Tag Archives: 27

Happy birthday, Chicklet!

In her first year of life, my child has ridden the following routes:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 21, 23, 25, 26, 27, 36, 41, 44, 48, 54, 55, 56, 60, 66, 70, 74, 134, 150, 174, 194, 230, 255, 358, 545, 550, 554, 590–not to mention the Monorail, Puyallup Fair shuttle, Elliott Bay Water Taxi, Detroit People Mover, Amtrak, Portland Streetcar, and a few Portland bus routes.

How I know Chicklet is a true BCiT:

Yesterday, we met my friend Kelley and her baby daughter Evan for our weekly walk/lunch at Green Lake. After lunch, I took a credit card out of my wallet to pay our bill. Chicklet, in her custom of naming everything she sees, pointed at the card and announced (with great enthusiasm), “Buhpash!”*

And then there was this morning, when we three headed downtown on the 27 (eventual destination: Seattle Children’s Theater). As soon as we sat down, Chicklet reached for my bag. “Bik!”** she demanded. “Bik! Bik!”

Indeed.

Our seasoned bus rider, celebrating Halloween at Daddy’s office (48 + 545) party

Translations:
*Bus pass
**Book

More good news on Third Avenue

Yesterday, the bus fam (that is, Chicklet, Nerd, and yours truly) hopped the 4 and headed to Seattle Center to attend a retro birthday party for my friend (and world-famous author) Sundee. Fellow natives of the 2-0-sickness: Remember back in the day, when the Center was the place to hang out in the summer (at 9: ferris wheel! at 13: cute boys!), and those rides and games at the Fun Forest seemed at least as good as Disneyland’s? My perspective has changed a bit since the 80s (about the Fun Forest and Disneyland), but I’m still sad that the park won’t be around for little Chicklet to enjoy.

I digress.

Instead of taking the 4 home from the festivities, we took the Monorail and transferred downtown, because, 1) I was in one of my nostalgic moods, 2) Chicklet had never ridden the Monorail, and 3) we wanted to save time. (The two-minute ride to Westlake beats any bus, and stopping downtown gave us the option of catching a faster route up the hill.)

We used our extra minutes to visit the new(ish) Kress supermarket on 3rd & Pike. I’ve been waiting for about a gazillion years for a grocery store to open downtown, and it was long past time for me to check it out. Plus, we were out of wine.

An escalator takes you from 3rd Ave. right to the produce section.

We get our produce (and a lot of other staples) from an organic delivery service, and we live within walking distance of a grocery store, so I won’t be using this Kress for major shopping trips. That said, it’s got a pretty good selection and reasonable prices. And since, like most transit types, I’m downtown a lot, I’ll certainly be using it for quick stock-ups (they carry my favorite crackers!) between transfers–and for grabbing something (chocolate) to share at a party.

Of course, as I learned on my very first visit, I’m not the only bus rider who appreciates the new Kress.

Captain, heading down to stock up on seafarin’ necessities

Captain finished shopping at the same time we did (which is to say, just in time to catch the 27), and all four of us enjoyed a speedy ride home with our purchases.

Westbound 27, 10:40 AM

Two twentysomethings are sitting in the back, discussing job prospects and financial woes.

Twentysomething woman: “I’ve been hitting up everyone I know that works at Sound Transit, asking them to hook me up with a bus pass. Just hook a girl up! They’re like, ‘dude, we’ll get fired.'”

[…]

Twentysomething man: “You should get, like, a whole bunch of old bus passes–from, like, way back–and sell them for like, five bucks… That’s just the kind of thing liberal douchebags would buy.”

Doin’ the Puyallup, bus-fam style

The last time I went to the Puyallup Fair was the summer before I left for college. I took my youngest brother, who was nine at the time, and I don’t remember much about it–except that it was my last chance to spend QT with my “baby” before I moved away from home and that the ride down there (in my dad‘s trusty Toyota pickup) was really long.

Today Chicklet, Nerd, and I did the Puyallup as a family (yes, I realize it doesn’t get much more lentement), and thanks to Pierce Transit, we did it our favorite way: on the bus.

Our itinerary:

1. 27 from home to Third & Seneca
2. 594 from Second & University to Tacoma Dome Station (This was our first time taking the 594. Talk about a comfortable ride!)
3. Pierce Transit’s Puyallup Fair Shuttle from Tacoma Dome Station to the fairgrounds (The shuttle also serves several other Pierce County locations.)

Total travel time, from front door to fair entrance: 1.5 hours (not much longer than driving, given the traffic, and we didn’t have to hassle with event traffic/parking)

Total cost, which included fare upgrades for my pass and Bus Nerd’s ticket on the shuttle: $3.00 (a heck of a lot cheaper than driving)

Waiting for our chariot

A view of the Mountain, from the PF shuttle

The view on the way there

Bus parking at the fair

Chicklet’s version of a car nap

And speaking of cars…

These were available for rent at the fairgrounds

And these were available for sale

Thanks to ST for the fast, comfortable ride to Tacoma and to PT for providing alt transpo to the event. We didn’t have any trouble or setbacks getting to and fro, so I don’t have any major complaints, but it certainly could have been easier to plan the trip. I had to use three different websites (ST’s, PT’s, and the PF’s) to find all the information I needed. (PT’s rider information line was the number listed for questions, but the office is closed Sundays.)

