Category Archives: overheard

New rider, new driver

Yesterday, I rode the 48 with a young woman who was very new to Seattle. When she boarded the bus, she first asked the driver if we were traveling south (having been told by the northbound driver that she was headed the wrong direction) and then asked if and at what time we would get to 24th Avenue South. Oddly, the driver of our bus didn’t know if he passed 24th Avenue South, despite the fact that it’s one block east of 23rd Avenue South, a street the 48 travels on for some distance. When he suggested she get off and retry the northbound 48, I decided to intervene. I told her that the bus we were on would get her where she was going.

“Can you call the people you’re supposed to meet and find out the cross street, so you’ll know where to get off?” I asked.

“I could if this bus had a pay phone.”

Perhaps trying to make up for his lack of route knowledge, the driver handed the woman his cell phone. “You have to dial the area code first.”

She looked at him blankly. “What’s the area code here?”

(Did I mention she was new to Seattle?)

She eventually completed the call and found out the cross street, which the driver knew. He told her she’d make it there before 6:30 PM, her scheduled meeting time. She thanked us both for our help and, after a pause, asked the driver one final question:

“Hey–how come some buses are pay as you leave and some are pay as you enter?”

“Oh,” he said, “we just do that to confuse people.”

Westbound 14, 1:10 PM (or, Speaking of “What are you?”…)

I’m sitting in the very front of the forward-facing rows, on the driver’s side, in the seat nearest the window. At a light somewhere in the ID, the man sitting in front of me (in the closest of the sideways-facing seats) strikes up a conversation. Three sentences in, he asks an odd variation on one of those questions:

“What nationality are you from?”

I know full well what he’s getting at, but I play along anyway. “I’m from here.”

“No, but what is your ethnic background?”

I cut to the chase this time–no need to prolong the interrogation. “I’m mixed: black and white.”

“Well, you could pass for a lot of things: Lebanese, Egyptian, Mexican…anything with color.” He pauses and cocks his head. “People look at you and expect you to speak some languages.”

And about that Connector ride…

Last Thursday, I tried riding the Connector, Microsoft’s private commuter bus. The Connector doesn’t stop in my neighborhood (I have to catch a Metro bus or walk a very long way to get to one of the stops), and it’s pretty easy to get to Redmond on the public bus from where I live, so I’m not necessarily the best person to evaluate it. Still, I wanted to try it at least once, just to see what it was like.

To ride the Connector, you have to make a reservation online. You can either make a recurring reservation (if you want to ride every day at a certain time), or a one-time reservation (if you want to take it home next Wednesday at 5:30). I made a reservation for 9:00 AM the morning of the 27th on the Capitol Hill route, boarding at the Cherry and Broadway stop, which is closest to my house.

The experiment started out badly. I caught the 4 to Jefferson and Broadway and, because the 4 was slightly tardy (imagine that) and running isn’t my forte of late, missed the Connector by about 30 seconds. (I learned later that I can also catch the 8 to 17th & John and pick up the Connector at the Group Health stop, but I’m not sure that’s any more convenient.)

If I had missed a 48 or a 545 (the buses I usually ride to work) I would have simply grumbled a bit and waited the 10-20 minutes for the next one to show. But the Connectors run 30 minutes apart, and I hadn’t reserved a space on the next (and, incidentally, last) morning run. Fortunately, there was a “Connector ambassador” at the stop where I was waiting (they’re there to make sure everything runs smoothly in the first few weeks), and, after checking her list, she determined that there was room for me to ride on the next one. (If there hadn’t been, I would have had to find my way to Montlake or downtown to catch a 545.)

The ride itself was nice, though we got one of the small shuttles instead of one of those big, luxury buses I was expecting.

Connector shuttle

This was a good thing, since the small bus we got wasn’t close to full. Still, just in case you care, here’s a picture of one of the fancy, big buses, courtesy of “Public Transportation Adventure” Jim:

Big Connector

Connector cons:
• Reservation system: I don’t see how this requirement can be avoided, but I predict it will cause ongoing headaches, both for riders and for administrators of the service.
• Managing missed buses: See above.
• Limited schedule: Because of the requirement to make a reservation, a rider is required to arrive and leave at specified times, much like a carpool or vanpool member. No disrespect to folks who choose these options, but one thing I like about the bus (at least the bus I ride to work) is the flexibility to work late or leave early if I need to.
• No fresh air: I’m not sure how they work on the big buses, but the windows on the small shuttles didn’t open. Not that I’m necessarily a fan of folks who open windows, but I like to know it’s an option.

Connector pros:
• Reclining seats: They’re even more comfortable than Sound Transit’s.
• Seatbelts: I always feel safer in a bus than I do in a car, but I still wish that all buses had these.
• Laptop trays and chargers: Nice touch.

