Another Sunday, another exciting walk to church.
I’ve been taking the stroller to church because we usually walk the whole way (no bus-related folding or unfolding necessary), and I rarely wear Ergo-friendly clothes (or shoes) on Sundays.
I think I’ll have to start.
Friend and fellow bus chick, Erin (who also happens to be the girlfriend of Bus Nerd’s cousin), hipped me to this insanity:
A Metro driver was arrested on his route Wednesday morning for allegedly dealing rock cocaine – something King County sheriff’s deputies said he’d been doing on his No. 42 route for several weeks.
The driver, 54, was arrested shortly before noon near South Leo Street and Beacon Avenue South.
“Metro transit police conducted several undercover buys from the driver, including immediately prior to today’s arrest,” sheriff’s spokesman John Urquhart said. “Not all of the buys occurred from Metro busses.”
And again, “If you’re going to sell dope…”
Guess our new drug czar has his work cut out for him.
The obstacle course that is our weekly walk to Good Shepherd:
Past offenses (at least those I documented) have involved cars, but it doesn’t take much to block a sidewalk this narrow. Even the light pole is an obstacle. And could someone (please!) trim those bushes back?
Reroutes and delays I can work with, but I do have two busing-in-bad-weather pet peeves. Both are captured in this photo.
BiBW peeve #1: Bus haters-turned-(temporary)-bus-lovers
There were 15 people waiting for the (almost-on-time) 14 with us, and I’m willing to bet that half of them hadn’t been on a bus in a decade. (How do I know, you ask? I have my ways.)
I’m hardly one to complain when folks try transit (no matter the reason), but I do think all these bus-chicks-come-lately (who won’t be back on a bus until it snows again) should be the ones who stand on the routes they’re crowding up. I say, those of us who’ve been down with Metro since day one should be able to reap the benefits of our loyalty.
Priority seating for frequent riders? Why, yes! After all, ridership has its privileges. Maybe we OG bus types should start getting “Rider since” dates printed on our passes.
BiBW peeve #2: Slippery sidewalks
The dirt truck made it to my street a day and a half after Thursday’s big snow, but the sidewalks still look like an ice rink right before the Zamboni does its thing. And I don’t live off the beaten path; I live at a major intersection (which is also a major bus hub). Even some downtown streets are completely covered in ice. I’ve heard tell that property owners are responsible for clearing their section of the sidewalk, but I don’t think they got the memo (I’ve yet to see any communication from the city on the subject), and it seems like a less-than-efficient way of handling the issue. In the meantime, walking anywhere (not just to bus stops) is extremely treacherous.
I realize that the city has its hands full right now (and is probably up to here with haters criticizing its handling of weather issues), but what’s up with that?
Maybe she’s the one who left her shoes at 3rd & Union:
Is this worse than chicken-greasy fingers on the pole or a dog on the seat? You tell me.
This one, like the first, took place on the 27, which, remarkably, still holds the top spot on my list of favorite routes.
Dogs on buses? OK. Dogs on bus seats? Not OK.
Did I mention that he was licking the headrest?
Custom dictates that I close out this post with a basketball metaphor–one that doesn’t exactly apply but at least gives me an opportunity to squeeze in a shout to my favorite sport. (An example: “A foul of this magnitude might result in the whole dang team getting sold out from under its loyal [yet stadium-weary] fans.”) Unfortunately, I can’t do that today, as I am officially boycotting the NBA. Hmph!
Despite Metro’s official “no eating” policy, sneaking a couple of bites of something on the bus is fairly common, and, as far as I’m concerned, fairly innocuous. I figure, as long as folks aren’t leaving trash or crumbs, there’s not much harm in a bit of nibbling (on a Black Russian from Three Girls Bakery, for example) en route.
But what’s with the trend of sitting down in the front and devouring a Styrofoam container of teriyaki like you’re at the table? I, for one, am not a fan of listening to strangers slurp down their dinners while I travel. And don’t even get me started on the smell. Which is why I was particularly appalled when…
On a recent 27 ride, Bus Nerd and I had the privilege of witnessing a senior gentleman attacking a bag of grocery-store fried chicken, Bus-Chick-meets-chocolate-ice-cream-style. (We were facing forward, and he was directly in front of us facing sideways, so we had no choice but to watch.) I found the sound (smacking after every bite?) and smell annoying, but, hey–I’m a “live and let live” kind of bus chick. The man wasn’t (exactly) hurting anyone, so I gave him a pass. Maybe he was really hungry.
But when he started licking his fingers–[insert KFC joke here]–one at a time, and with relish, his behavior moved from mildly annoying to downright unacceptable. I turned to Bus Nerd.
“If he touches the pole, I’m going to kill myself.”
Folks, I should be writing this post from the heavens. The man did, indeed, touch the pole, and many other parts of the bus, including the cord and the fare box. (How often do you think those things get cleaned?). He even left a lovely grease (or was it saliva?) hand print behind as a parting gift.
