The Anecdotal Life Part. 85
Finally on the "Big Blue Bus"and heading down the road to Santa Monica, I assumed I would be in with the hoi polloi, however, rather than offering up the proverbial slice of life, I discovered this bright beast of a bus offered up the whole pie. The poor who found it absolutely necessary, those who refused to pay for fancy self-enhancing services , such as limos, taxis, or those who were among the overtaxed, beaten down by the economy, middle class like myself. All of us bunched up together, elbow to elbow from LAX to Santa Monica Beach and environs. Indeed, why shell out $40.00 when, if you were a senior citizen, as I was , you could go for a quarter.
The passengers were a lively, rich mix. One young lady with blue hair and variety of body piercings , a man , even on this warm day, in an overcoat carrying all his belongings in a large trash bag and the man I timidly sat down next to. He was a pip. Appearance-wise there was nothing out of the ordinary. A plainly, but carefully pressed and dressed, black American, he proceeded to startle the dickens out of me well before I chose my seat. He was in the process of loudly proclaiming the directions to an equally timid , non-English speaking, obviously lost,Vietnamese couple who were huddled with their small child directly across the aisle. There weren't many available seats to be had. I hoped that my seat partner's only problem was volume, plus some over the top-good intentions as I sat beside him. The Vietnamese couple apparently came to the same conclusion and shoving aside their fears, banked on the accuracy of the broadcasts of their self-appointed guide. One never could be certain as to how tight a hold he had on reality unless you listened and watched closely . He was always accurate. As the streets rolled by you got the news full blast and in detail. You could see he was right. You could see his concern was , though extreme, completely genuine that the young couple should make it to their proper destination. He knew his stuff all right. I, being lost, as usual, decided to risk a request of directions myself. Very softly, hoping to influence his volume level, I put in a bid for his skills. Softly didn't get me anywhere as to his reining in the decibels, but he knew , he knew and pretty soon everybody else knew how I could get to my next stop on 4th street and the nearby promenade. On he rolled from street to street , never missing a beat , now giving both the young couple and myself our directions simultaneously. When the Vietnamese couple's time came to disembark he ran to the door with them and hung out to point them down their subsequent path. My son, later said, "but mom, don't you see? that was his job. that is how he perceived himself. The town guide, you see."
The driver, in the meantime, was a carbon copy of a man named Leroy who drove a bus I was on in Annapolis, Maryland some 3000 miles away. At that time I had injured my hand, gotten it fixed, but couldn't drive. I was forced onto public transportation ,then too, and it was there I encountered Leroy. I wrote about Leroy in a previous blog.
Leroy and my current driver would have done well in New York as cab drivers. They were a pair of cowboys in a hurry. They both perceived any and all cars in front of them as obstacles deliberately placed there to ruin their schedules. Their notion of proper speed was plainly , since we were bouncing all over the place, not a consideration in terms of safety . Getting there fast was. These were" go to" people , while I was a "get there alive" type of person.
But we HAD arrived it seems since my guide with his built in megaphone yelled, " this is it!" I was unnerved when he got off with me. I was worried that he had formed more of an attachment than I had bargained for. But he danced on ahead of me a few steps pointing and shouting," that way, that way." Then he ran back to the bus, grabbed his bike off the front rack on the bus, jumped on it and hollered again as he careened through the traffic, "You'll be all right! Do you see it now? You'll be all right!" Well, I did see it. 4th street. I was standing on it. All of a sudden I knew where I was and I began to walk faster towards my son and daughter in law's apartment. Seems like God has something else in mind for me in terms of peaceful conveyances.
The passengers were a lively, rich mix. One young lady with blue hair and variety of body piercings , a man , even on this warm day, in an overcoat carrying all his belongings in a large trash bag and the man I timidly sat down next to. He was a pip. Appearance-wise there was nothing out of the ordinary. A plainly, but carefully pressed and dressed, black American, he proceeded to startle the dickens out of me well before I chose my seat. He was in the process of loudly proclaiming the directions to an equally timid , non-English speaking, obviously lost,Vietnamese couple who were huddled with their small child directly across the aisle. There weren't many available seats to be had. I hoped that my seat partner's only problem was volume, plus some over the top-good intentions as I sat beside him. The Vietnamese couple apparently came to the same conclusion and shoving aside their fears, banked on the accuracy of the broadcasts of their self-appointed guide. One never could be certain as to how tight a hold he had on reality unless you listened and watched closely . He was always accurate. As the streets rolled by you got the news full blast and in detail. You could see he was right. You could see his concern was , though extreme, completely genuine that the young couple should make it to their proper destination. He knew his stuff all right. I, being lost, as usual, decided to risk a request of directions myself. Very softly, hoping to influence his volume level, I put in a bid for his skills. Softly didn't get me anywhere as to his reining in the decibels, but he knew , he knew and pretty soon everybody else knew how I could get to my next stop on 4th street and the nearby promenade. On he rolled from street to street , never missing a beat , now giving both the young couple and myself our directions simultaneously. When the Vietnamese couple's time came to disembark he ran to the door with them and hung out to point them down their subsequent path. My son, later said, "but mom, don't you see? that was his job. that is how he perceived himself. The town guide, you see."
The driver, in the meantime, was a carbon copy of a man named Leroy who drove a bus I was on in Annapolis, Maryland some 3000 miles away. At that time I had injured my hand, gotten it fixed, but couldn't drive. I was forced onto public transportation ,then too, and it was there I encountered Leroy. I wrote about Leroy in a previous blog.
Leroy and my current driver would have done well in New York as cab drivers. They were a pair of cowboys in a hurry. They both perceived any and all cars in front of them as obstacles deliberately placed there to ruin their schedules. Their notion of proper speed was plainly , since we were bouncing all over the place, not a consideration in terms of safety . Getting there fast was. These were" go to" people , while I was a "get there alive" type of person.
But we HAD arrived it seems since my guide with his built in megaphone yelled, " this is it!" I was unnerved when he got off with me. I was worried that he had formed more of an attachment than I had bargained for. But he danced on ahead of me a few steps pointing and shouting," that way, that way." Then he ran back to the bus, grabbed his bike off the front rack on the bus, jumped on it and hollered again as he careened through the traffic, "You'll be all right! Do you see it now? You'll be all right!" Well, I did see it. 4th street. I was standing on it. All of a sudden I knew where I was and I began to walk faster towards my son and daughter in law's apartment. Seems like God has something else in mind for me in terms of peaceful conveyances.
posted by The Anecdotal Life at 7:20 AM
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