Thursday, November 1, 2018

Flighty paths

Christmas happened to fall on a Sunday this time, which kept things smooth and avoided confusion. Had it been on a weekday, we would still run on a Sunday schedule. It was going to be an easy day with light traffic, no rush on the bus, and schedules adhered to.

I pulled into slot B-1 at Central Terminal where a handful awaited me. The regular with his wheelchair greeted me with a fist bump and a Merry Christmas. He rolled on ahead of everyone else into the spot I'd readied for him before leaving the garage.

Our first stop on US 1 brought us both darkness and light. An older homeless man who had become a regular on these Sunday mornings boarded with dejection. He had been beaten and robbed the night before, by an assailant who relieved him of two monthly bus passes and his cellphone. Now he had no way to stay in touch with others or report the theft. But he had a ride to church on our bus. His gloom was balanced by the boarding of our Island Sunshine. Her smile illuminates even the dimmest of bus cabins; her heart lightens our load.

We glided along the Searstown Curve, driving over tree shadows cast by the rising sun.

Up in Pompano, congregating around a pond along the edge of massive Community Park, were all manner of birds. Egyptian geese, white ibis, cormorants drying out their wings, and other species collected in abundance.

The Mizner Boulevard loop in Boca Raton took us around and directed us back south, though there are still a handful of stops before the layover on Camino Real. In that handful of stops waited another Sunday regular. A couple of obvious handicaps give him the appearance of being half-paralyzed, but it doesn't keep him down.
"Are you on a Sunday schedule since it's Christmas?" He asked as he carefully climbed on.
   'Yes.' My answer was simple, perhaps hesitant as I considered the coincidence of the holiday on a Sunday.
"Can you tell I'm awake? I know today is Sunday."
   'Oh, you're a joker!'
"Yeah I'm a joker, a toker, and a midnight smoker!" He squeaked out in a voice that pierced the silent street. Hunch-necked vultures peered at us from their streetlamp perches.

Other visitors joined us going south. A long time regular more commonly seen on 441 visited. A young lady was going to County Jail to visit her boyfriend. A young father had his hands full with two daughters and a son; they just missed the 36 and decided to take my bus downtown to catch the 40.

The nominal morning busy-ness dwindled as the day transitioned to afternoon. When we got to 62nd Street a few minutes early, we had to sit and burn off the time.
"How long? How long you gonna wait here?" An impatient man came up to ask.
   'Two minutes.' I answered, always giving the actual number.
"Can I take a puff of my cigarette? I'm kinda fiendin' right now," he admitted. He had time to get a few puffs in.

This scene could have repeated itself right up the line, thanks to the light traffic. I was in danger of running hot unless I crawled it up the street at 25 mph. It began to pick up again around Copans.

A regular who got on the previous trip and stayed on since he had nowhere special to be in a hurry decided to exit in Boca. Another man who'd boarded at Sample wanted to go to the 'Boca Mall'. There was a language barrier, so I assumed he meant Boca Town Center. Unfortunately that bus wasn't running today. I attempted to explain that to him, so he could find another way to get there. He got a nervous look, but I couldn't be sure if it was because of what I just told him, or because he couldn't understand what I was saying. Either way, he got off at the next stop, apparently familiar enough with the lay of land.

Shortly after beginning our final southbound, I helped a first-timer load his bike on the rack. He was visiting from Paris. They may not have bike racks on their buses, but they sure have great tattoo artists judging by the ink on his arms.

Down on Sunrise Boulevard one of Santa's elves played hooky and hopped on our bus. Flighty and animated - but harmless - he fed a handful of pennies and nickels into the fare box. He gave his remaining change to an old man just before exiting a few stops later.
"Don't spend it at the casino! Hee hee!" He cackled as he bounded off.

One of Broward Transit's biggest fans was waiting at Central Terminal for a different route. Francois is an instant friend to all of our drivers. We wished each other a Joyeux Noel.

Time for my final trip, when I would be relieved by another driver and spend the rest of Christmas Day with my family. First I had to help others get to their own families. At Central Terminal a man of about thirty boarded with a fresh haircut, trimmed beard, and full sleeves of colorful ink. A large, festively-designed tote bag was loaded with gifts for his kids, who he was going to visit in Pompano. He'd already been on a lengthy bus ride to connect to my bus, now he had a long trip to get north. About halfway there, he was on the phone and getting hot with whoever he was talking to. Mostly complaints and curses about how long the trip was taking. My hands were tied sticking to the schedule, and I sympathized with him. As we neared his stop he came up front, close by.
"My dad wrapped my car around a tree last night. It's Christmas and it's my first time on the city bus."
Another round of sympathy for the guy, and concern for his father. It looked like Dad would be ok, so that was a blessing. This young man was going to impressive lengths to deliver a memorable Christmas to his children. We reached his stop and I popped the doors, delivering in my own way a gift to his awaiting family.

Despite an inconvenient schedule, many routes had connected today. Though we eventually return to our own orbits, for these brief moments we share the same flight paths.

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