook and Ben & Jerry's on street corners everywhere now.
"Well, I don’t blame ‘em," I said. We do need operators who'll pass this sort of thing up, or else no fare-paying passenger would ever get anywhere. But my issue is that I'm Nathan.
"My problem is, I’m too nice, man! I can’t help myself!"
"Hey, nothin’ wrong with that!"
A couple of strangers standing around in the comfortable twilight. I talk to older folks more regularly now. They get it. There will always be those of us who like to gab it up. I leaned against the zone flag and said, "My question is, how the heck is she gonna get all this stuff home?"
He chuckled. "I know, right?"
"You gotta think about stuff like that when you’re at the store!"
We vary in our capacity for abstract thought. Some of us think ahead, and some of us don't. In more than one way, she didn't, but at the end of the day those details fall away like so much chaff. Years from now I will not remember her particulars. There will simply be the memory that I helped someone that day, stretching my legs and talking to the person next to me, trying to be my best self.
The memory will contain the fact that it felt good to do so.
I have also lost my temper. And I have regretted it almost every time. Our human self is imperfect.
Fantastic to hear from you! Thanks for reading and chiming in. Helping with kindness indeed; complaining or letting people know they're a burden never helps. I regret the times I've done so too. And I couldn't have said it better: the person we help the most is ourselves! Yes!
I spent six years or so driving Lyft my trusty Ford C-Max around the Seattle area until I upgraded to the XT40.
Upto February 2020 or so, I'd be able to engage many of my passengers in conversation. I'd politely feel their willingness to chat out by asking them a few open ended questions and go from there. If they didn't engage, I'd just let them enjoy the time in the back seat on the way to their destination.
That never came back, at least not for locals.
As a Lyft driver I could pick out the tourists, sometimes its really easy, if I pick someone up at the airport and drop them off at a hotel, yup a visitor. But I'd be able to pickup on clues of who is a visitor and who is a local pretty reliability.
After 2020 it got to be easier. The visitors talked to me, the locals for the most part didn't. I'm sure it wasn't 100%, and there is undoubtedly some bias for talking with the driver in a town you don't know looking for more information.
We've forgotten how to be with each other, especially how to be with strangers.
In New Flyer, Gillig, Orion-land there is certainly some difference by geography. I've definitely had more interesting conversations operating the 1&14 than I ever did on the 255. (That being said, the 40ft Gillig that was my usual companion on the 255 is NOISY up front!)
I'm still feeling out the 43/44/49, although for those I'm mostly just trying to survive whatever festival, bridge closure, or distinguished guest with a nuclear football the weekend throws at me.
Thanks for reading, and for this thoughtful reply. I'm incredibly interested by what you share here. I thought Lyft would naturally lend itself to conversation much more easily than a bus, and am surprised to see even in that 1-on-1 environment people still prefer communicating with tech over people. And also the contrast between locals and tourists. Gosh, I hope things cycle back around someday!! I'm doing what I can, one person at a time!
The one thought I do have is phones, and more specifically social media are quite well refined at being addictive, and most know they'll get a dopamine dose out of spending some time with it, Chatting with others doesn't promise that same dose of dopamine, even though it is more genuine and natural than the social media variety.
(An aside, this reminds me of an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation: The Game. Where everyone onboard becomes addicted to a headset mounted game. Wesley of course saves the day, because thats what he does...)
Thanks for the hard work you put in with the people on the road! I'm glad this writing resonates. It's such a unique world we drivers inhabit, and I try to share with others a bit of what we experience. Although sometimes I wonder if there are certain things that just can't be conveyed unless the reader has spent some time in the driver's seat!