Leave your Heart in San Fran: Not your iPhone

it’s okay to leave your heart in San Francisco

Lost and Found

It takes a certain earnestness to make a commitment to read a book of essays by a bus driver, this exposition being no exception.   What am I saying?   Thanks for reading!   The journey to publish a book has shown me who the avid readers are, the state of the brick and mortar book store, and the online mega monster that is as large as a subtropical river delta in South America:   Amazon!   It has also brought me back to the door-to-door sales mentality as a young scout.   Carrying around my newly published book for sale is not unlike the cold call of door knocking and selling tickets to a movie as a boy scout raising money for new tents for our troop.  The interplay of selling self to another, in a compressed time frame, is truly a Gemini trait that ranges through almost every emotion and sense of self-esteem and self worth.

The number one question on people’s mind when they find out I am a Muni bus driver, is, What is the craziest thing that happened to you on the bus?  And I tell them about the spread eagle Folsom fair goer in nothing but chaps, jumping on to the front of the bus, holding on to the windshield wipers and bike rack, baring all to the riders and those at the stop:  Or being offered a loaded crack pipe in the inner mission,   placed on the fare box, with  lighter,  as fare payment.  Hmm, do tell.   I understand the mission statement of Balboa Press, which is to be a nature-friendly new age  publisher.  Does a publisher in Bloomington, Indiana desire to publish everything that goes on inside a Muni bus, especially at the back seat?  The addition of cameras on all buses has been a mixed bag. And so goes the range of emotion in promoting myself, and editing for interest and genre category.  I guess this is a good time to state, “The views contained herein do not necessarily reflect those of the SFMTA or its’ employees!”

The first book, “Finding Zen” has a preface from me.   This sequel, “Keeping Zen,” has an epilogue, an update on attitudes about our transit future.   I also wanted a chapter that had an air of finality to it, such as with, “When Worlds Collide,” in book one.  The idea came to me at Sacramento and Fillmore on the 22 line:  Lost and Found!  I had lost this idea in my head because I didn’t write it down when it came to me.  Fortunately, I got the idea back upon awakening.  I had “found” the idea again!  Indeed, the items found on a bus were as diverse as the riders, and the thoughts and emotions about such seemed worthy as a chapter with the human interest angle.  If you want to start an interesting conversation with a Muni bus driver, ask them about their most interesting lost and found story!  

So back to the Fillmore on the 22.

I had returned a Mac Book Pro to a woman who had left it on the bus.   This was at Jackson, an affluent neighborhood where the bus is relatively empty.  She had been on the phone, and was distracted by the attention given to the caller.  She forgot the fact that she had her computer with her.  A passenger alerted me to the laptop, left on a seat at the back of the bus by the rear door.   I immediately called on the radio, stating my run, line and coach number.  Operations Central Control (OCC) would be able to locate my bus, should the rider call 3-1-1 about leaving an item on board.    I never describe the item in full, on the air, so that only the owner would be able to identify the item when Central calls me back.  But the call back never came.  I put the computer in my bag for safe keeping and out of sight.  Having a laptop on the dash certainly would not do.   

When I pulled-in I talked to the dispatcher about what to do–the laptop’s owner’s phone numbers were on a business card that was inside the sleeve of the computer’s cover.  We called both numbers but got no answer.  When we have an item for lost and found, we are to tag the item with our cap number, coach number, and line in which we found the item.  We leave the item to be picked up the next day by the mail room and to have it sent to the main Lost and Found department at S. Van Ness and Market. 

The dispatcher was hesitant to leave the computer on the console by the other lost and found items overnight,  and  said I could return the item to her as I lived close by.   This was a rare event in my employ in that I was being trusted to do the right thing.  I returned the laptop to her that next evening, at my front door in the building where I live.  Returning an item to it’s owner is fun:  I love the look on your face when you are reunited with your cell phone, computer, or billfold.   

Not so for the dispatcher once the superintendent found out what happened.  Many times a call for thanks for an above and beyond action carries discipline, not commendation.   By describing my action to return the laptop, off-property, as a commendation from the woman, the dispatcher was disciplined by our boss for not following protocol.  I never saw him at the desk again.  I must follow the wisdom that the rules have for my own protection, and protection of the railway.  

Most of my actions of knighthood and chivalry seem not to be welcome in this age of   Tina Turner’s verse captured in Beyond Thunderdome.   The lyric rings true as a bus driver in San Francisco:  We don’t need another hero!   Even so, I relish the challenge a found item can have. 

