Rainman Rides Route 21

What would the world hear if it could listen to your stream of consciousness?  I first encountered Rainman on Route 21 a couple of weeks ago.  He scared me just a little because he was having a conversation, in what sounded like Klingon, with the guy sitting to his right.  Only there was no guy sitting to his right.  I felt relieved when he got off early. 

Now I look forward to riding with him.  The bus pulls up, the doors open, and I can hear him riffing from the back of bus before I even board.  I can't do him justice, but I'll try. It goes something like, "ROXANNE, you don't have to turn on-Bing, approaching Hwy 78 and Old Seguin Rd- Chevy the heartbeat of-I'm Batman."  Sometimes he cracks himself up, and he always mixes in a song.  He goes non-stop until he exits.  Whatever he thinks just comes out.

When Rainman leaves people are smiling.  If I had this condition, and people heard everything I thought, I'd probably get my butt kicked with great regularity.

See you on Route 21. 

Get Off The Road Dumbass!

A woman in town was run over by a truck the other day while she was riding her bike. Monica, a single mom, was training for a triathlon and out for a ride with a friend along the access road of one of the interstates in town.  Her training partner said she watched her fly over 30 feet before she hit the pavement and tumbled into the grass along the side of the road. 

If you train on the streets you are keenly aware of how dangerous it is.  I've been knocked off my bike by teenage motorists, even broken some bones.  I can't even count how many times I've almost been hit while running.  Most drivers just don't see us, but there are some who flat out don't like sharing the road.

 I"ll make you a deal.  I'll do everything I can to make myself visible.  When it comes to whether you see me or not I'll assume you don't.  I'll follow all the rules of safe running, and riding.  In return can I ask you to share?  Can you fight that feeling to show me just how much of the road you think is yours?  Can you resist the urge to demonstrate how big an idiot you think I am? 

Thanks in advance for your cooperation.  I'll see you on Route 21, and on another route near you.

PS- If you would like to donate to help Monica as she recovers from her severed spinal cord injury you can at http://www.active.com/donate/monicacaban

His Friends Just Call Him Scooter

On Route 21 if you need assistance boarding it's announced to all with pneumatic fanfare.  We hear the whoosh, feel the dip to the right,  and know that if we are in one of the wheel chair seats we have to move.  If we're not in one of those seats we settle in for the short delay while the wheel chair passenger is secured.

The man I called Scooter was big, way over 6' if he had been standing, with a big fresh bandage on his leg.  I saw my dad go through this.  First you replace a little piece of artery.  Later the leg will have to go.  It's the progression of arteriosclerosis, or diabetes.  He looked to be just starting down that road in his shiny new scooter. 

His first mistake was backing onto the bus.  Once he was on he was stuck.  All eyes were on him as he repeatedly backed up and moved forward.  With each repetition he gained maybe an inch.  With each repetition his face turned another degree toward the floor.  It took more than 5 minutes for Scooter to get situated.  Up and back, Up and back.  It was hard to watch.

His second mistake was boarding with an uncovered drink in his cup holder.  Each repetition sloshed a little soda out leaving a syrupy stream from the front door to his chair.  "This is why you can't bring uncovered drinks on the bus!" the driver scolded while pointing to the spill.  He looked, and sounded just like me when I come home to find my chihuahua has peed on the floor.  Scooter had the same look as my chihuahua.  If he had a tail it would have been between his legs. 

The bus driver taught me a lesson that day.  My chihuahua deserves better.

I'll see you on Route 21, but don't look for Scooter anytime soon.

"Daaaaaaamn That's Longer Than I Been Born!"

I had to sprint across the front lawn of the office to catch the bus as it rolled up a few minutes ahead of schedule.  As soon as I sat down a kid asked me, "Yo man,  you work there?"  I replied with a nod.  "Does it pay good?"  I replied with a shrug.  "How long you been doin that?"  "Twenty-three years" was my reply.  "Daaaaaaamn that's longer than I been born!", he exclaimed.  I went back to my nod, but I added an eyebrow raise.  You may not want to stay in the job you're in for twenty something years, but here are a few "take it from mes" that will insure that you are the one that makes that decision.  Take it from me, I have a bunch of them.

Take it from me, beat your boss to work  even if it's only by 5 minutes.  Odds are he's under the gun to get it done.  You'll be viewed as someone who is just as committed he is.  (If he gets in 3 hours before starting time at least be the first one in after him consistently)

Take it from me, don't call in sick if you're not sick.  If you don't call in sick you get 2 more weeks than your peers to get the job done.  In a competitive environment that's invaluable.  Besides your boss knows when your BSing him. 

Take it from me, find out what's important to your boss and make it important to you.  I'm not talking about fantasy football, or poker here.  That's suck up stuff.  I'm talking brands.  Find out what makes your boss's brand His and make it part of Yours.  Incorporate things like honesty, dependability, loyalty, and professionalism into your brand and it will stand up over time.  (This only applies if your boss's brand is a quality brand.  If their brand is crap they will soon be gone and you'll get another opportunity with a new boss) 

I'll see you on Route 21, hopefully for many more years.

