Driver Doug works as a transit operator. He loves moving around town away from an office.

He stayed that way for a while, but over time, something changed.

Although Doug loved being on the road, he began to realize some passengers didn’t know where to stand or how to ride on a bus. People would stare at their phones or read in the bus shelter, oblivious to his approaching bus. Some would stand too close to the curb being blocked by the mirrors, lay down in the street daydreaming, or dart in front of his windscreen in the blind spot.

At first, he struggled to figure out how to stay out of the superintendent’s office with time off from complaints of seniors without a seat or falling onboard…until he heard about journaling weekly with his notepad tucked in his shirt pocket to find, then keep his Zen.

So, he clicked onto Kindle Direct Publishing on Amazon and published his stories and it was there that he learned about journaling weekly with his notepad tucked in his shirt pocket to find, then keep his Zen. Now, over 20 years of experience are condensed into a four hour read in illustrated softcover, or as an audiobook, in one non-stop flight from San Francisco to New York City.

With entertaining reading and anecdotal essay stories, riders and drivers from all over–can learn why bus drivers do what they do, and get better understanding on how to get where they want to go–without spending lots of money on a car or pay for parking.

No longer stuck in the brain, the heart of San Francisco is expressed in service–no boiling blood pressure or cuffs-and hitting a brick wall.

Now fewer conflicts arise by knowing when to signal and be the first to board, and where to sit. Seniors can get a seat fast, and fewer delays occur.

Dumping the cost of gasoline, parking, and maintenance of a car, Doug found a higher standard of living by saving and staying on the job. It’s all there in the free preface you can read on Amazon.

By exploring Doug’s trials as a civil service worker, you too, can step up to see if this lifetime job is worth it for you–or ditch the car, and get around for less stress, Jimmy thought it was worth a shot.

Fast-forward to a year later…today Doug’s name comes up first in searching on Google for Muni.

And with no buyouts or mergers at the job, stable pay, and having the bank to stay in San Francisco, without leaving his heart, or his wallet, Jimmy is feeling really happy again.

Be like Driver Doug.

Learn More by searching for author Douglas Meriwether, and The Art of Driving a Bus.

 

If you look at the facts and figures of the quantity of precious metals and resources needed to go into producing all electric cars, it becomes obvious exploration, digging and drilling, must be increased. If inflation persists, and job shortages linger, we may be headed towards a future where fewer households can afford to purchase and maintain a late model vehicle, much less an older model needing parts replacement. Many of us are conditioned in having a car so we can go where we need to go when we want to go, but I posit that this ‘freedom’ may actually be costing us a lot more than we realize.

If you truly factor in all costs associated with owning or leasing a car; the gas, insurance, parking, tolls, tires, batteries, accident claims, liability of others, and of possible theft: the cost of a monthly transit fast pass in an urban area with trolleys or frequent bus service, becomes a neat way to reduce fixed monthly costs, and stay clean and healthy by walking, riding a bike, or taking low emissions electric bus or hybrid.

Since many of our elected officials seem to like to blame outside causes for our problems, and not look to their part in creating inflation or shortages, it’s basically up to us to take charge of our own destiny and get lean and mean. Using mass transit is one key to keeping ahead of living costs.

As the work from home movement grew during our Covid restrictions and lockdowns, urban areas benefitted from less car traffic, and as a bus driver myself, was I able to make the timetables to my checkpoints for the first time in twenty years! All the frustration of dodging tour bus coach shuttles to Silicon Valley, and being blocked at the last minute from ride share vehicles stopping randomly in front of our zone, was finally gone. It was a retirement ribbon dream come true. I could keep to the schedule, and relax behind the wheel. Such a deal!

I ask you to see my perspective and consider taking mass transit the next time your vehicle is in the shop or you are waiting for parts. You may find the free time spent not looking at the road while you travel gives you more time to read and socialize with your neighbor.

