The Ninth Level of Hell

Whenever I find myself in the ninth level of hell behind the wheel of a large automobile, in my case, a trolley of Muni, I try to ask myself how did I get in such a place? And it is by an essay such as this that I can backtrack to find my part in how I got there, and to hopefully avoid ever having to experience this again. Without having to put on my favorite Talking Heads album. Hell, even getting to type this page was at least the seventh level of hell, and I wasn’t even driving a bus!

Just getting a change in my default printer on my net book took forty minutes. Endless tries to not get my first printer off of default, and to check wireless connectivity took most of the first fifteen minutes. The damn first-note program refused me to change to my second printer, and once there, I ran out of black ink, and the old cartridges would not fit as the number 56 is bigger and has more ink than the damn new ones numbered 60, which have less ink, yet cost the same. I clicked to the company website to see about selecting a new cartridge and got it all in German, from a German website.

And whoever thought getting a new wireless router to share printers on a LAN should be sent to Guantanamo without a key or visa. Even with the USB cable plugged-in directly, one still cannot get the printer out of its dumb printer stopped mode. And then opening the mail program to send my rich text files in my windows starter net book, did actually work seamlessly and so fast, I was pleased to see this aces the mail application on my MacBook pro.

But of course all my emails downloaded to my net book and I couldn’t stop the avalanche of viagra and cash prizes I had won in my spam filled cue. Finally, after deleting all the emails off of my emailing program on my net book, I shut down the computer, which wouldn’t close for new updates (lord knows what they were,) and on to my macbook, where low and behold, my email was there with my first four rich text chapters of this book. And after a few stuck-on- stupid spinning wheels that would not download, I got all my .rtf files converted to pages, and could print them on my first printer which still has black ink. Yes! Total time elapsed: 1 hour 20 minutes. Geez.

Final Solution. Go to preferences cue and search apple for Software Updates.

Needless to say I have my issues. And driving the bus seems easy compared to my office travails. I am looking over this previous paragraph of vomit, and seeing my tranquility has been disturbed. Just as it does when I am behind the wheel of a large automobile, or in my case, a bus. But my spiritual research has indicated that I have the freedom of choice in how I be with respect to what is going on around me. I may not be able to think my way out of the ninth level of hell, but I can choose at any time, how I feel. And when I can’t get in to the Zen zone, I had better take a deep breath and reboot.

The fare box was jamming up and I needed to keep resetting it. Passengers were complaining about being pushed and shoved. I was without help in front or behind, and no buses were in sight. I was losing it. I made a decision. I can’t stay in this mind set. The 18th Street switch was right in front of me. I clicked right on to 18th, and left Mission. “This coach is Out Of Service” “Awww.” came the response from the packed bus. Unauthorized Pull-In. I opened all doors and people slowly streamed off the bus. Not without some comments about my abilities or my mother! This was the only time I recall I defied procedure and went out of service without permission. At this time I lacked the ability to control my load and check in with myself about my mental state.

Fortunately, I had another senior operator on board and she told me what I needed to do, and what to say to the dispatcher when I went to ask for another coach. She had boarded and was returning to the barn to pick up her car. Her day was over. I had forgotten about this ninth level of hell, and how she may have saved me from suspension or dismissal. She recently reminded me of this event. Wow. In my own self centered-ness, I had conveniently blanked it out. But I am glad I recalled this when I looked at how I had veered from topic. Interesting how I am in denial about all of this.

So, I guess all I can say in conclusion is that we all get in to our own ninth level of hell, and can only hope and pray we have an angel around to help us when we can’t do it alone. Thanks to the operator that happened to be on board riding, for helping me reach 17 years with the railway, and for keeping me employed through the years!