Reprise

Make no mistake, I do sing on the bus. And although I am a bass clef brass baritone player, I consider my younger brother as the musician in the family. I’ll claim the writer title as I have an English degree from the University of Missouri – Columbia. Completing my degree became a challenge as I became increasingly angry and frustrated at failing to see how the memorization of stale facts was important or necessary to thrive as a young adult in the job market.

When I slammed the door shut on the Dean of Arts and Science because I failed the Romance Language requirement for graduation, I didn’t realize that the taking of Spanish conversation was the only practical class I would later use as a bus driver in the Mission district in San Francisco! The Dean’s door glass remained intact after I left the office. It was the classic institutional wooden door with his name hand painted in black on the glass panel inset. Just as in a roadrunner cartoon with Willie E. Coyote, there was a delay in reaction; it later shattered in to a matter of pieces not unlike the shards seen in a damaged bus shelter, or curbside from an auto break-in overnight. Walking on Broken Glass, by Annie Lenox seems to be a reprise in the music of my life as a transit operator in San Francisco.

Another possible label to this missive would be the title of a book of a writer employed at UMC when I was in the creative writing sequence in 1980 and ‘81. I had the pleasure of being in Thom McAfee’s writing class. Thom was the published author of a book with a title that seems to typify the life of a transit operator in any major city in the U.S. or the world, for that matter. The title of Thom’s book: Whatever Isn’t Glory.

And so it goes. My vice-principal, so to speak, associate superintendent at my bus barn, politely asked me to wait for the right turn red light at a brand new terminal loop by City College at the Phelan Loop off of Ocean Ave. I wondered why he was sent to this terminal and why he asked me to wait for a green. Little did I know that the next day, everyone in upper management would be watching on a screen at central control via my new drive-cam mounted on the front windscreen.

The next day, I pulled away from the terminal as usual when the coast was clear: not a car in sight and no student pedestrians coming from classes; without waiting for the light to turn green. The sensor in the ground did not adjust the countdown in any measurable way, and, like the newly painted lane markers, was completely useless in functionality. In my mind, the engineers had failed again. The electric trolleys should have been given the two right tracks, the diesel number 8’s the longer space on the left track. The 8 had more recovery time than the trolleys and hence needed more room. Why anyone put an arrow in the red light was beyond me.

I had heard later from a friend in engineering, and a worker at the loop that it was a mistake to not get input from the drivers about redoing the terminal. So I was to be the whipping boy to demonstrate how we operator’s were to use the right turn: go when the way was clear, and to ignore the signal.

Beep. Beep. My radio went off after I made the right turn on my first red arrow. Did you see that you went through a red light? I was distracted by answering a passenger’s question and should have just used this as an excuse. Instead I argued with Central’s unnecessary intrusion. Big mistake. This was the frame for book 2, Keeping Zen, under scrutiny until a suspension could be issued. It wasn’t until about I was halfway through writing Dao 2 that I realized what had happened. I should have just kept my mouth shut and agreed with Central Control.

Later that same day, on my lunch break downtown, a senior in a wheel chair was right behind the leading wall in Powell station, ready to push himself in front of an outbound train. I immediately wheeled him away from the edge of the platform and asked for help from the station agent. But in leaving to get help, he jumped off of his chair in front of an M Oceanview. Luckily, he was out of his chair and was far enough away from the front wall such that the operator of the M had just enough time to slow and stop. Because the senior was out of his chair, he landed conveniently between the two rails, and was not seriously injured. Here is the dramatic extreme of discipline on the first day of a new lane configuration, and a rescue of an attempted suicide in the underground.

But the happy ending to this violation was a year later when I did the 49 trolley on my day off and got ready to leave the Phelan Loop terminal. Yes, this time I planned to wait for the light to turn green!

But when I looked up at the overhead signal, and instead of a red arrow, I saw a solid red light! They had changed the red arrow to a solid so it was legal to make a right on red! I was floored! Victory! I don’t care if this sounds selfish: I’ll take it! This was an unsung heroic action in which I played a part for change. I felt the bigger victory in the solid red than pulling away the man on the platform!

So rather than being a hero, I was set up to face the music, so to speak. I understand that not needing help from above or below is not the same as having a use for an angel or light worker of this universe. As Neale Donald Walsch points out in Happier Than God not needing God is not the same as having any use for God. As God has said, and shall always say, I am always with you, even unto the end of time.

That the end of time may be short at the end of the line, does not mean I should try to ‘make time’ by pushing a stale green, or moving before a red turns green! The biggest demon I face is believing that I do not have enough time. And that demon is me!

*the views herein may not reflect those of the SFMTA or its employees.