I recently started a new temp job that has me working some early hours in San Francisco. I don’t have a car, so I take an AC Transit bus to the BART train, and that combo delivers my sleepy ass on time to my job.
But what makes my commute a hell of a lot easier in the morning is the driver of the bus that I take to the train, the 46.
She’s an older black woman driving the early run of her bus in the deep East of Oakland.
Don’t mess with her, because she has surely dealt with the trifling likes of you many times before.
She drives like a pro and handles any scandal that may arise with firmness and finesse.
But she also takes the time to say good morning to everyone like she means it. Looks us right in the eyes and smiles.
When we get to the BART train station, she wishes us all well, offers encouragement, and tells us all she’ll see us tomorrow.
It’s a lovely way to start my day.
This bus driver was driving the morning that I went to pick up my husband Picasso from the airport, when he first arrived to the States last month.
I was nervous as all get out, and definitely not present as I boarded.
The bus driver’s firm yet friendly, “Good Morning!” snapped me right back into the here and now.
Tomorrow is Friday. A few Fridays back, for another temp job, I was on an earlier 46, with the same bus driver.
She looked into her rearview mirror and said, “Come on now, everybody – smile! It’s Friday!”
And I’ll be damned if every single one us didn’t get off that bus, smiling wide smiles in the early morning light.
Three cheers for my bus driver, the best of them all.