Another example:  A loaded wallet is in the gutter in front of me as I pull up on Mission at Third.  A back and forth homeless rider, on the sidewalk,  spots the wallet in the gutter seconds after I do.   But as I am closer to the wallet, I pop the brake and snatch it seconds before she gets to it.  And it is here that I am confronted with my own prejudice and fear revolving around lost and found.  

Who am I to say that the homeless woman on the street is no more or less a help to return the wallet to the owner than I am?   Her desire for a reward for doing the right thing is no more or less valuable or assured than with my wish, even if that be the case.  Or why am I so prepossessed  to assume she would follow the Law of the Sea better than I?  This Law being: Finders keepers. Losers weepers.  Which many believe to be, the cash is mine, a sort of finder’s fee, and be thankful you got your license and credit cards back. 

In this instance, her license showed an address very close to the line and easy to ride by on my way home.  I stayed off the air about it and gave the wallet to the doorman in her building after I pulled-in.  She had already alerted the doorman about the wallet, but didn’t know when she lost it. 

The curb by the back door is another common collection point for lost belongings,  but, technically, is not on railway property.   This gets in to the issue of what constitutes a bus stop, and the zone considered our responsibility as a driver.  Anything within four feet of the bus zone is part of our responsibility, such as with  intending passengers and the determination of pass-up.  

This gets to the core of why I love this job.  I am confronted about my own beliefs and values by the diverse sedimentation of deposits laying all around me at a bus stop!  Is the dispatcher’s fear of leaving the laptop in the office any different than the fear I have that a wallet and the cash inside will disappear before or after the mail room employee comes to pick it up?  Can the trust of Lost and Found or another employee be higher or lower than a person on the street?    The opening of the heart reveals so much more.

One sweet grandma had left the entire contents of her wallet with coin purse on the bus with about six paper dollars and heavy change.  I described the item as soon as I found it on the seat where she had been sitting across from me at the next stop, when I called Central.  She was waiting for me back on the other side when I came back outbound.

“I am sorry I can’t give you anything for returning this.” she said in a gentle voice.  “Oh but you have.” I responded without hesitation.  The feeling of reward without monetary consideration is such a rare wonderful feeling.   True abundance may be found without counting money.  Once I start figuring on the dollar amount of where finders keepers becomes the reward theory, I am already in trouble. Trouble with karma, trouble with dharma.  I also question my belief as to why a wallet loaded with twenties is “less valuable” as a return item than a coin purse full of nickels and pennies.  The thought that some young tech professional does not need her twenties, but a senior’s pennies from heaven do, is a value judgement full of lessons and experience that may or may not be true.  

It gets back to the difference between the second and third grade.  Second graders want what they want and they want it now!   Third graders realize that listening and believing the first thought that pops into our head may not be good, or have a good outcome.  All of us need be taught that the first thought that comes in to our mind should not necessarily be acted upon.  This becomes no more evident in the dialogue of a crack addict or meth head on the bus mumbling or shouting in the seat behind me!  When impulse becomes primary, the circuit breaker of thinking about our thinking gets lost, or turned-off.  This results in bad decision-making!   God bless the angels that come our way on the bus!  

The number one big ticket tech item lost are cell phones.  Smart phones are left when the passenger falls asleep.  Most of us are so connected to our smart phone, such that the likelihood of leaving it has actually diminished from the text and talk clamshell flip phone of an earlier generation.  Older cells are easily returnable because they are unlocked.  

I can wait for a call to come in, pop the brake, step off the coach, and give the bus number and location of my coach, so their friend can meet and intercept.  Usually, the owner is with the friend, as they are asking them to call their phone to see if someone answers.  I love returning this item because it frees me up from making a lost and found tag when I pull-in.  I can’t get in trouble for not following protocol.  

Other times, a savvy rider realizes the item was on the bus, and they wait in the following direction to scan for me and the item on the seat.  Either they find the item where they left it, or I hold the item in my hand as I approach the stop. The look of  relief on their face is worth at least two or three profane disruptions that may also occur that day. Though it is interesting to note that the quality of the day is based on the energy I am putting out, good deeds and disruptions have a difficult time in happening close together, or side by side, if you will.  By keeping the Zen, I may be keeping the problems at bay.   In this case, somewhere near pier 90!

https://www.amazon.com/Dao-Doug-Driving-Francisco-Trainers/dp/1723346489/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=The+art+of+driving+a+bus&qid=1583592526&sr=8-2

Flu Shot

It is understandable in this busy bustling city why we forget to do certain things we need to get done for our own well being. Some years I miss getting my free flu shot at The Permenente Medical Group because I never slow down enough to review my day or prioritize deadlines. The good news is that anyone riding Muni on a daily basis may need not get a flu shot. Riding the bus qualifies! 

