Thursday, October 15, 2020
Doin' something else
Wednesday, September 30, 2020
Whatever happens
Today's shift on the notorious 40 started about the same as that other one, including getting the bus late. Now, I've done my share of delivering the bus late to the relief point myself, and been on the receiving end of an impatient driver's ire. I resolved long ago to take these times in stride and not give another driver a hard time over something that's out of their hands. So long as the equipment is intact and everyone's safe, it's all good.
While I was grinding through the workday, beachgoers lounged lazily on the sand, soaking in the sunshine and sipping cool drinks. No resentment on my part - it's good to know someone is out there having a good time without a care in the world. We all get to enjoy the salty ocean air equally.
When we got to the end of the line, a guy who boarded at the terminal showed no signs of exiting.
"Do you go on Sistrunk at all?" He asked, obviously unaware there are two 40 buses at the terminal, an eastbound and a westbound. He'd boarded the former when he needed the latter. A common mistake, and a reminder to always ask the driver if the bus is going to your destination. He didn't seem in a hurry, and the view out the window was fine.
So we turned around to head back, essentially on time now. Naturally that meant we were due for a delay, and we found one at the 17th Street bridge, one of three drawbridges on this route. This signature bridge that greets visitors to Port Everglades is one of the largest in the county, and speed is not a feature. It took even longer since vehicles were stuck on the span thanks to the infamous congestion on that street in the afternoon. Transportation planners have publicly admitted nothing more can be done to alleviate the gridlock there. Except perhaps get more of those drivers on transit. From the sttep slope of the birdge's incline we could enjoy the view of moored yachts at Pier 66 and a single freighter at the port itself. The clear vantage of downtown's skyline to the southwest was dominated by the construction cranes of ICON Las Olas, at that time the tallest tower under construction at 455 feet.
We rolled throught he surging city core and emerged onto Sistrunk Boulevard for our misdirected passenger. I'd made up about half the deficit from the bridge delay, but I was still late getting to Sunrise Boulevard where I caught my leader bus. He spotted me and went into Drop Off Mode all the way to the end at Lauderhill Mall. Once there, he got instructions to get back on schedule. That meant he left empty while I had a busload out of the mall, including a wheelchair.
Despite the heavy start to this trip, we were on time and rolling smoothly. At the fire station before the Swap Shop, a young man in a Publix uniform boarded asking what happened to the bus before ours. I apologized for the wait and thanked him for his patience.
Several folks begged for rides at Central Terminal: a teenager needing to get to work on 17th Street and two homeless men saying the shelter told them they could get free rides to the feeding on the beach. Everybody rides my bus, so it wasn't a problem. At least they took the time to come up with a story.
Once we got to the Galleria at the end, I was able to get out of the seat for the first time this pick, since all previous visits had found me running too late to take a break. After a much-needed ten minute stretch, we headed back.
At Bahia Mar, there was only a handful compared to our ususal post-feeding crowd. The others must have taken another bus. Now we had an elderly man in a wheelchair. Also a younger man in his 30s with long thin dreads. His woman and infant child were with him and I could see the brokenness in his eyes as he asked in a heartfelt and humble tone for a ride to Central Terminal. Welcome aboard, have a seat.
A Florida East Coast RR freighter doubled our five minute deficit after leaving the terminal and ate up any break time I hoped to see at the end. Two engines, those trademark camel-humped quarry cars, and endless containers presented a rusty moving barrier to our forward progress.
Our last trip of the day, we'd entered the quiet cruise of evening. I pulled out of Galleria with an empty bus and stayed that way for nearly ten minutes, unusual for even for the time of night. It was just me and the one passenger until we got to Pier 66. There we picked up one of its longest residents, who always pays with a row of quarters. This bus gets him over the bridge to the bars and restaurants that 17th Street is famous for. Today is his birthday and he's ready to celebrate. He's grown a little bitter over the years, tells me he's had it with the USA and is moving to Monaco.
Burning off a few minutes at the terminal, an older Jamaican gentleman shared something nice from a day he rode my Route 2 bus.
"I was shot, and you gave me a ride." he recalled. I meet a lot of shot folks and didn't exactly remember that encounter.
Crossing over Sunirse Boulevard, the drive-in movie screens at Thunderbird punctuated the darkness. Race cars exploded as we passed.
Somewhere before we made the last turn on to 441 to finish the route for the day, a woman walked up to prepare for her exit. She emitted a positive vibe with a smile and bright eyes behind glasses.