Watch Your Step Exiting the Borracho Bus

The skin of the man passed out in the seat behind me had the deep reddish brown patina of someone who has worked outside in the South Texas sun for years.  It takes time to put down a base color like the one he had.  There's no setting on the tanning bed that reproduces it.

He was in the "I got off early on pay day, and started drinking before noon" position in his seat.  Face smashed against the window, mouth wide open.  Every few minutes he would drift into consciousness and shout, "Judson High School" at the top of his lungs.  This meant one of two things.  Either this man was still incredibly enthusiastic about his his high school 20 years or so after graduation, or he wanted to get off the bus at Judson High School.  I chose the latter for him. 

As we approached his stop I pulled down on the yellow cord, and roused him from his sleep.  It took three or four repetitions of, "your at Judson High School" before the light of recognition shone in his bloodshot eyes, But when it did, he jumped up and poured himself out the backdoor of the bus.  On the sidewalk, as we pulled away, I saw him rock backward trying to capture his balance.  He regained it an instant before he fell back into, or worse, under the moving bus.  I felt like such a fool!  How could I have unleashed that accident waiting to happen onto the streets?

I thought about him all night long, I even watched the 10:00 news to see if someone had been run over.  I was only trying to help the guy.  That and stop the incessant, grito-like shouts of "Judson High School" in my ear every few blocks.

I've noticed that I'm willing to help people as long as it doesn't inconvenience me too much.  What was I supposed to do?  Was I supposed to get off with him, call someone, then wait while they came?  Still, at the very least, I could have left him alone to ride around on Route 21 until he could take care of himself. 

I took this picture the other day, as I was getting off the bus, of the next passed out guy I encounterd.  I didn't lose any sleep over this guy.  Never let it be said that I didn't give my very least.

See you on Route 21.

Is There a Hipster Vaccine?

I saw something today not often seen on Route 21.  A young, black, male hipster.  Most young men you encounter on The Route have to hold on to the overhead bar with one hand, and their pants with the other.
 
Not this guy.  He had skinny jeans, old school Pumas, and an acoustic guitar with no cover slung over his shoulder.  He sat across from me in that area up front with the seats that face each other.  He put his ear buds in, closed his eyes and started strumming and singing to himself.  I could have taken pictures and he wouldn't have known; wrapped as he was in his ultra-cool cocoon.

I settled in for some prime observation, excited that I wouldn't have to hide it, then Bam!  Dude full on sneezed a big wet achoo all over me.  He never opened his eyes.  His hands never left his guitar.  The thought of covering his mouth never entered his awesomely cool mind.  I sat stunned, like the girl in Jurassic park that gets snotted on by the vegisaurus.

Dazed, I gathered my things and moved to the back of the bus.  Hipster isn't contagious it it?  So why the sudden urge to buy a fedora?

See you on Route 21.

Turn Out the Lights the Party's Over

The mornings look different from the afternoons on Route 21.

In the morning we're freshly scrubbed, and our uniforms are crisp and clean.  The downtown business men have their shirts and ties.  Warehouse workers, like Deron and Jesse, display their names and the company colors on their fresh Dickie's. You can smell the fabric softener on the restaurant workers as they pass by on the way to their seats.  The morning is bathed in anticipation, and soft interior coach lighting.

By the afternoon we've been beaten down.  The business men's ties, collars, and cuffs are all undone.  Deron and Jesse are sweaty and greasy.  The smell of the fry-o-later, and bits of the food cooked in it, cling to the restaurant workers.  The hard daylight shows everyone just how hard a day it was. 

It's the opposite for the girls who work at the strip joint though.  Their ride to work is illuminated by the brutal afternoon lighting of Route 21 that shows all to clearly how hard a night it was.  Either they never went to bed, or they just crawled out of it.  And dang, could they use a good "scrubbin".  Hopefully they're heading into a work environment with much more flattering lighting for them than Route 21 provides.  Like darkness maybe.  They weren't created for darkness though.  Maybe they've just gotten more comfortable in it.

See you on Route 21.

Crackhead Lady Spotting

One of the first people I ever noticed when I started riding Route 21 was Crackhead Lady.  Every morning she would get on the bus at a stop near a hobo camp and try to convince the bus driver that she had permission to ride the bus at a discount.  Every morning the bus driver would patiently explain that the letter she held was not what she needed to get the discounted fair.  The two of them would perform this dance with great precision.  I always felt like I should clap when they were done. 

Crackhead Lady disappears for long periods of time, so whenever there's a sighting I go into NatGeo mode.  I feel like her vitals should be recorded.  Maybe there should be a collar to track her movements like a big cat through the urban jungle.  I spotted her yesterday at lunchtime , on the street, in a neighborhood a few blocks off Route 21.  She looked heavier than she did this time last year.  Last year's drought had been very difficult.

I thought about Crackhead Lady last night when I went to bed.  It was raining so hard that it wasn't fit for man or beast outside.  I prayed that God would keep Crackhead Lady safe.  Then I prayed that He would take these piece of crap eyes of mine, and teach me to see differently.