The fair wasn’t exactly my flavor (and not just because there was a car dealership in the middle of the grounds), but Chicklet certainly seemed to enjoy herself. She got to practice some of her favorite words–piggies!, cow!, kids!–and experience all kinds of new sights and sounds. For those of you who are interested in doing the same, the fair–and the shuttle–run until the 21st.

Chicklet and the 27, part II

On Wednesday, as Chicklet and I settled into a seat on our favorite route, an elderly woman I had never seen before sat down next to us, looked at Chicklet like she knew her, and said, “I just saw your uncle over at the University of Washington.”

I was about to tell her that she had us confused with another bus riding mother-daughter team when she said, “I had to get a few x-rays and some work on my crown.”

Aha! She had indeed seen Chicklet’s uncle, my brother Joel, an almost-dentist who sees patients at the UW’s dental clinic. But how did she know that? Good question.

Around this time last year, Joel told me he had a patient who knew me. “I see her on the bus sometimes,” she had told him. “Isn’t she expecting?”

Back then, I wondered briefly how the woman had known Joel and I were related (we don’t look that much alike–do we?) and then forgot about it. Until Wednesday, that is, when I came face to face with this same patient, a bus chick whose powers of observation put my own to shame. (She’s got a few years on me, but still.)

Her name is Ida (I should say Miss Ida, as she is my elder, and I don’t know her last), and she recently returned from a trip to Arkansas to visit family. She rides the 27 and the 48 (among many others) and sees Nerd, Chicklet, and me out and about around the neighborhood. She even knows which church we attend. Miss Ida is enjoying the summer and doesn’t mind the heat at all, especially compared to what she dealt with in Arkansas. Her July Sears bill apparently got lost in the vacation-mail shuffle, so she was headed to the store (off at 3rd and Yesler, transfer to the 21) to pay it in person. She never, ever pays bills late.

Chicklet pulled out all her best tricks to impress our new friend (some of her favorites: clapping like crazy and hitting herself on the head) and was rewarded with an appreciative cheek-pinch as Miss Ida stood to go.

“It was good to finally meet you,” she said to both of us.

Oh, yes. Yes it was.

Not even candy paint and big wheels can compare.

Another class III bus foul

This one, like the first, took place on the 27, which, remarkably, still holds the top spot on my list of favorite routes.

He was elderly.

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!

Chicklet and the 27, part I

It seems that little Chicklet is a bit of an early talker. At eight months and some change, she said her first word (aside from “dada” and “mama,” that is): “kitty.” This is somewhat of a surprise, since we don’t have any pets, and she’s only seen a few living, breathing cats in her short life. (Our neighbors’ cat, Otis, is apparently pretty inspiring.)

My first word (at about the same age) was “more.” It is a concept that has defined my life ever since (you can never have too much chocolate ice cream or listen to “If I Was Your Girlfriend” too many times in a row), so it will be interesting to see how (or if) “kitty” comes to define Chicklet. Maybe she’ll grow up to be a cat lady. Or a veterinarian. Or a person who’s into leopard prints.

But I digress.

What I want to tell you about is Chicklet’s second word, which–I swear on The Book–was “bus.”

This morning, as she breakfasted on homemade applesauce and pseudo-Cheerios, the 27 stopped at a light outside our kitchen window.

Me (for the kajillionth time since her birth): “Rosa, see the bus?”
Chicklet (for the first time ever): “Bup.”
Me (incredulous): “Bus?”
Chicklet (emphatic): “Bup!”

She repeated it all morning. “Bup,” when she wanted more applesauce, “bup,” to get out of her high chair, and again (perhaps to restore my belief that she actually understands what the word means) when the 942 passed. Since then, she’s been saying it every time she sees or hears a bus, which, given the location of our home and our preferred mode of transportation, is pretty much constantly.

Such a smart girl. Before we know it, she’ll be memorizing schedules.

Speaking of bus fouls…

Given the recent discussion about cell phone conversations on the bus, I thought I’d share this PSA, spotted earlier today on an eastbound 27:

“Too much. Too loud. Please be courteous when using your cell phone on the bus.”

I realize I’m probably in the minority on this, but I don’t find anything inherently wrong with cell-phone talking in transit. After all, you can’t expect silence on the bus. Folks are talking to each other, babies are crying, the driver is calling out stops over the PA … you get the picture. If the conversations are quiet and about subjects that are appropriate for public consumption, I don’t see the harm. When they’re not, the problem isn’t cell phones; it’s rudeness. Loud, personal conversations are a no-no, whether on the phone or in the flesh.

Even though I’m not a big bus phone-talker, I think having the option is one of the (many) advantages of public transportation. Drivers must pay attention to the road, while we transit types can use our travel time as we see fit (see below)–even, if we so choose, to check on a restaurant reservation or catch up with Mom.

Your turn.

A class III bus foul (or, Why I wash my hands a lot)

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.

Eastbound 27, 3:30 PM

A 60-ish man is holding court in the front of the bus, talking to many of the other passengers, most of whom he seems to know. At Broadway, a handsome twentysomething with impeccable waves gets on. As Twentysomething passes, the older man stops mid-sentence, and in a tone bordering on reverent, says,

“Son, you could float a cruise ship on that head.”