In any event, moving too far away from an urban center with fast mass transit, may end up costing us more than we thought during 2020 and 2021. Fight inflation by giving up the car. It is extremely hard to make this change, but skyrocketing rents and gas heading to ten dollars a gallon may be all the persuasion needed to make the change. And to start saving some.

Check out my books on my website: http://www.daoofdoug.com

The inability to see or read the head sign of a bus, or to know where to stand based upon stalled traffic or double parked vehicles notwithstanding, one detail that usually does not escape notice in our fair city is when our air temperature is not fair. The afternoon fog moves in, the temperature drops and those who do not live here become obvious to even the denizens of sidewalk cracks, the suits leaving a tower of high finance, and unfortunately, the thieves and pickpockets looking for a quick take. 

As I drive my bus past the humanity walking by, I point out to visitors on board my bus how we spot tourists instantly. They are curious as to how I know they are not residents of our city when I pick them up. True, the ability to read others becomes fine tuned within our senses as the years add up behind the wheel, but it can also be much simpler.  We key in on what you are wearing.

If an entire family is wearing brand new hoodies and sweat tops with Alcatraz images, it is obvious the ferry ride over to the famous prison island caught them unawares of how cold our sea breeze hits the skin. Especially true when traveling the rails of a boat over the bay or waiting for a bus on a hill.  

The current gold rush becomes apparent. The gold is not in the hills at Sutter’s Mill. The gold is found by selling hoodies and sweat shirts to tourists at Fisherman’s Wharf; or out of a blanket atop Twin Peaks.  It can even be mined from a handbag held side saddle with a wide open top or side pocket.

Not limited to the wharf, other places, such as tour bus vista stops, also become a bazaar for clothing sales. In order to bypass permits, vendors have all the shirts and gear laying on large blankets and sheets. If the spotter sees police cars coming up the hill on the road below, they quickly wrap the garments in the blanket and throw them over the rail. The clothing becomes invisible to the police in the patrol car when it passes by the vista point area. 

Most crime occurs because the police never exit their vehicle.  Beat patrols are always requested, but hard to fill. I argue with others, it is not more cops we need, but pavement pounders on the beat. We are not a car culture city. Our streets have not changed when it comes to foot traffic.  In fact, more people are walking than ever before. This is one reason we become slender after living here for a few years.

July is the number one month for visitors: Central Valley residents beating the heat, Europeans using their generous vacation time, and the occasional and rare Midwesterner’s family visiting a young family member just moved into the city. Its fun to watch a new city resident train their family on how to pay the fare and ride the bus. I really have to watch my self to make sure I don’t go overboard on being a driver guide instead of a city transit operator, but it makes for a fun ride.

Great places for selfies and shots with friends are the Hearts of San Francisco on the corners of Union Square. Alamo Square by the Painted Ladies has landscaping of new trees and freshly sodded green grass. New plumbing for sprinklers and a bathroom have also been upgraded. The Victorian beauties abound around the 4 block square, and look great as a backdrop for a picture. 

I like to point out the four different styles of the turn-of-the-century architecture, and to see where a house lost a complete story in the ’06 earthquake, and if the rounded windows in the cupola were replaced by conventional flat windows. Lots where a newer house stands, point to a fire in the past where an old house didn’t survive with its’ neighbors. Our city history is chock full of these old hotspots. Not so with the afternoon temperatures in July!

If you want to cool off on a vacation in July, San Francisco is the place to be!  Most notably, the day after the Fourth of July. The Fourth of July to Labor Day is fog and wind and freezing your ass off.

The best times to schedule a visit for warm sunny weather are mid May, mid June, early September and early October. Otherwise, bring a jacket, a hoodie, and even a beanie! But don’t worry, we’ll sell you and Alcatraz hoodie or SanFranPsycho beanie!

At long last, the Muni Rapid Lanes are complete on Van Ness! Although critics imply the time savings for riders is only a few minutes in comparison to the lane revisions and bus stop closures over years of delays, I’m here to point out the real advantages these twin rapid lanes present to the future. The bitter angst created during construction can now be cleared  —as water over the Aquatic Park Pier, or —milk spilled on the floor of the Grubstake on Pine Street.

