Headed home on the #F bus, a possible bum but definite scuzzy character got on at the next stop. A white dude wearing stained clothes, his hair was greasy and uncombed, and he was carrying a crumpled bag of fast-food and two drinks in cups with straws. Dr Peppers, it was revealed when he boarded, and asked the driver, “Is it OK to ride with the Dr Peppers? I won’t spill.”

Food and drink are not allowed on the bus, but rare indeed is the driver who enforces that rule, and this wasn’t that driver. He waved Scuzzy Guy aboard, and Scuzzy walked back, looking for a seat.

He was outta luck, because Metro in its stupidity has replaced the 60-foot hybrid buses on the #F line with 40-foot electrics. That’s a third fewer feet, a third fewer seats, and the #F is a busy route. Since the switch a month or so ago, never once have I ridden an #F that wasn’t standing room only for at least some of the ride.

Scuzzy Guy Holding a Sack of Food and Two Dr Peppers didn’t have a third hand to grab a stanchion, so when the driver hit the gas, he staggered in the aisle.

Would he topple, and flood the bus with Dr Pepper? Nope, we were saved from a sticky splash by a preppy-looking black guy, who lifted his backpack from the seat beside him, plopped it onto his lap, and said to Scuzzy Guy, “Have a seat.”

Scuzzy sat and said, “Thanks man. Want a Dr Pepper?” and offered one of his cups.

Watching from the front row of the balcony, three steps up, the thought of being offered a soda by a scuzzy stranger grossed me out. It happens — I’ve been offered ice cream, beef jerky, half a tuna sandwich, and more over my years on the bus, and once I accepted and ate a Snickers bar. Yum. But I’m wearing a mask to protect from COVID and the flu, so it’s almost always been “No thanks” to sharing.

But this guy said, “Sure,” and Scuzzy handed him a cup, and the black guy immediately took a long sip.

Man, you don’t know what’s in that cup or down that straw! Might be spit, might be drugs, might be motor oil, dirt, piss — might be anything, but apparently it was Dr Pepper. The trusting man took another sip, and pretty soon the two of them were talking about football, as men tend to do.

A mile or so later the trusting man rang the bell, and said to Scuzzy, “Thanks for the drink.”

“Thanks for the seat,” he replied. The black guy stepped off through the side door, still holding his Dr Pepper, and took another long gulp as he walked away.

It’s a mini Hallmark movie set in the real world, because you know what? Despite perpetually panicked reports on Fox News, most strangers are not out to mug or kill you. Someone who offers a Dr Pepper in a cup with a straw is probably just offering a Dr Pepper in a cup with a straw.

♦ ♦ ♦

Same day, same trip, my next bus was a northbound #99. Twenty blocks into the ride, I was already zoning out when the bus pulled into a stop, and the driver lowered the ramp to pick up a lady in a wheelchair. She flashed a card to pay her fare, then rolled to the bus’s wheelchair area, and expertly backed her chair into position.

The driver is supposed to walk back and bend over and attach a couple of belted hooks to the wheelchair, to secure it in place, but this driver added a previously unseen twist — he pulled out rubber gloves, like what a doctor wears to handle your nutsack or probe your ass or something.

The why of it is a question mark — securing a wheelchair doesn’t involve touching the person in the chair, or even touching the chair. It’s just, ① pull a belt and hook it, and ② pull a second belt and hook it, and you’re done. There’s no particular risk of infection, and the driver wasn’t even wearing a mask.

He was tediously slow with the latex gloves, like he’d never worn a pair before. He stretched the fingers and tried sliding into them, but time stood still, and he only had the right glove mostly on, hadn’t even started on the left.

This glovework was happening behind the lady in the wheelchair, so she only knew that the belts and hooks weren’t going on, but not why. “What are we waiting for?” she asked, a logical question, posed kinda cranky.

The driver didn’t answer, and the wheelchair lady said, “Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?”

A man across the aisle explained, “He’s putting on rubber gloves.”

“What am I, bubonic plague?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re contagious and we’re all gonna die,” said the man. The driver was still silent, trying the get the gloves onto his hands.

Another lady passenger spoke up, “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” and stood and walked in front of the driver, then bent over and pulled first one belt and then the second, hooking both to the wheelchair. It took her about twenty seconds, which is speedier than most drivers can do it. Maybe she was a bus driver on her day off, or maybe she’d just watched the attachment procedure closely enough to learn it.

“There,” the heroic woman said, and sat down again. “We’re good to go.”

The driver stooped over to check the woman’s work, but still didn’t say anything. Another mini-eternity passed as he pulled his gloves off again, then walked to the cockpit and resumed driving the damned bus.

10/7/2026

Transit Takes

itsdougholland.com
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