There are enough fluids in the aisle and on the seats to qualify for any quarantine protocols.  Airborne cough particles, or the de-gasification of body odor, cigarette smoke, methadone leaching, and any number of party p-n-p inhalants greet our nose upon entry. And the age old angst against all prayer: “Why do you have to sit directly behind the cockpit?” “Please move back.” “I am handicapped.”  No shit Shirley!

Much has changed since this blog was written in 2015. My last pull out at Woods Division on a motor coach for the 33 Ashbury was sparking clean with the extra attention from the car cleaners due to the Corona virus conditions with shelter-in-place: the steering wheel wasn’t sticky! I took out my windex wipes and ran them over the wheel and horn button. The white glove test came back clean–no carbon black on the wipe! Indeed, many surfaces were much cleaner than usual, and a disinfected check off post-it note was on the fare box, with the initials and date of the cleaning. To be fair, I thought I should add this paragraph to let my readers know this dramatic shift in attention to detail since before the spring of 2020.

So the one drawback a disciplinary video playback can never show is the olfactory component! A blessed homeless woman gave me her secret tonic to kill all smells. It was in a cologne bottle, but it wasn’t glass. It was a non-breakable Muni-proofed rounded plexi container with a killer spray nozzle. One spray, when aimed correctly at the seat behind the cockpit could buy insurance for at least two trips down Mission Street! 

I was doing the 22 Fillmore with triple headway on a regular basis when the stinker of all stinkers got on at Eddy headed towards the Marina and Pacific Heights. No way was I going to put up with this shit all the way through sweet upper class  Grandmas and seniors going to Jackson or Union. I started to pray. There were two very well dressed executive types that also boarded at Eddy at the same time this awful smelling guy got on. This is when my overthinking head really gives me serious emotional pain. I have so much invested on what you think of me and how I look at doing my job. My fear of telling off the stinker and how to get rid of him, versus doing nothing ignoring the smell, as if I don’t care for the welfare of riders new to mass transit, had me in that rock and hard place not unlike Alcatraz Island.

The prayers worked. At Geary, I saw in my rearview courtesy mirror a stirring in his seat behind me that signaled he was getting off! Whew! But my hours of being on edge with extra headway finally exploded. I got up out of my seat as he started down the stairs. Oh I think you forgot something. I took out my secret weapon and sprayed the back of his coat as he went out the door. Thank God he’s gone!

This was one time the video playback worked in my favor. My superintendent and those in the office at the time laughed so hard at what they saw that I didn’t get in trouble. The nice looking executive types had called in on me to complain. I could never figure out how they were unaware of his smell, but my boss couldn’t bring herself to write me up over this incident.  

I avoided a Passenger Service Review simply by the humor of having another operator as a boss, and not someone unfamiliar with what we go through. She got it. Unfortunately, she got promoted and I had to start all over with a new boss. This ‘starting over’ is actually one of the most difficult aspects of discipline with Muni. Having to prove myself to someone new almost negates all the stink of past passengers!

Its an old Scottish saying, What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. The same could be said of riding the bus in San Francisco!

Litterbugs

I had a group of youngsters bringing in food at the back door after I asked them to take their trash with them when they depart. My comment fell on deaf ears as they went to the back door with their ice cream sandwich and candy bars. Being a bully and demanding an action has never worked in the past, so I simply make a request in a calm monotone voice and let my control over any situation die after I take the action of a neutral toned statement and let the cards (ice cream, soda cans, juice bottles, fried chicken) fall where they may. 

Transfer points with fast food stores are the places were food gets brought on the bus. It isn’t too hard to see where the trash comes on board. Once I understand this, I can ask intending passengers to take their food or trash with them, and if they board at the front, I get a positive response. I see them take their bags and cups with them when they get off. The Seven-Eleven at 30th and Mission, and Popeye’s at Divisadero and Hayes are the key litterbug stops on the 24 and 21 respectively.

Yesterday, I had an off duty operator, riding my coach inbound on the 21, alert me that the man who just got off at 8th and Market dropped a full coffee cup on the back seat and the spill was creeping down the floor to the back steps. Cream and sugar, mixed with coffee make for a gross floor and sticky mess that can be tracked throughout the bus over the following hours of service. I had five more trips to make on this day, so the spill was going to affect all the commuters going home after a long day. No one likes to be forced into a sticky seat or floor when all seats are taken on the peak period commute home. Litterbugs don’t understand the effect they are having on all those who come after them on the bus.