My dream was to retire as a transit operator for Muni by doing a twilight run from the Potrero Division. My legacy as a Bus Driver would be complete with the ultimate in streets’ repair as I pulled in for the last time with no delays on the busy 101 corridor. In 2016, with only a two-year time frame to complete the medians along Van Ness Blvd., the 49 Line would be a dream come true with less conflict from turning cars and weekend afternoon congestion.  I could continue driving until 65 or 67, knowing my job was made less stressful had I headed towards the retirement ribbon. Driving an articulated trolleybus from Ocean Street and City College, all the way to Ghirardelli Square next to Fisherman’s Wharf and back, would no longer be an intense afternoon relief point running late at Market Street. The delays in making relief on time and preventing bunching with the 47 line would no longer be a cat and mouse game in trying to avoid the huge crowd intending at Market and Van Ness in the afternoons, or by the doughnut shop in the late night,

wondering when the next bus was coming through. No more having to call Operations Central Control (OCC) to ask for a switchback and turn-back on Post to Sutter, only to pick up those whom would be dropped at Geary and have to wait for the next bus to Chestnut or Union.

What recent criticism and argument omits is the delay heading from Sacramento to Market outbound in the afternoon along US 101. This trip would take up to 47 minutes to reach Market and Van Ness, the relief point for operators to change drivers and begin a shift. Special Event weekends throughout the summer months, with a crescendo in September and October, would make weekend afternoons a nightmare for any motorist trying to reach the freeway to go over the Bay Bridge, or head south on 101 to escape the city. Much less for those not using a death monster in the city—by taking emissions free transit still stuck sitting in a bus stopped in traffic—making it actually faster to walk from Sacramento Street all the way to Market in twenty some odd minutes. All that angst is now finally gone.

I too, when taking a cab to DogPatch to get a diesel bus for my second part, would complain in agreement with the cabbie about the lane restriction along Sixth Street, Polk Street, and the reduction of lanes South of Market by Environmental Engineers. We thought their plans were crafted from textbooks more aligned with suburban design, rather than dense inner city like Manhattan or downtown San Francisco. The continuous influx of tech companies and workers created delays rivaling Los Angeles and Washington DC. Ironically, it seemed to me, the attraction of homegrown cooperation and cohesion of like minds was being slowly sunk like the boats of yore during the gold rush.

Enter Covid-19 and a pandemic which changed the landscape of San Francisco and it’s traffic. Now the reduction of lanes and wider bike path waysides now seem to fit the greening of urban areas now made more livable with reduced office bound work. It’ll be interesting to see what happens next.

I left work right before Covid hit. My exit interview, which must be conducted three months before the birthdate of retirement, was scheduled for February 13, 2020, just one month before everything shut down. I got the paperwork done just in time! Now, as a visitor to the city this past week, with mask off, and free to roam without one, I see the final icing on the cake I missed because I couldn’t wait to get back to ‘normal.’

 The BRT Bus Rapid Transit Red Carpet awaits. I don’t know what color you need to wear on April Fool’s Day to not get pinched, but it may be red!

 

Having left the raucous Receiver’s office at Potrero Division for the quieter Presidio Division, I thought material for my next book would suffer a drought not unlike the one Northern California had been experiencing for the last several years. As I write this chapter, snowpack is 160 per cent of normal, and the folks up at the Truckee Pass are dug in deep in drifts as high as their roof! The Oroville Dam spillway has had so much water pouring over it that it has needed to be refilled and repaired lest those downriver be inundated with, well, quite frankly, shit. We all know it rolls downhill! And it certainly isn’t pleasant when it hits the fan. However, no tome about Muni would be complete without such scatological reference.
 
