* This is My Bus.

This is my bus.

There are many like it, but this one is MINE.

My bus is my best friend. It is my life.

I must master it as I must master my life.

My bus without me is useless. Without my bus, I am useless.

My bus is human, even as I, because it is my life.

Thus, I will learn it as a brother.

I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories,

its seats, and its passengers.

I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage.

I will keep my bus clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.

We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God I swear this creed.

My bus and myself are the rulers of the highways.

We are the masters of our commute.

We are the saviors of commerce.

So be it, until there is no commuting, but PEACE.

: Uh Oh.

Gliding down the escalator to the basement of the PABT all alone, one guy coming up the other side, whispers real loud like, "Hey, dude are there a lot of cops up there?" I tell him "yeah about 8 up on the street entrance". He turns 5 shades lighter of white and let's out the most genuine sounding " Uh oh, sh*t".

: Everyone is Irish Today.

St. Patricks day today. While waiting to clamber aboard the NYC bound ACF, the rarely speaks PT Cruiser dude announces "alot of drinking I bet will happen today". Why do people need to state the obvious, especially a person who rarely speaks. It was all I could do to hold back my automatic 3rd grade response of "duh".

Yes it's St. Paddy's day, people will drink, and maybe even wear green. The ride home tonight has the possibility of being very interesting.

happy St. Paddy's Shane.

+ Again and again.

Go to work on the bus. Again.

That's it, sad boring grind with no end in sight. Prison convicts have a phrase to live by, no matter how long or short their incarceration may be.

"You do only two days in the joint, the day you come in and the day you get out."
"Avon Barksdale"

Riding the ACF I am not afforded that simple luxury, the work world in these shaky times does not guarantee any sort of schedule. Just stay in the game as long as you can play and not get played. The workforce is the purest form of the hustle.

My rolling cell block hurtles toward NYC again.

+ Monologue, Dialogue, Yammering.

"This the spot to go to New York?"

"OK I'll get it, is that all?"

"Cold enough."

"I got it, thought I lost it."

"It's full today."

"Excuse me."

"No problem."

"Let me move this, ok."

"I"ll be on time today, no traffic, just like yesterday, roads are empty. Oh I spoke too soon. We'll see, it is what it is. Ok, later."

"One person can keep an entire bus awake, just want a little peace and quiet."

"Why?"

"Another day."

"Have a good one."

"It's stuck, there I got it."

"Wish I was anywhere but here."

"Heard that."

"You can reach it."

"See ya on the way home."

"Ok."

* Overheard Quotes.

Walking from the subway to Port Authority the guy walking in front of me says to his buddy "There's all the people that do stupid things that get fired anyways" speaking of the 20,000 CitiGroup employees getting axed today.

* High Stakes Driver.

Eavesdropping on the guy's conversation in the seat in front of me. I think he drives probably the largest payloads in the city. He works for Sotheby's and drives a box truck that hauls all the items to be auctioned from the warehouse to the showroom. I can only imagine the art work this guy has taxied around Manhattan.

* Ocular Hygiene in Port Authority

Waiting in line at Port Authority and a guy behind me bends down, places his contact lenses on the floor, squirts some eye juice in his eyes, picks up the lenses from the basement Port Authority floor and jams them in his eyes and let's out a relieving "ahhhh that's better".

Effing freak.

* "Deer cost me 1,900 bucks".

The older suit wearing guy who never speaks, turns around in line waiting for the pre-sunrise ACF and says "Hit a damn deer with my PT Cruiser and it's gonna cost me $1,900 bucks". That's it, then just turns back around starring forward looking for the bus to show up.

This guy strikes me as odd, he never is carrying anything, no bag of any sort, just hands in his pockets travels 50 miles to NYC and back. I have never seen him on the return trip.

The quiet deer killers, they're the ones that can crack at any moment.

* FDM Small Talk.

Today was another 1st. I exchanged small talk with FDM (Feather Duster Man) He was hanging out near my gate and started chatting with me completly unsolicited. "Good days work and going home" he says. I agree, and I tell him he's the only thing that keeps this place together. He let's me know it's the truth with a wink and a asalamalaykum my brutha. He's back to his effortless glide up and down the escalators, keeping the fabric of the Port Authority Bus Terminal from breaking down, and anarchy from sweeping the basement bowels of this underworld. He is a Superhero with a feather duster. I admire his sense of purpose and dedication to tidyness down here.

* The Vote that Counts vs. Count the Votes.

As Uncle Joe Stalin said: “It’s not he who votes that counts, it’s he who counts the votes.”

- Undecided?

Not Commute related, but with less than 4 days left until the election I came across this:

from the current issue of The New Yorker (October 27, 2008 - page 43),
David Sedaris writing in "Shouts and Murmurs".

'I don't know that it was always this way, but, for as long as I can remember, just as we move into the final weeks of the Presidential campaign the focus shifts to the undecided voters. "Who are they?" the news anchors ask. "And how might they determine the outcome of this election?"

Then you'll see this man or woman -- someone, I always think, who looks very happy to be on TV. "Well, Charlie," they say, "I've gone back and forth on the issues and whatnot, but I just can't seem to make up my mind!" Some insist that there's very little difference between candidate A and candidate B. Others claim that they're with A on defense and health care but are leaning toward B when it comes to the economy.

I look at these people and can't quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention?

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. "Can I interest you in the chicken?" she asks. "Or would you prefer the platter of shit with broken glass in it?"

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.'

- Slow Moving Monday.

Monday morning and I've been on the bus one hour and have traveled a whopping distance of 15 miles. Not the way to start the week.

I'm living a Clash song right now.

"Never mind that it's time for the bus
We got to work - an' you're one of us
Clocks go slow in a place of work
Minutes drag and the hours jerk".

And I'm just trying to GET to work. Yes Mondays rock alright.

RIP Joe Strummer.

- Hero of the ACF

This post is about events that happened last night on the ride home.

With a belly full of Go Go Curry I settled into the ride home, reading a book and listening to Spanish lessons on my iPod. Not paying attention the the assumed regular route back home.

(Port Authority, Lincoln Tunnel, Route 3 north, Route 46 west, Interstate 80 west, Exit 19, Panther Valley.)

I was sitting toward the back of the bus, and the guy across the aisle says "that's the 2nd time I've seen that fertilizer store". I turned my Espanol off and paid attention because I have never seen a "fertilizer store" and why did he see it twice?

I look up and see we are in Wayne NJ on Route 23, not anywhere we should be going.People are getting angry yelling at the Driver. I know where we are at and it's wrong. The guy across the aisle says "there is the fertilizer store again" now we have passed it 3 times.

I mumble out loud where we should be going and how to get there. An older woman behind me yells at me, and tells me to go up and tell the Driver what to do.

Moment of truth, be a complaining bystander or make a difference. I do it, I march to the front of the bus and sit on the stair next to the driver and he says "do you know where we are?" I get him back on 46 and then 80 west. I walk back to my seat a hero.

- Bathroom Weave Accident.

Riding the 9pm chariot home and needed to do the unheard of, oh it's not that bad. I used the rolling, sloshing bucket of blue toxic-ness. (The bathroom) No biggie just the garden variety bladder buster relief.

Everything went as planned, but upon leaving the rolling latrine I was making my way back to my seat in complete darkness up the aisle, and right as I'm plopping myself into my seat, I accidentally smack the mile-high hair weave of the woman seated in front of me. It wobbled back and forth but defied gravity. I said I was sorry, and she said "It's alright sugar"

Close call.