I asked the riding operator to get a newspaper at the news rack on the corner, and he gave me a some copies at my window, and I popped the brake. I went to the back and laid the papers down on the floor where the streams of goo were moving and absorbed the coffee off of the seats that were affected. 

“Let’s go!” demanded one of the youth. “Not until I clean this mess, look here, there is an ice cream wrapper on the floor.” I responded. “All these seats and aisle are unusable as this coach will be out of service to wait for the car cleaners, and everyone will have to wait longer for the next bus. I am keeping this coach in service.” They begrudgingly got off the bus.

My follower on the 9 San Bruno behind me honked at the delay created by missing a light at the inbound stop. I was holding up the line. Losing a light was a small price to pay to keep my headway intact. I returned to the cockpit and left on the next green. I let the paper absorb all the sticky coffee, and then at the next stop where a trash can is right at the corner, I picked up the wet paper and throw it into the can. The mess is gone.

We operators do have the ability to call for the car cleaners to come and fix the mess, but what these youth and old man seem not to understand, is the delay in coming to clean the coach means my bus blocks the terminal for my follower, who now has double headway. This one spill, along with the wrappers, gets dropped off in a second, but causes hours of dirty shoes and clothes by those who follow, or a delay in service that lasts over an hour. The best lesson I can give for change is to set an example by doing a spot cleaning when it happens and when they are on the bus.

It was made obvious to me from the operator who witnessed the spill,  that the old man intentionally dropped his coffee cup and had an attitude. I recall this was not the first time he did this. I file this away in my brain, and be alert for his boarding next time. Last time, I discovered the mess after a full trip to my second terminal.

Indeed, I do find many interesting articles when I do the rear board walk through at the end of the line, as our rulebook suggests. If a spill  has occurred, as we may not be able to see the mess when the bus is crowded. It is important to understand a rider can make a difference by letting the operator know . This was the case on this day, as I couldn’t see what happened. At the end of the line I whipped out my window cleaner pads and got the seats shiny and bright and then used the pads to clean the floor where the shoes would rest. 

It took two minutes to make the final wipe, and I left Ferry Plaza on time. Snap. Can I get an amen in here?

The youth may believe its cool to ride for free and eat on the bus, without a second thought, but the old man should know better. He was probably an operator who was let go, and is now a hater. He knows the rules, but in an odd twist, a resentment is nursed and fed about how they ‘did it’ to him, how unfair the outside world has treated him. I know his line of thought all too well, and I don’t have to react to it. I can insert a positive action of example, and keep myself on a higher plane. Or bus!

Signs and posters for litterbug fines don’t seem to get through. Positive action does. We now return you to the Trolleybus of Happy Destiny, complete with clean seats and floorspace!

back seat graffiti

Prayer and Meditation

morning bench

Perhaps the best path to job security lays off the beaten path. I need to hit the pause button and listen to something other than my head. The sound of a stream in the morning fog may slow me down in a manner more helpful than stopped traffic!

Traffic Hell.

I’d Never Do Your Job

I come from a background where money may not be the root of all evil, and it was acknowledged that it did indeed grow on trees, but that there were two types of money: Good money and bad money. You never wanted to throw good money after bad. And there was a nuance between money earned and money given. Or money found by luck, or money made easy. I never heard too much about money made easy. Honest money made was the best money. A penny saved was a penny earned. But, boy did that sound like a lot of plodding and not too much fun. So it should come as no surprise, if I worked hard to make money, it should therefore be good money. I was pleased to find work as a transit operator in the city by the bay, the Bagdad by the bay, the city that never sleeps, which was a hard job but a good paying job. I hit the family ancestral jackpot. I was making good money at a hard job in line with my family history.

But I noticed early on in my Muni riding days, that some drivers looked relatively relaxed, and nothing seemed to phase them. And some were actually fun to talk to. And that there did seem to be a way in which to make their work look easy and relaxing, and yet is a high paying job. So the seed was planted early on that this might be a good job for me. As a Gemini sun sign, transportation and continual movement fits my sign. Read more here:

Mind the Gap

About the Author: Saturn in Sagittarius

This Astro reading really describes the how and why of my writing the Dao of Doug series; especially with my history of putting my English degree to work as a transit operator. Thanks for those in Douglas on the Isle of Man, and those in Leister and central England for your e-reader uploads in 2019. Your purchases were the largest group of readers, topping New York City and Montreal!