Merriam Webster has a nice simple definition: 1: interest in or treatment of obscene matters especially in literature 2 : the biologically oriented study of excrement (as for taxonomic purposes or for the determination of diet). Wikipedia offers this definition: In literature, “scatological” is a term to denote the literary trope of the grotesque body. It is used to describe works that make particular reference to excretion or excrement[…]–as well as to toilet humor. In our case, we are affirming this book as a piece of literature, while also probing a taxonomic discovery of foods ingested to create such a mess. Indeed, a trope is a name given to classical rhetoric and deconstruction, the grotesque body, associated with Mardi Gras consumption of mass food ingestion.
 
So too, like the Oroville Dam spillway, must our operator’s seat be replaced, especially if our pants overflow with self-made pudding. This pudding is hopefully of a texture firmer than brie or muenster cheese, a ‘better butterfinger’ if like sharp cheddar or lentil soup (left on the burner for a few days.) Thus firmer than, say, cottage cheese, left in the back of the refrigerator for God only knows how long, or day old pot of refried beans. Let’s just say, the phrase, “Who cut the cheese?” begins to bring meaning to what I am trying to say in vivid detail.

To be sure, passing the gas is a problem in the seat, especially if a hottie or cutie happens to move close in to the fare box at just the right (or wrong) moment when one prays which way the wind blows, in a favorable light direction. But for whom the bell tolls, when the anus fails to hold back the flood, is that it tolls for thee.

So too, with stories now emanating from the Gilley Room at Presidio. As I was passing by to pick up my paddle, and suggest this new title as a chapter in my book, a group of operators were in deep conversation about the various personal necessity emergencies we find in having to stop the coach and use the restroom. Our code for personal necessity is 702. The story line at our break room was about a difficult situation (saturation) in which a personal necessity was being called at a busy intersection downtown at Montgomery and Market.
 
Personal necessity calls are expected to occur at our terminal break, not in the middle of the line. So it was definitely an item for cause when a bus goes out of service at this location. An inspector rushed to the scene to find out why this operator was holding the bus and blocking a traffic lane.
 
I need to change my uniform. stated the operator. Did coffee spill on your shirt? asked the inspector. No, I need a new pair of pants. Would you like me to show you? Immediately, the look of disdain disappeared on the inspector’s face. He got a wiff.
Oh.
 
The operator got orders to pull the coach in. No disciplinary action taken. There is a rule whereby we have two hours to get a new uniform if it becomes soiled.
 

The reason we put newspaper down on our cockpit seat is because if we don’t, we sometimes feel as though invisible worms are eating the way up our ass as we twitch and squirm in our seat. Our new buses have a seat belt safety feature which sends out a loud noise on our horn which honks not unlike a car alarm. If our ass leaves the seat, even for a second, the bus will scream out loud, and on some models, if moving, the bus brakes to an immediate stop.
 
So dear pedestrian, if you hear a bus honking loudly in the middle of the street, please take heart. It could simply be that we are trying to remove our caked uniform stuck to our butt from hours of steamy driving, or it could be call for a 702. In any case, the idiot who installed this safety feature did not have experience in driving a bus over a twelve hour range in a city like San Francisco.

Excerpt From
https://search.yahoo.com/search?ei=utf-8&fr=aaplw&p=apple+books+the+best+of+the+dao+of+doug
DOUGLAS GRIGGS
This material may be protected by copyright.

A phrase or action you never use or make when on the bus in San Francisco; at least until respectful help is extinguished, or the threat of injury or death is dramatically demanded in most uncertain terms!

Good luck substitutes include: Can you hold on for two more stops? The drama Queen and “victim” will end the tirade when we get to 16th. Or the separation of the children: ‘He said she said’ arguing escalates to raging volumes just short of “Go ahead and hit me!” “Come up here with me and have a seat. We can talk about it while we move on down Mission.”

Being a bus driver with the homeless is just like being a teacher on playground duty in grade school. Ask any recovered addict or alcoholic about the time loss of growing up under the influence. All social and relationship maturity matters come to a standstill until long term sobriety kicks in. Such that someone who starts drinking in their teens doesn’t age in maturity until they stop.