See you on Route 21.

Billboards, Bulbs, and Battleships

The other day, over lunch, my wife asked me if I still liked what I do for a living.  That's a fair question for the one who has listened to the daily woes of this job for 23 years to ask.

I laughed and said, "I think so.  I'll give it another 10 or 12 years then I'll let you know."  But something had happened earlier that day that reminded me about how things had changed.  The guy who changes the light bulbs on our billboards brought in a photo album of his work in our industry from a few years back.  He used to be a sign painter, and a damn good one at that.  His book was filled with photos of brand images that he had artfully recreated over the years. I could recall all of them, and I could even tell you where most had been displayed. 

Not that long ago things were much different.  By necessity, planning was done months in advance.  Artwork was in the studio for days or weeks before it got out on the streets, and once it was out there it was permanent.  Artwork was big, bold, and impactful like a battleship.  And like a battleship it took forever to turn around.

Today's campaigns are planned in days, implemented in hours, and sadly too often filled with images that deliver the payload of a jetski.  Impact has been traded in for nimbleness.  It doesn't have to be that way.  Speed and impact aren't mutually exclusive.

So, the question was do I still like what I do?  The answer is absolutely!  Many people in our industry don't understand the powerful medium at their disposal, but I do.  Somebody has to let them know that our medium, like that sign painter, can do much more if given the chance.  Be creative!  Think big!

I'll see you on Route 21.

No Guns, Knives....or Really Personal Phone Calls

"What did your dad say when you asked him about his hitting me?"  None of us on Route 21 asked to be included in on the lady's half of the phone conversation.  Judging by the collective squirm from  the rest of the passengers on the bus, we all felt the same.  Awkward.   

She, like so many others I've heard on the bus, was oblivious to the fact that we could all hear her.  Let's make a new rule from now on. Let's post it right up there behind the bus drivers seat.

No guns, knives, drinks in non-spill proof containers, and No really personal phone calls. 

Feel free to text though.  I'm pretty sure that all 40 of us in this confined space was what the inventor of texting was thinking about when he invented it.

I can't say exactly what dad's reply was when he was asked about hitting the boy's mother.   I have a pretty good idea though from mom's exclamation of,  "No I did not have it coming!"

She looks like she wants to go all Krav Maga

Route 21 is rolling heavy this morning.  School's back in so all the college students are hauling their tired butts back on the bus. This morning this bus has more butts than seats.

Since I was a kid I was taught to give up my seat to a lady, but the ladies on Route 21 are not always easy to spot.  Most are camouflaged.  Hidden by ink, spikes, denim, or gold colored metal.  If that's not enough they hide behind scowls that give you the feeling that they'd just as soon go all Krav Mega on you as look at you.

I have a lot of reasons not to give up my seat to the ladies on route 21.  I'm probably one of the few paying full fare, because I'm either too young or too old for a discount. Odds are I'm subsidising their education and the bus ride to it.  These ladies are strong, and certainly don't need my seat. 

I think of all these reasons as I rise and grab the overhead bar.  Hopefully it won't be the only time today she is treated like a lady.

I'll see you on Route 21.

It's a Rollover not a Flyover

How do you get your Skinny Cows home before they melt if you ride the bus to the HEB?   What if you could only buy what you could carry?   How do you send your kid outside to play, when outside is really sketchy?

Most of us here in "flyover" country get a little put out when those on the coasts think that the whole country is like New York or LA.  How can they possibly relate to the cares and concerns of those of us here in the middle?  There's truth to it.  We do lead different lives. 

When I drive to work my car taxis me the short distance from my home through my neighborhood, jets me onto the expressway, lands me at my exit near downtown, and taxis me down the access road to my workplace. The whole trip takes around 25 minutes.  A little longer on the flight home. Along the way I listen to what I choose, and have the temperature and the seat set to my liking. It's my own little bubble keeping me in my world from doorstep to doorstep.

I realized something after a few trips on Route 21.  A rollover is no different than a flyover, and there wasn't much difference between me and that guy in New York or LA.  Do something different today.  Really look at the people and places that make up your community.

I'll see you on Route 21.

Route 21

I like to watch people's expressions when I tell them I ride the bus.  Some people feel sorry for me.  A few admire my green commitment.  Others are just puzzled.  I can't say that I blame them.  I still haven't quite figured out myself why I ride to work via Route 21.  

I think people project on to me whatever their feelings about riding the bus are.  If they feel sorry for the poor stiffs on public transportation then they feel sorry for me.  If they lean toward hipster, and secretly wish they lived a greener existence, then they feel a little admiration.  If they can't possibly fathom why a person in my demographic would share a ride then they're bewildered.

Ask yourself what emotion would flash across your face if I told you I rode the bus.  Now ask yourself what I would see if I told you about my faith.  Would I see pity, bewilderment, or admiration.  Consider doing something new today, and challenge yourself to leave yourself open to whatever lesson might be learned along the way. 

I'll see you on Route 21.