There is no basketball metaphor that covers a bus foul of this magnitude. Flagrant? Nope. Technical? Uh-uh. We’re not even in game-ejection territory. We’re talking league suspension, people, Ron Artest-style.
Just, no.
I encountered this particular parking foul on MLK, somewhere between Judkins and Jackson:
Note to drivers: The only wheels that belong on sidewalks are those attached to wheelchairs, strollers, shopping carts, and the occasional skateboard or bicycle.
From Charlie in Ravenna:
I am a regular rider, and don’t have many complaints (everyone has some, right) but the fare increase really surprised me. I understand the need for an increase (like you, I disagree with the way that transit is funded, but a fare increase is better than decreased service), but I had no idea that they would apply the fare retroactively.
I purchased a twelve month pass in November 2007, so it expires in October 2008. This was before the fare increase was announced. Today, I received a letter saying that I need to pay to upgrade my pass for the remaining months on the term of the pass. So I have to pay $63 for my pass to work for $1.75 fares (the new rush hour fare). And, I can only do this at two locations downtown, during weekday work hours.
I feel pretty used here. The annual pass requires a huge upfront cash payment. Shouldn’t they be rewarding us for making a big investment in public transit, rather than giving us a major headache by making us take off work and go downtown to pay above the funds we budgeted for when we bought the pass?
Has anyone else found this to be unreasonable?
I didn’t know about this insanity until Charlie contacted me (I receive a free Flexpass through work), but I definitely find it to be unreasonable. Frankly, I’m wondering how it’s even legal. Let’s assume that Charlie purchased the pass only because it was within his budget back in November, and let’s assume that he can’t afford to upgrade or pay an extra 25 cents every time he rides. Can he get a refund? And isn’t protection against changes in price one of the advantages of paying in advance? From what I understand, my employer doesn’t have to pay to upgrade my pass and won’t see any change in costs until Flexpasses are renewed in July.
Perhaps Seattle does need a bus riders’ union…
For better: The 48, where everybody knows your name
On Friday, Chicklet and I traveled to the Eastside (48 + 545) to meet Bus Nerd for lunch. My parental leave is quickly dwindling, and we’re trying to get in all the family bonding time we can. I digress.
The 48 ride was one of those cool trips where it feels like you know everyone on the bus. We ran into my friend Paulette, whom I met several years ago (through Bus Nerd) on the 3. Actually, I originally met Paulette many years earlier, when I was still a child, because, as we discovered upon our second meeting on the 3, she knew my dad. Again, I digress.
Paulette is a teacher and a student, and she was on her way to the UW to make copies of some old bound issues of Labor’s Heritage, to do research for a class about education for revolution, or the revolution of education, or some equally cool subject.
I didn’t catch all of the details about her class because in the middle of our conversation, Sarah B, a woman I went to high school with, sat down next to us. Sarah was also on her way to the U, no doubt to work on her dissertation, so she can go ahead and knock out that PhD in environmental anthropology.
We all got to talking–about the sunny weather, the origins of Chicklet’s name, and Paulette’s blog (about local eating) for the Splendid Table.
I got so caught up in conversation that Chicklet and I missed our stop and had to backtrack a couple of blocks (in the sunshine!) to Montlake Freeway Station to catch our transfer.
For worse: Freeway station interrogation
Just as Chicklet and I had settled in on the bench to await the trusty 545, a rather odd man (there were no obvious outward signs of his oddness, but I have very sensitive insanedar, honed from a lifetime of bus riding) sat down next to us.
Odd Man: “Have you seen the 265?”
Bus Chick: “I’ve only been here a few minutes, but I haven’t seen it.”
OM: “But what time is it supposed to get here?”
BC, gesturing toward the enormous sign to our left: “Schedule’s right there.”
OM: “Yeah, but it doesn’t have the 265 on it.”
Having no more help to offer the man, I turned back to Chicklet.
OM: “Is that your only child?”
BC: “Yep.”
And then, with absolutely no transition, he followed with one of my favorite questions:
“Are you half black?”
Of course I could have (possibly should have) shut him down at that point, but I’m a curious person (though apparently not as curious as some), and I wanted to see where his questions were leading.
BC: “Yes, I am.”
He continued to ask (How many siblings do you have? Are your parents still married?) and I continued to answer, until he started asking too many questions about my mother’s death, and I decided I’d had enough.
BC: “These questions are a bit personal, wouldn’t you say?”
OM: “Oh yeah. I bet I’m the only one who’s asked you this stuff, huh?”
Not by a long shot, buddy. Not by a long shot.
Finally, the 255, arrived, (not the bus he’d asked about but apparently the one he decided to take) and he got up. As he waited in line to board, he turned to me one last time.
“Say, is your husband black or white?”