The response you never need to get to is, “Go ahead, call the Police!” Thanks to local DA’s, and the lack of prosecution, addicts living on the streets have a consequence free environment. “Here’s your stop!” works much better than you’d expect. This reminds every rider the point of my job—helping you to get to your destination.

Offering a transfer also helps on pull in trips late at night. Calling for the Fire Department or an ambulance sometimes works, ‘to get you the help you need’ such that the mental flashbacks just get deeper towards missing a quick fix.

In the meantime, opening all doors and popping the brakes sends the signal that we aren’t moving: Moving to your dealer at 16th.

Getting past the revenue collectors pulling in without paperwork is a sign of a good sign of being spiritually fit! Especially without having to record the unit and badge number for the radio response!

Steve Jobs never intended the iPhone to be nothing more than a fast way to check and send a few emails without having to be at the desk. The social change in how we talk to each other has gone through a revolution of sorts, leading to massive gatherings on a large scale, and looking down, holding a device in hand, oblivious to our surroundings. With inflation entrenched, and double income earners in the family household now the norm, where has our dinner table discussion gone?

The link attached is to a recent New York Times article about assisted suicide in our youth. My frustration comes from how our society is set up, in that jurisdiction and artificial political and social ‘norms’ compartmentalize how we express ourselves.

One of my most tender and moving service aspects was to allow broken souls get a free ride to the Langley Porter facility on the 6 Parnassus, or the ER rooms at St. Francis medical on the 49 line passing nearby on Van Ness, or the 1 California to California Pacific Campus Medical Center between Webster and Buchanan on Sacramento. The more painstaking drop offs were at St. Mary’s by Golden Gate Park as our terminal moved from 6 Ave. to Shrader and Fulton right by the hospital. Those who were denied access to help would lounge at our break spot and occupy all of our rest time with drama and anger: do we really want to take them all the way back to 6th St.? Hopefully, we could distract them into walking over to Haight Street or Golden Gate Park.

One of the ‘skills’ I would teach as a line trainer, was to make sure how to drop off those on the 14 Mission and 21 Hayes to use the around the block method to drop off any sleepers or stinkers BEFORE arriving at the inbound or outbound terminals. Note that my terms of those who may have nowhere to go have been reduced to two words to describe them. This is, of course, a part of the problem. In the link to this story in the Times, are a whole other set of promising youth who take their lives–but I couldn’t help but post this blog about the phrase used to commit suicide, “Catch the bus.”

Mr. President recently exclaimed that ‘we,’ the US, would now resume the title as world leader in all aspects implied with green energy, infrastructure, and social. But did any other country or leader ask ‘us’ to do this? More pertinent, have you had a Kennebunkport minute? Your social register score, vis a vis poll numbers, seem to suggest, yes. I am thrilled the new spending bill will cost me nothing, with the great thumbs up you gave a bit ago, but methinks something has gone awry, and I don’t think it’s just me.

It’s kind of like hitting the ‘agree’ button on the user end agreement tab for logging in or logging on to corporate platform, whereby no risk is assumed or implied; no responsibility is given or taken, rights freely surrendered–in order to gain entry–kinda like an IOI gratitude center in the future world created by Ernest Cline, Ready Player One. Credits to replay and repay in the Oasis, yes, but geez, at what cost?

The darkest Draconian story in science fiction history has to be the Aliens Franchise story in the Eighties with Sigourney Weaver as Ripley, our hero keeping one step ahead of Weyland’s plan to make profit in the BioWeapons Division. The above tee-shirt worn by a Muni rider is a classic I always loved to see when he was waiting at a bus stop or boarding my coach. In fact, looking a tee-shirts is a great hobby on the bus, or now when I walk down Kalakaua Street in Waikiki.

I’m sitting here in my condo, waiting for a buyer to view my apartment to make an offer, and she cancelled because she wasn’t feeling good. I went online to get a mortgage quote to see what my monthly payment would be and how much down payment I’d have to fork over if I bought this place, and all of a sudden, I knew how the potential buyer was feeling: excitement exhausted with the nausea of creating more debt.

