One man stays calm as others fall apart
“So got a ride home,” I texted my wife from the edge of Downtown Seattle. “My bus ride to work was full of megadrama from start to finish. Bus driver had nerves of loving steel.”
Started to title this little urban vignette, “Nutty Old Woman with Umbrella and Angry Nasty Fella make my Bus Ride most Unforgettable.” Nope, too long and negative. The bus ride was a bit nerve wracking at times, however, and brought up another uncomfortable metro mix of amusement and anger and fear and sadness and compassion and bafflement regarding what we humans do as we live our lives.
Shortly after boarding the bus in Shoreline and taking a seat, an elderly but nimble short woman wanted to get off, screeching at the driver in an unintelligible manner. She appeared to be of East Asian ethnicity, but who knows any more and how much does it matter? So the bus driver kindly stopped between designated bus stops to let her off. As the driver began to pull away, however, the same old lady ran along the side of the bus screeching and banging on the metal hull with her closed-up umbrella. She whacked the bus hard! The driver stopped and let her back on.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a clear, surprisingly calm manner. “I don’t know where I am.”
She sat down as if it was all nothing and turned to look out the window.
Bus driver just nodded his head, closed the door, and floored the gas. He’s seen all of this dramarama before. The umbrella-banging woman sat on the bus for a long time and didn’t get off until much later as we continued south down Aurora Avenue.
Nearly every bus ride was rich with megadrama lately. Today was Saturday the 8th of March 2025.
As the psychosocial energy of the bus ride settled down from the Umbrella-Banging Lady and chaotic serenity ensued, another elderly person had other plans.
A little, oh gosh, tiny old Black man with a Tiny Tim crutch made out of a broom handle with duct tape got on the bus. He was as mad as a yellow jacket at the kindly bus driver, who’s also Black. The crutch fella spewed nasty, vile venom for most of the journey. Crutch Man seemed to think the bus driver owed him a certain preference based on his interpretation of their shared brotherhood, and was angry the bus driver didn’t cut him any favors.
Nasty Crutch Man got very creative with his profanity, too, cuz as soon as he sat down, directly behind the driver, he shouted into the back of the poor bus driver’s head:
“You stupid muthafukka you don’t know nuthin bout driving this go’damn muthafukkkin bus! You an asshole! An asshole, yes you are! In fact, your asshole stinks! Your asshole smells so go’damn bad sittin’ back here that if you dare bend all the way over and stick yer tongue up in there and lick it, you gonna die! DIE! Your poisonous asshole stink that bad! You DEAD from licking your own stupid, smelly, rank asshole, and you know what that means? That means everBODY else DEAD here, too.”
Oh, my goodness. I prepared myself to intervene if the angry man physically assaulted the driver while the driver drove the bus. Everyone tensed up, fretting about the worst. Bad memories surfaced. Back in 1998, a mentally ill man shot dead the driver of a bus driving across the Aurora Bridge over the Fremont Canal. The bus plunged thru the railing off the bridge and down into the same apartment building my then-wife Gwen and I had lived in across from the Troll a few years earlier. So many people were killed and injured the resulting calamity overwhelmed Seattle hospitals. Those of us from around back then remember all too well. The disaster even spurred Seattle to enact reforms to be prepared for any future mass casualty events.
This time, however, the bus driver kept cool. He stayed calm. He was clearly aware of what was happening behind him and just let the old man vent. The driver could’ve radioed for assistance, but couldn’t tell if he did or didn’t. Eventually, the agitated, disturbed man full of rage and vile, vindictive speech wore himself out like a child throwing a temper tantrum on the grocery store floor. He never bothered to move away from anything stinky, either. By the time I got off the bus he was spent and just sat there exhausted. Then the bus driver nodded to everyone and no one, closed the doors behind us, and roared on down those city streets.
Mr. Bus Driver, whoever you are, much respect. You’re the kind of person I’d want as an ally by my side in troubled times. Thank you for your service, sir. To all of us on the bus including those suffering from aggressive mental health crises.
As for as the umbrella-banging woman or the man with the homemade crutch, I never saw either one of them again.
William Dudley Bass
Sunday 9 March 2025
Wednesday 22 April 2026
Shoreline/Seattle, Washington
USA
Cascadia
Earth
Copyright © 2026 by William Dudley Bass. All Rights Reserved by the Author & his Descendants until we Humans establish Wise Stewardship over and for our Earth and Solarian Commons. Thank you.