"Always smile whatever happens." She encouraged me in a lilting accent.
'I like that." I replied, and took her advice. The equipment was intact, everyone was safe, and it was all good.
Monday, August 24, 2020
So slow, so fast
Saturday, August 22, 2020
Allowed to cry
Thursday, July 9, 2020
One good Saturday
Thursday, June 18, 2020
Small blessings (or, Open heart surgery)
Checked into Dispatch, located the two other drivers I was sharing a taxi with, and headed down to Central Terminal. We arrived a little late, but still on time since this was the notoriously late 40 - and it would not disappoint today. It showed up about 15 minutes in the hole, I hopped in the seat, rolled up Andrews Avenue, cut a left onto Sistrunk Boulevard and was ceremoniously greeted by clanging bells and flashing lights. A travelling art gallery of graffiti chugged by on the rusty cars of a FEC freight train. With two engines leading the way, it looked to be a long one so I popped the parking brake to wait it out. The first hundred cars were piled high with their white mounds of Miami limestone, the second hundred were standard shipping containers with logos faded from sailing the world. I lost count after that.
"Oh my god. I could been there by now." A young lady in the back vented her frustration with the delay. Her boyfriend joined her by attempting to insult me with a personalized slur. It's not my job to infringe their freedom of speech, so I focused on the task of operating the bus, which was delayed even longer since the crossing arms remained down five minutes after the train had passed. We detoured to another crossing and got back on route. The girl apologized as she exited, and even wished me a good day. I told her to take care.
That fifteen minute deficit at the start of the shift had more than doubled by the time we got to the end of the line at Lauderhill Mall. That meant no break, just time to service the stop and begin the next trip east.
We were at the pull-in bus stop on 38th Avenue, barely into this new trip, when I heard the sirens. Looking all directions, but seeing no sign of a patrol car, I spotted a minivan in my side mirror. It was racing our way, swerving between other cars, the front banged up, and mirrors dangling uselessly. The van's windows were down, giving a wide open view of several teenage boys inside. They whipped a screeching turn onto 19th Street, and we stayed put. Hot on their tails, an unrelenting stream of police cars were in full on pursuit. Their department insignia said they came from Lauderhill, Fort Lauderdale, Broward Sheriff's Office and anyone else in the vicinity. When the caravan reached 50 units, it seemed like a good round number to stop counting.
The coast was clear, so we made the same turn and followed the action. At least for a few blocks. All the players in the drama we'd just witnessed had disappeared, but now a red car was parked in our lane just short of the next turn. Another car to our left prevented us from going around.The driver of the red car jumped out to taunt the occupants of the other car, and a heated argument ensued in the middle of the street, giving all of us on the bus a front row seat. An older woman on board lamented how dangerous it was "out there".
By some miracle we'd made up a few minutes on the way to Central Terminal. Not enough to give me hope of catching up, but at least it was the right direction. The route would soon regain those minutes, and many more besides. Any inkling of momentum was snuffed out by the chaotic congestion downtown.
This trip called for a side shot into Point of Americas off 17th Street, a cluster of condo towers at the inlet to the port. Not every bus goes in there, and this confused an older gentleman who wondered if the route had changed. I reassured him it hadn't.
The street transitioned into A1A, opening up to the beach, and the busy yet peaceful activity on this side of town was in sharp contrast to the frenetic madness we'd already encountered. Daylight was beginning to wane, the ocean was calm and gentle, freighters floated a mile offshore.
A young lady waited at Las Olas, speaking clear English with a vaguely European accent. The peace and comfort outside the bus followed her aboard as she walked through my door. She was going to South Beach, down Miami way. This was not a good place to start such a trip by bus, so I let her out at the next stop with instructions for catching a bus the other way.
Sometimes in our hurry we need to be reminded to slow down. The easy pace of beach life would have been sufficient, but our reminder came in the form of a bridge delay on Sunrise Boulevard, within sight of the end of the line at the Galleria. When we finally cleared the bridge, the bus was 40 minutes late.
Again, no time for a break at the layover. I stayed in the seat and picked up an older couple originally from Tacoma, Washington, on the other side of the country They were fond of ecotours, excitedly describing whale sightings in Alaska and alligators in the Everglades.