You know, that sinking feeling in giving away your email and phone number and wondering how long it would take to clear out the spam over the next few months, and how many calls from unregistered phone numbers I be getting with no one on the other end, if I answered. Even if I did have a car warranty.

Anyway, this place doesn’t have a pool. And the place I’m going to look at has one: with beautiful small cobalt blue tiles hand placed with a golden tiled design on the bottom. Hmm. I feel better now.

Go Joe!

Build Back Better!

I always thought having a great job doing what I loved was too good to be true. I’d just do a job to get out of debt on my credit card or to be left alone after work so I could drink. Any job where I could clock out and not take my work home with me was just what the doctor ordered. Work hard and party hard was my unspoken mantra. Some of the hardest jobs seemed not to pay much, but if I could work overtime if need be, and lower my expectations of ambition, I’d be in like Flynn.

I got rid of my pickup truck and tools and started riding the bus, so I didn’t have to worry about parking and break-ins. Several nights when I was sleeping in the camper shell, someone tried to break into my ‘sleep room’ and steal stuff as I was sleeping. I sold my truck for a move-in deposit on a studio apartment and my stress reduced dramatically. I didn’t have to worry about a big ticket item being left out on the street out of my sight, my control.

I knew I liked to drive and was good at it. But how could I drive without a car? I enjoyed meeting people and showing them around my new city and its treasures. I saw an ad for being a driver guide, and the idea that my joys and my job could be together, ignited a great plan for purpose in my life I followed for three decades!

I stopped going to the bar during happy hour and joined other drinkers for support in getting feedback on how to live without wasting time and money on alcohol. I lost my fear of drug testing and was told I could build ‘trophies on the wall’ in Alcoholics Anonymous for clean times and clean testing. I had no more fears about a drug test.

A big secret about not having enough qualified applicants for hiring these days is because of having to pass a drug test! This started in the USA around 1991 with the Department of Transportation mandate after severe Amtrak derailments revealed blood alcohol levels in those on duty during the crash were elevated, to say the least. The movie Flight, with Denzel Washington encapsulates the fallout from this shift, whereby many safety significant employees lost their jobs in the nineties, and never came back.

Now I’m reading and listening to others’ stories about how they found purpose and service helping others with the spirit of Aloha in Hawaii. I stayed at the same job for over twenty years and never missed a paycheck. I found a good job I enjoyed with the peace I always searched for: except for when the shit hit the fan! But I figured that out by acknowledging I was one with those whom I thought were the problem.

‘Da bus in Honolulu is hiring, and this is a great service sector job that pays well, especially when hourly wages don’t match the cost of living in many jobs on the island. Because there are very few tech employees earning north of two hundred thousand dollars a year in Honolulu, such as in San Francisco, the cost of living is lower without the flood of venture capital money being pushed into the Bay Area. The mantra here on Oahu is the drop in Japanese tourist spending since they heydays in the Nineties. One could say that the end of unlimited bounty from Japan due to aging demographics, has led to lower wages and less job growth on Oahu.

Much of the shock of those long term residents living in Boise, ID, Phoenix, AZ, Austin, TX, and Orlando, FL, is because the diaspora of work-from-home migration departing Silicon Valley has now led to the shockflation* effect where demand-pull rises all prices. We San Franciscans saw this happening beginning in 2010 and continuing until 2020, only to see the bull whip of inequality soak into other parts of the country with competition for housing. I don’t wish that on anyone anywhere at anytime.

It doesn’t take a genius (just an alcoholic) to see where spending on housing for the homeless is a never ending story. One has to be willing to admit defeat and ask for help. So many addicts will go back to using if there are no consequences to their behavior. All the mommy (money) in the world isn’t going to wave a magic wand to end their denial. Only a surrender to listen to those who’ve been there, can God’s will take hold and change their attitude and outlook upon life. If a single boot on the neck of an addict can spark fires faster than wildfires in California, that system must be a fragile one, lacking the consensus of what has works.