Information Gladly Given But Safety Requires Avoiding Unnecessary Conversation

I’d like to think I am an enigma as a Muni bus driver, because I do enjoy being of service and giving directions. Most operators, however, give the silent treatment. This posting on the bus should honestly read: Information rarely given, and when it is given, it is given with condescension and sarcasm: You only get three questions, and then it’s time to shut-up and ask someone else (a passenger, perhaps?) (for a completely different answer).

Look, now is not the time to ask a question. “I can’t talk right now.”

But Safety Requires You Remain Silent: The time to ask was before the yellow line when boarding. We have these things called the internet and Google or Siri, and you can get directions before starting your trip. “So please, shut up and sit down!”

Neon lighting with bells and whistles would not help get the message through to most folks.

Crunch Zone

Packed, Stacked, and Racked

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

I at first wanted to call this chapter, “Crunch Time,” such as the operation of a bus from 3:30 pm to 6:30 pm. However, the pattern of movement between two stops was as predictable as the time frame, and I realized that a more accurate description of gridlock was in certain zones between stops. And the idea for this chapter was born in the conversation with this wheelchair rider as he glided away from downtown with me in a coach that was calm and roomy.  If there was an opposite to being in the Zen zone, this chapter is it.  I found out he wanted to go up Van Ness to Geary, but was passing up the transfer point by four blocks. Now I know why. He was avoiding having to board Muni in the crunch zone.

Indeed, I found this out as a rider that the fastest was to go inbound on the Geary bus to catch a 15 Third. I made a large checkmark inbound to outbound rather than go crosstown direct. Passengers taking the Metro underground also understand this principle, and take an empty car from Civic Center or Powell down to Montgomery, and get a seat for the outbound peak period. This is true of the crunch zones between the 49 Van Ness. Especially if you are in a wheelchair, carrying a large cumbersome object, or using a grocery cart. Also, if you have difficulty in getting up the stairs, or need a seat right by the door, oddly enough, the best offense is the defense of traveling beyond the closest stop to your destination. This means backtracking to board where the bus is less crowded.  

On the 49 line, the crunch zone lays between 16th Street and Eddy inbound, and from O’Farrell to Otis outbound. Load factors and working leaders influence the zone by making it longer or shorter, but in general, I know I have to make sure people boarding do the right thing by sitting or standing in such a way to prevent fights or arguments at the following stops. People listen better before their space is threatened. This is a golden key to the crunch zone.

https://www.scribd.com/book/383904344/The-Dao-of-Doug-2-The-Art-of-Driving-a-Bus-Keeping-Zen-In-San-Francisco-Transit-A-Line-Trainer-s-Guide-Dao-of-Doug-2

Why Be A Driver?

Many ask this question, and we driver’s know who you are:  Someone who has never driven for a living. There are many negatives to being a driver, but not usually what you may think–if all you’ve ever known is an office desk or retail floorspace. In most respects, an office job is a superior job, unless you are like most drivers, independent, and not a fan of office politics. The love of driving should be in your blood, and you know it. Indeed, the life of a driver does involve politics to some degree, but only in a larger sense like city government’s rules and regulations such as parking tickets or moving violations. 

If you work for the government, as a civil service employee, the politics of parking and fee violation threat are somewhat reduced, as you are driving city equipment on city streets, and the police are your supportive coworkers. Backlash can occur at any intersection or crosswalk, however, and the ‘me first’ attitude of car culture, borne of the baby boom generation, is the saddest detriment to quality of life in this thriving city. Heat from claims from the City Attorney’s office, and public complaints about rude drivers is the pushback we do well to understand if we are to keep our job and stay off the radar.

No, the life of a driver is one more like that of a writer: interest in the people that cross your path. Tour bus driver guide, shuttle driver, taxi driver, and  in delivery services, we get in get out, and have command of our own ship, so to speak, like our hero Robert Di Nero in the movie Brazil.

We learn the art of understanding and dealing with dispatchers or how to get a  signature if squaring a delivery.  We know what paths not to take during certain times, and secrets about how to cut delays. We have a many times thankless job, but we still have our own independence and ability to keep to ourselves when all is quiet. Kind of like an editor’s job reviewing a book for publication!

As long as our vision is clear and our hearing is good, we are good to go. With blood sugar and blood pressure in a normal range, we can continue in service as long as we shall live, so help us God.  We can stay behind the wheel for as long as we shall live. And, of course, stay within the health guidelines setup to make sure we don’t lose attention by low blood sugar, lack of rest, or have cholesterol levels in an unhealthy range. Stress on our bodies over the years, then, is our final enemy. 

And when I (finally) see I am this enemy of my worst self, lest I think I have a new trick to try and keep and love as my own, the Trolleybus of Happy (or Crappy) Destiny awaits us at any corner and on any track!