Three Drivers. 1st one was from England, arrived 1968. retired after 28 years @ Boeing. said he took the job driving because he got bored but then confided that the stock market took more out of his pension than he did. they only guaranteed 16 hours but it was a busy summer so he averaged 31 a week. i got off at the new bus station, bought a $2 4-trip card (a rip-off cz i only needed 1 but i guess they've got to cover the costs of their costly card-readers), jammed coins into one of those cheapie vending twist-dial lock boxes they have in flybynight offices (in this case peanut m&ms from temporary construction trailer bus customer service area where they searched for a ferry schedule), a dime fell through cash drawer crack and i pocketed it, sole soul waiting for the 208...

#2 the viet nam vet wants to talk politix with the driver, driver says he can't on the job. it's a free country, the vet insists. not when you're working, the driver says. how can you say that? the vet asks, insisting it's a free country. not at work, the driver says. i get paid to drive, not talk. but a little further down the road he relents and pulls out a 9-11 dollar bill: ONE DECEPTION. someone gave me this, he says, points out the URLs, but the vet with ILLUSION EXPERT button on his cap doesn't seem moved by the internet, looks at the bill with mixed comprehension. we all get off at cascade mall.

#3 seemed friendly & cracked jokes but guarded his authority jealously, the kind who never admits an error, ad- monished the passengers and hid his anger beneath a veneer of politeness (a northwest practice). but over the radio a different story, one driver to another: there's a woman waiting at such-and-such stop. don't let her on. she's a little confused. what she wants is the 205, not 208. she's going to the university... their dialogue went back and forth. they had lots of time and few passengers so they took a special interest. there was no way that woman would get it wrong. meanwhile, our driver cracked jokes w/ a man who slept through it and who all the elderly women knew and reminded when it was time to wake up and get off at work.

the victoria clipper stops running after labor day so i thought i'd try the train/bus combo.
traveling like that requires something other than patience--utter resignation is more like it.
you've really got to let go of preconceptions such as time and destination. you're either
on a bus or waiting for one. the fellas at the train stop (no station to speak of) directed
me to the wrong SKAT bus stop, thus adding two hours to my journey (though on the
upside i saw an antique press at the herald offices and bought a $10 mt. vernon salvation
army ukulele). the bus was populated by the elderly, the infirm and me. few buses on
convoluted routes. they said get off at the mall for the transfer to anacortes so when
we got to the big box stores and parking lots i asked, is this where i get off for the 410?
no, that's at the mall. the whole town looked like a mall to me. we got the to real mall,
end of the line, we all filed off. an hour to kill, i ate a sbarro pizza slice: $2.79. i hadn't
been in a mall for 5 years or so; at 11:15 am it was all shiny floor reflections that
made me want to spend money. i tried, but the bookstore was ludicrous in its
selection, nothing but cliches and doggerel in the art, literature, and poetry sections.
the slew of bush-bashing books made see opposition as just another cash transaction.
nope, nothing there. my money and i went to radio shack--maybe i needed a certain
adapter, splitter, or jack? an old woman was looking for an ink cartridge for her '80s
tandy computer. they didn't have a replacement. one clerk suggested searching internet,
but she couldn't handle it. i don't want a new computer! she just about yelled. i walked out
of there, checked the YOU ARE HERE map for the nearest toilet. turned out to be
in the octaplex, quiet carpets and posters for sequels to movies i'd never heard of.
i found the can and made my deposit. it was better than any movie. found the exit.
back to the stop, the same vet from the other bus noticed the ukulele neck sticking
out of my bag and asked if i'd play him a song. i asked him if he knew much about
ukuleles; i wondered whether the strings (high-low-low-high) had been mistrung
or if it was supposed to be that way. he didn't know, but another passerby commented
on the type of wood used in the body and i'm sorry to say i didn't commit it to memory.
i've got a bet going with katie cramer--who can wear their Built to Spill/Pixies bumbershoot
wrist tag the longest? the vet noticed mine and asked if i'd just got out of the hospital.
the short bus came, i got on. 12:15 pm and the day hadn't started.
good thing--that way it would never end.