The #560 route goes from West Seattle to Bellevue, a loooong ride, made longer because it detours several miles out of its way to stop at the airport. That airport stop can be hectic, with fresh-landed visitors asking the driver questions, or not asking, and discovering later that the bus isn’t going where they thought it went — #560 buses headed both directions stop at the same stop, making bewilderment even likelier.

I enjoy the confusion at the airport stop, but yesterday’s scene was slightly surreal. An Asian woman stepped onto the bus, and asked with a difficult accent, “Is this the bus to SeaTac Airport?”

The driver frowned and said, “This is SeaTac Airport.”

“SeaTac Airport?”

“Lady, where are you going?”

“SeaTac Airport,” she said, then added, “Tickets.”

“You’re here,” he said. “This is the airport.”

“SeaTac Airport. Tickets,” she said again.

Their voices grew quieter and my interest grew less, so I can’t recount the how or why of it, but the lady pulled out her cell phone and showed pictures or a map to the driver, and he suggested she take the #574 bus to Kent.

The lady said “Thank you” and stepped off the bus.

Had the driver figured out where she was headed and given her good advice? Or had he simply made up some shit to get her away so the bus could proceed to Renton? Inquiring minds want to know, but I didn’t inquire.

Fifteen minutes later, as the bus turned into the Renton Transit Center, an idea struck me. Instead of exiting via the back door, I walked to the front, and asked the driver, “How do I get to the Renton Transit Center?”

I’m a regular rider on the #560, big and fat and ‘memorable’ and I always get off at the Renton Transit Center, so the driver probably knew that I knew where I was. I just figured he’d laugh or get exasperated; either would’ve been a major score on a boring morning.

The driver said nothing, only looked at me blankly. Though actually, if he’d smiled or frowned I wouldn’t have known, cuz he was wearing a mask, same as me.

♦ ♦ ♦

In the olden days, drivers would sometimes object if a passenger walked past the farebox without paying, but I haven’t seen much of that since a bum killed a driver a while back.

The only person guaranteed to complain if a rider doesn’t pay is an oldish white woman with a cane, who frequently rides the #99 bus, always muttering about riders who don’t pay.

One fine day, I was riding the #99 when that lady got on and paid her fare, and sat across the aisle from me. I was looking forward to hearing her grumble when passengers didn’t pay. And sure enough, two passengers came aboard at the next stop, and didn’t pay, but the old white woman didn’t say anything.

A few stops later, an old man came aboard without paying, and again the old white woman said nothing.

I looked at her without letting on that I was looking, and she seemed kinda sad, so I decided to cheer her up by complaining about the next fare evasion. But at the next stop, everyone who came onto the bus paid. And at the stop after that. Finally, with only one stop remaining before the end of the line, the bus pulled over and a 20-something black man stepped on, and walked past the farebox.

All transit should be free, I believe, but to the old lady across the aisle I said, “Did you see that? He didn’t pay any fare.”

The lady said, “Oh, you see that a lot,” and she smiled, and began a prattling rant about the low class of people who take the bus without paying. She only stopped when the recorded announcement said, “This is the last stop. All passengers should deboard at this time,” and even then she finished her long paragraph as she walked off the bus.

Whatever troubles in life had kept that old lady from the joy of complaining about fare evasion, I am pleased that I was able to nudge her back to her ordinary grumpiness. My work here is done, is what I was thinking.

8/15/2026

Transit Takes

itsdougholland.com
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