*shockflation: a word I just made up to describe the influence of seemingly unlimited monies being thrown at a certain cohort group without regards to the unintended effects this has on others not in the group.

In my first book, I talk about the amazing synchronicity in returning items to riders on my bus: ranging from the five one hundred dollar bills used as a book mark in an old softcover–to the coin purse of nickels, dimes, and pennies from an overjoyed senior downtown. I have four different versions of pdfs in my training vault about what to do when trying to find out what happens to your phone, a book, or a shopping bag, if left and spaced on the bus after you leave my domain as a bus driver. You can still visit me at: http://www.daoofdoug.com. –and I’ll rotate the different versions of Lost and Found.

This blog, however, is about the ‘lost and found’ of my job which came into my imaginative mind as I awoke on my last day of service at Muni. My retirement was on my birthday on the first Friday of June, 2020, but because of the lockdown of Covid, I was assigned on a part time basis, and didn’t realize that this Tuesday was actually going to be my last day– ‘losing’ my steadfast purpose of 21 and half years of showing up to drive a bus around town to take you to your destination. In that first few moments upon awakening, all those I had touched throughout the years on the 22 Fillmore, 24 Divisadero, and 33 Ashbury came to wish me farewell.

I’ve become a much better writer now that I’ve put together four books about my day as a transit operator, and I pridefully point out how my edits and errors reduced from over one thousand corrections in 2013 Finding Zen book 1, to only seven in book 3, Trolleybus of Happy Destiny, 2018. But with all those hours behind the screen on the keyboard blogging away on weekends after work, I am still stymied and baffled about how to convey the feeling I had on my last day waking up to go to work. I didn’t know it was my last day, though in hindsight, the clues were there.

It was a bright sunny morning this day when I opened my eyes, and I had a strong sense of gratitude and knowing which comes from remembrance of where I was and what I was doing while I was in dream state. I got this incredible burst of love and smiles with visages and voices of those who I intuitively knew were my riders on the bus. These were specific people who had known me on my routine runs, during the day. I could see their invisible hand shake or embrace or smile behind my cockpit and it was if they were saying goodbye like parting with a long time family member or close lifetime friend. It was more of an understanding of love, and I sensed many different souls shining brightly and gently giving me congratulations.

Like so many of my slow honest moments in life, I couldn’t connect the dots of this experience until I checked my detail two days later, and saw I wasn’t going to be assigned work on my last official day of employment. That waking moment returned to my heart as this was the spiritual gift as beautiful and shiny as a gold pocket watch and chain!

The bus driver that brought me my 24 Divisadero bus at Sutter inbound the past week was at her parked car getting something to get ready for a twilight shift on the 24. I paused and opened my coach door before pulling in my last time to the gate to give good cheer like the feeling of going to church to hang the greens for service on Christmas Eve. She was the last coworker to see me on the bus, and unlike my expectation to be greeted at the gate with some imagined ribbon across the gate, no one was at the revenue collection station, and the tower was empty with the signal set for track 12. That’s it. No drum roll, no unusual or special occurrence.

Then it dawned on me as a huge shit eating grin slowly broke over my face as I slowly walked off the property for the last time. My union rep had kept my vice superintendent at bay and prevented a two or three day suspension with an adroit knowledge of the rulebook. I had the support of my union.

There were no bad feelings amongst any of my coworkers, and no bad blood or payback about any past event in memory. I recalled an adage about stand up comedy, “Leave them wanting more.” Or, later, the more sanguine belief:

san·guine /ˈsaNGɡwən / adjective

• 1.optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation: 

“Get out when the getting is good!”

I did it! I got out clean! No more paperwork! And the truism about Muni: No news is good news – and – my favorite, the best surprise is no surprise! (Leave it for Christmas or Birthdays!)

There was a joyful mood at the front doors by the tunnel garage opening with a good sized group of operators chatting merrily away and I paused and smiled, and quietly walked down Geary to my apartment to take off my uniform for the last time.