Laptop charger on the Microsoft Connector

 

Laptop tray on the Microsoft Connector

• Overhead bins: Unlike on Sound Transit buses, which also have overhead bins, the Connector only has one destination, so you can actually make use of them.
• A quieter ride: The Connector ride was duller than most rides on a public bus, but it did allow for easier eavesdropping. An example:

Connector ambassador 1, to Connector ambassador 2: “In my 20s, I dated these nice guys who were into commitment, and I was the fickle one. Then, at about 29, I decided I wanted to settle down, and I keep getting these bad eggs.

[…]

So then I got with my cheater/liar, and now Tim, so I’m like, ‘What’s next–a murderer?'”

Eastbound 4, 3:10 PM

Two middle-aged men, who are apparently acquaintances, are making conversation in the back of the bus. One of them takes a drink from a bottle of pop.

Middle-aged man #1: This tastes just like that orange ice cream we used to have back in the day–you know, with the cream in the middle? [Pause] “Want some?”

MAM #2: “No thanks, man.”

MAM #1: “Come on–have a taste! I don’t have any germs. Got a little cancer, but no germs.”

A third man, 10-15 years younger, gets on and joins the conversation. As the bus passes the new city hall, he gestures toward the building.

Young man: “I heard they have a misdemeanor jail up there.

MAM #1 (shrugging): “Jail’s jail.”

YM, gesturing toward the county jail: “I’d rather be in a misdemeanor jail than in there. I was in there for three weeks for a DV… My cellie had killed two people. I was like, ‘I don’t belong in this joint. We were just arguing!'”

Westbound 27, 3:15 PM

A group of teenage boys in the back of the bus is discussing the Kanye-50 sales battle. Eventually the talk turns to battles at bit closer to home.

Teenage boy 1, to the rest of the group: “If you mess up my t-shirt or step on my shoes, that’s like pushing me in front of my girl: real disrespectful.”

Eastbound 4, 8:40 PM

On a particularly hot, slow and funky ride (on the 4, folks, this is saying something), a particularly funky passenger gets off at Harborview. As soon as the doors close, another passenger, red-faced and indignant, addresses his fellow riders in the front section.

Indignant passenger: “I don’t like stinky riders.”

Man across from IP: “Maybe he was doing dialysis. You know, the kidney has something to do with that gland that makes people…”

IP: “I don’t care what–I don’t like stinky riders. Most of the time, I get off just to get away from them.”

Friend of man across from IP (who happens to be sitting right next to a certain, sensitive-nosed, pregnant bus chick): “I’m with you. I worked a full day and don’t smell that bad.”

Westbound 27 stop, 3:05 PM

A young woman is waiting for the bus with an older woman and a little girl (possibly her mother and daughter). All are reading books just checked out from the library. After a few minutes of not talking, the young woman points to the bus stop across the street.

Young woman, to older woman: “Remember that fight I was telling you about? That’s where it happened.”

Older woman: “Oh yeah?”

YM: “She had the bombest Air Forces, and Lee stepped on them. So she was like, ‘Lee, aren’t you going to say excuse me?’ Lee said ‘no,’ so she got her a** whooped right there at the number 8 bus stop. The ambulance had to come.” [YM chuckles] “I enjoyed it.”

Westbound 545, 7:30-ish

Two men are discussing a recent dental appointment.

Guy 1: “She said they were all abscessed. All 18 of those teeth are bad. She could’ve pulled them all today, and I wouldn’t have cared.”

Guy 2: “Why didn’t she?”

Guy 1: “She wanted to make sure I could pay for it. If you can’t pay, they won’t do anything.”

Guy 2: “It’s just as well, though. You would’ve been walking around with half your grill missing.”

A Friday of firsts

On the 48 this morning, I sat behind a father who was taking his preschool-age son on the bus for the first time. The two of them seemed to be having a great time: the son, excited about the bell, the big seats, the beeping of bus passes as they slid through the reader; the father, happy to answer his son’s questions about what was what and why, chuckling at the boy’s occasional outbursts (That’s a big truck!/Did a bad guy mess up that building?/Three blue cars!). It was a beautiful father-son bonding experience–that is, until, about three stops from Montlake, when an average-sized, middle-aged man got on, and the little boy shouted, in the same excited tone he’d used to point out the truck, “Ooh! Look at that big fat guy!”

On my next ride, I experienced a parenting first of my own: 25 weeks into my pregnancy, on a standing-room only bus, someone actually offered me a seat. (I didn’t take it, since I felt able to stand.) Of course I was grateful but also, for some odd reason, embarrassed. It’s strange to be on the other end of that offer.