About 10 minutes down the road we caught up with the bus ahead of us. I passed her to help service stops. At Holiday Drive across from the former Yankee Clipper (now B Ocean hotel), a lively bunch of construction workers waited. Their weary clothes and trusty hard hats were coated with the dust of the day yet didn't diminish the excitement to be on their way home.
That other bus caught me a few minutes later in front of Pier 66. It turned out I was actually her leader and she'd somehow passed without my notice. I was still more than half an hour late and we needed to separate our buses, so I went into drop off mode. We started picking up passengers again about 20 minutes later, but the fact I was still half an hour down confirmed any attempt to get back on schedule was an effort in futility.
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Sunset on Sunrise
This was Tuesday, still early in the week yet a kind of sweet spot where folks are focused on productivity. My day would consist of a ten hour shift going back and forth on Sunrise Boulevard, serviced by the notorious 36. Three of us drivers took a taxi from the motor pool at the garage and headed down to Lauderhill Mall to make relief. While there waiting for my bus to arrive, I bumped into my old classmate Vianca. We started with the County at the same time, and I have a fondness for all of those who were in our training class.She had long since transferred to the south garage, so this was a pleasant chance to catch up and wish each other well.
My bus arrived on cue, I hopped into the driver's seat, made my adjustments, and booked it out of there. We rolled west and thought I'd made out pretty good with the after-school crowd when I picked up over a dozen students across from Plantation High School. They smiled as I complimented their t-shirts and other signs of self-expression. Most were going all the way to Sawgrass Mills Mall at the end, perhaps for part-time jobs or just to hang out with friends.
The shift had barely begun and I had yet to do a full round trip since I'd taken over in the middle of the route. Now we could begin in earnest, doing a full trip eastbound from the mall. Still early enough that traffic wasn't a delay, but just in time to get buried by the second wave passing through the school zones. By the time we emerged into an open stretch, we had a full standing load. Our cabin at capacity, we skirted along Deepside before cresting the hill of the Turnpike overpass. Changing lanes at the opportune moment and letting the rush of gravity propel us downward, a sea of young eyeballs looked ahead, unblinking.
We pulled into the Hill seven minutes down, but thanks to the scheduled recovery time we pulled out back on track. Made our pick ups at the Swap Shop and other usual hot spots along the way. At 7th Ave, my blessed and highly favored friend awaited. His pronounced limp as we exchanged fist bumps didn't seem like much of a blessing, but he was still mobile and thankful for that.
A bridge delay at the Intracoastal set us back a little, but left me few minutes to get out of the seat after crossing from the Everglades to the Atlantic. That break would soon be a distant memory as we headed back west. This was the height of rush hour on a street infamous for its congestion. The next fifty blocks were three lanes of solid gridlock. The mass of cars and trucks finally broke apart and flowed better after Martin Luther King Jr Boulevard, opening up a stunning sunset vista. The flashy bright colors and glowing neon of the Swap Shop met their match in the vivid watercolor taking shape overhead. Wispy sand dune clouds stretched into coral pink streaks before our jaded eyes.We chased the receding sun to the end of the line at Sawgrass Mills.
Back on the road and heading east, the rest of the evening promised to be smooth since the earlier chaos had dissipated. At 56th Ave, where the countless back streets of Deepside spill out like an asphalt delta, a 30-something woman in a floral dress with spaghetti straps stepped on, sniffling.
"I just got out of jail." She greeted me, her way of both asking for and explaining why she needed a free ride.
'Welcome back!' I replied, keeping the mood light and non-judgmental. She'd had enough of that from other civil servants, no need to pile on.
We got to the east layover and I finally had some time to catch my breath. At that time the regular layover stop east of the bridge and next to Birch State Park was closed due to construction, so we parked at a temporary stop west of the Intracoastal, across from The Galleria. I still had a few more hours so I took the opportunity to walk over to 7-Eleven for a snack. The petite girl at the cash register was friendly.
"Which bus are you driving?" She asked.
'The 36.' I sighed.
"I used to ride the 36. I remember fights."
'Tonight the fight was on the 60.' I semi-joked. She chuckled.
The break was over and we went west one more time. In the mall courtyard a group of guys in their 20s were smoking something especially pungent in the shadows. My 10:15 trip out of Sawgrass was a full seated load, becoming a standing load by the time we reached Nob Hill. The shifting colors of the sunset were probably over the Pacific right now, but the weeknight machinery on Sunrise Boulevard was not ready to shut down just yet.