Ride buses enough, you’ll get to know some of the regulars, maybe not by name, but by face and demeanor, especially on the routes nearest your house. For me that’s the #99, and today I’ll introduce you to a few frequent riders…

Fat Superman is a large, bald, presumably mentally challenged man who always wears superhero t-shirts. Couple of weeks ago, he was wearing Spider-Man and riding home from shopping, with a portable cart full of groceries. His cart was an unusual design, kinda cool, and I was only a few seats away, so I said, “Nice cart.”

He grunted something I couldn’t hear, so I said again, a little louder, “I really like your cart.”

He looked at me but didn’t say anything. My feelings were slightly hurt, but everyone says not to talk to strangers, and I’m a strange stranger, so I nodded at him and flashed a smile. Which was pointless, because I always wear a mask on the bus, so he couldn’t see the smile.

Eventually, Fat Superman rang the bell and got off the bus, and I noticed that his cart was missing a wheel, and slightly dented. So when I’d complimented the cart, he must’ve thought I was picking on him. Damn, I feel bad about that.

It’s crazy how often I see that guy on the bus or at the bus station, so I’ll undoubtedly ride with him again in a few days. Will I apologize, try to explain that I genuinely liked his cart, wasn’t trying to be an asshole? Probably not.

♦ ♦ ♦

Once or twice weekly, an oldish white lady with a cane rides the bus, and talks a lot, usually about passengers who board without paying.

A black man didn’t pay, and she said: “You didn’t pay. Why don’t you pay?” But she was talking more to herself than him, and if he heard it, he ignored it.

A Hispanic man in paint-splattered overalls didn’t pay, and she said: “You didn’t pay. So many people don’t pay.” No reply.

A white woman with green hair didn’t pay, and she said: “You’re supposed to pay, but you don’t pay.” No reply.

A couple of college-age kids didn’t pay, and she said: “That’s seven people so far who haven’t paid, and yes, I am counting.” No reply.

A black guy in an orange vest didn’t pay, and she said: “You didn’t pay. Maybe I should start not paying.”

This time, a reply: “Maybe you should start shutting up, bitch.”

For the rest of her ride, Oldish White Lady with A Cane said: Not a word.

♦ ♦ ♦

Impatient Guy rides alone and talks to himself, always complaining about how slow the bus is. “C’mon, c’mon, stop stopping every two blocks.”

And I’ll admit, I mutter such complaints myself when the bus is running late and I’m in a hurry, but Impatient Guy always seems to be running late or in a hurry.

The guy in the orange vest was correct, of course. “Start shutting up, bitch” is my mantra for bus behavior, so I shut up.

What I was thinking, though, what I’m always thinking when Impatient Guy is being impatient, was, “Dude, the bus stops every two blocks because there are bus stops every two blocks. It’s why they’re called bus stops. When people are waiting at the bus stops, the bus stops. Welcome to public transit.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Wheelchair riders board the bus via the ramp, then park their chairs and latch their brakes. The driver comes back and attaches restraints to the wheelchair, so it doesn’t go flying if they have to really slam on the brakes.

Securing wheelchairs is a rule, but the person in the wheelchair can decline. Sometimes they’ll say, “No chains for me,” as they roll past the driver. They’re trusting their brakes, holding a stanchion, and I’ve never yet seen a wheelchair fly.

An athletically built 30-something white man in a wheelchair rides the #99 once in a while, and always he says to the driver, “No chains for me.” He doesn’t ride unchained, though. He carries a grabber with a hook on the end, reaches behind the wheelchair, and lifts and attaches both restraints to his chair. When he rings the bell to get off, he uses the grabber again, to reach back and unhook his chains.

I’ve seen him do this a dozen times. It’s difficult but he does it, and always it’s impressive, but one time something else happened, and damn it, I missed it.

What I saw was, he rang the bell, and the bus pulled over. No Chains For Me reached back and undid his chains, and said something to the driver, but a pretty woman across the street is where my attention was.

A truck stopped in traffic, tragically blocking my view of the woman, so my consciousness came back to the bus, and I noticed that No Chains For Me was now on the sidewalk, waving ‘thanks’ at the driver.

But, wait — the ramp on this bus goes beep-beep-beep when it’s going down and beep-beep-beep again when it’s coming up, and I’d heard no beeps at all. Even distracted by a gorgeous babe, the beeps are piercing, and I’m aware of them. I am absolutely positive there’d been no beeps.

No Chains For Me is in good shape. His chest has definition, his arms have muscles. Is it possible, conceivable, that he’d asked the driver to skip the ramp, same as he always says to skip the chains, and then wheeled himself right off the edge of the bus and — boom — down to the sidewalk below? It’s a drop of perhaps ten inches, maybe a foot. Did he—? What the—? No way, but—?

I was in a sideways seat, closest to the driver, so like an idiot I asked him, “Did you lower the ramp for that guy?”

He said nothing, just looked at me like I’m an idiot. Which, we’ve already established, I am. But maybe he hadn’t lowered the ramp, maybe the guy dive-bombed it, and the driver knows he’d get in trouble for allowing it…

Yeah, I’m an idiot.

6/27/2026

Transit Takes

itsdougholland.com
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