Jesus was driving my #560 bus, or someone who looked just like Him — a young white man, with long, flowing hair that hung loose, and a short, neatly trimmed beard. When people asked about connecting routes or where this bus was going to turn, He answered softly and his answers were correct. Only thing missing was a “Verily” now and then.
A small fan blew air in the driver’s face, which tussled his hair and added to the Jesus effect. He was wearing sunglasses, which mismatched the Jesus look, but hey, shades hadn’t been invented when Jesus walked the Earth, and anyway, it was a hot, sunny day.
The #560 goes through the airport, and sometimes there’s usually heavy traffic on the long, wide driveway, cluttered with cars, taxis, Ubers, and buses to the rental car parking lots. On this day traffic was heavier than usual. But Jesus gently waved, letting a couple of cars merge into our lane. Blessed are the motorists.
At the airport bus stop, passengers from out of town always have questions, and Jesus answered them all, wisely and correctly. Folks boarding are often lugging luggage, and Jesus watched patiently in the rear view, as they took too long struggling with their luggage.
In a very low-key voice, he told them that luggage must be stowed on the racks above the seats, not in the aisle, and that all suitcases and backpacks must be behind the built-in bungee-style cords on the racks, so nothing comes tumbling down on people’s heads when the bus turns.
I never use my phone’s camera, but just this once I wished I could take a picture, to memify it — Christ looking at dumbshit passengers in his mirror, as if to say, “They know not what they do.”
When everyone’s luggage was stowed, the bus left the airport, and five minutes later, we reached my destination, the Burien Transit Center.
Jesus opened the front door, while I stood at the back door, waiting to exit. This happens sometimes, because the front and back doors are controlled by different buttons on the driver’s console. It’s no biggie. You simply shout, “Back door, please,” and the driver pushes the button that opens the back door.
Well, I shouted, but Jesus didn’t hear me, so I shouted “Back door!” a second time, a little louder. He still didn’t hear, or at least didn’t open the door. Instead he closed the front door, and began pulling the bus away from the curb.
“Back door, please,” I absolutely bellowed.
Saying nothing, the driver slowed and stopped the bus, and opened the back door for me. Him being Jesus and all, I should’ve been on my best behavior, but I was grumpy, so before stepping out I said, “Sorry to wake you.” Didn’t yell it, but said it loud enough to be pretty sure He’d heard.
And as he drove off, I felt a little bad about what I’d said. I try to be nice to the drivers; they have a rough job, and a lot of passengers are dickheads, so I usually try to be a non-dickhead. But sheesh, I’d just spent five hours taking care of my mother and interacting with visitors at her house, and I wanted to get home.
Well, another reason to be nice to drivers is that they tend to work the same routes a lot. Two days later I was waiting for the #560 again, but bent over tying my show instead of watching for the bus. And it’s almost a rule: when someone at the bus stop isn’t watching for a bus, many drivers will roll right past. But this bus stopped, the door opened, and Jesus was my driver again.
“Thanks,” I said.
And he said, “Sorry to wake you,” but he said it softly, like Jesus would.
7/8/2026
itsdougholland.com
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