Hit and Run

Being a professional driver, my travels take me all over this city.  Even in my former professions, I found myself traveling the highways and bi-ways of our fair province, so I've had the privilege to see many great things.  I've gotten to see a wild bison.  That was cool.  I had a near-miss collision with a moose.  That was an interesting experience.  I've even gotten to see the midnight sky, lit up by the dancing Aurora Borealis.  Unfortunately, there are some things I wish I hadn't seen.

The first time I ever drove solo as a long distance courier, a small bird flew in front of the van I was driving and sadly, before I had a chance to slow the vehicle, the bird had tried to fly out from in front of me, but I clipped it with the radio antenna and (thankfully) it was killed instantly.  I had to pull over to remove the little bird from the antenna, as it's neck had fractured and was still attached to the van.  I recall crying real tears as I knelt on the side of the road, this little bird lying before me.

Driving transit, I've seen many deceased carcasses on the road.  Birds, dogs, cats, etcetera.  Yesterday, I saw a small fox lying at the side of Lowe Road just before you enter into Evergreen in Saskatoon.  The needless loss of life, broke my heart, but because it was a fox, it reminded me of the time I was leaving Tisdale, heading south on highway 35.  I passed by a scene that would have staggered even the most callous of hearts.  It appeared that a mother fox had been hit by a car, but instead of running for safety, her two kits stayed by her side, ultimately being run over themselves.  It was a horrifying scene and a memory I wish I would lose quickly.

In addition to that wild life, I'm seeing lots of birds about town.  These ones baffle me, but I suspect that they're swooping down to grab the carcasses of the gophers that are strewn about on the streets.  Wherever there's a park or a field, there's sure to be dead gophers about.  I understand the plight of the birds.  I recall once upon a time, driving a former bosses car back from Winnipeg, when I struck an owl that was swooping down to grab a quick meal.  Instead it lost it's life and my boss needed to replace the grille in his VW Golf.

Worst thing I've seen, to date, was this morning.  I was driving by a fresh kill.  So fresh that the lower extremities of this poor little soul, was flattened by whatever motor vehicle happened by, it's limbs still flailing.  It horrified me and shook me to the very core of my being.

Given the size ratio of a gopher to a motor vehicle is gargantuan.  A forty foot transit bus weighing over 42K lbs, is no match for much of anything, especially a little gopher.  On Friday morning I was heading south on Preston, when a little fella ran out in front of me.  I damn near lost control of the bus as I hit the brakes.  I missed it, but felt it wasn't long for this world and yep!  On my next pass by that part of the street, it had, in fact, been hit and the magpies had already descended down for their feast.

One early morning in 2017, I was driving past an acreage outside of Birch Hills.  They had two dogs, one a large shaggy white dog, while the other was a wiry black short-haired dog.  They would often stand at the edge of the property and bark at passing traffic, even pursuing a foot chase on occasion.  On this particular morning, I saw the two dogs, only their attention wasn't aimed at the traffic.  Instead, I saw that the large shaggy white dog was motionless, laying on it's side, while the black dog was laying perpendicular, with it's head resting atop of it's pal.  My heart broke. 💔 It was apparent that during one of their foot chases, the white dog had been hit and was deceased.  My heart goes out to anyone who's lost a pet, especially when it's a hit and run case, like this seemed to be.

A few days later, I was passing that same acreage outside Birch Hills, when I was greeted by the same duo, standing out on the edge of the property, tails wagging and barking at passing vehicles and equipment.  "What the hell?" I thought, to myself.  I don't know the motive behind the dogs putting on that display prior to this day, but I thought they must have some kind of sense of humour.  Silly dogs.

I don't handle death very well.  People are one thing, but animals, man!  I can't deal with that shit.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

A rose by any other name is still an angry drunk homeless woman that has nothing better to do than to ride the bus and angrily assault other passengers and the drivers.

Last week, I reported on my Facebook timeline that I'd picked up an angry homeless woman who then proceeded to nitpick and ridicule me for the following two hours.  She returned again, on Friday, but this time she was accompanied by her daughter, who is equally as angry and drunk as her mother.

Day began by my picking them up on 8th Street.  They were slow to get moving, so another patron boarded the bus ahead of them.  He never pushed them aside or anything.  Just boarded the bus, minding his own business.  This action prompted the daughter to rush onto the bus and verbally shakedown the rider.  Then once seated, the inebriated duo proceeded to verbally assault me, relentlessly.  I laughed it off at first.  For most of the ride downtown, actually.  Admittedly, however, I admit it began to affect me.

I know it shouldn't bother me.  That I shouldn't allow such behavior to affect my attitude, but one can only be a punching bag for so long before the abuse naturally seeps into the cracks.

My father was a terrible alcoholic when I was growing up and what he'd do on some of his benders is toss on some old records then sit me down at the table and he'd tell me what my problems were and how worthless I was, between swigs of his strongly mixed glasses of rye and 7-up.  Many o' weekends were spent at the kitchen table, methodically being broken down to the minstrel sounds of Roger Whittaker and Ray Price, with some Willie peppered in there, for good measure.  To this day, I can't hear Johnny Horton's "Battle of New Orleans" without reminiscing about what a worthless piece of shit I was in the eyes of my drunken father.  It's bittersweet, really.  Good song, with terrible memories.

Nothing can be done about the angry drunk woman, commonly known as "Rose" among all the drivers.  As affected by the abuse as I was, I was relieved to learn that every driver has this negative experience with this woman.  She's been forcefully removed from many buses, by police and other authorities, but she always comes back.  She refuses to pay when she rides the bus, but feels she has the privilege to abuse everyone around her.  No matter who you are, she's gonna be a gunnin' for ya.

With the lifestyle she's been leading, for what I presume has been years, I'm certain she's not long for this world.  One day in the not-too-distant future, I'm sure, I'll be sitting in the drivers lounge, downtown, and will hear some some news about the passing of "Rose".  I predict that some of the drivers will trade anecdotes, fondly remembering how she called them a "worthless cocks*cker" or worse.  We'll all have a laugh and go on about our day, never giving another thought to this woman.

It's sad that a person could possibly live the span of a lifetime and have nothing to show for it, but a few stories showcasing her anger or pissing herself on a city transit bus.  It's pitiful.

Break A Leg

As a child, my dream was to grow up to be an actor.  Not a movie star, but a working actor.  As a troubled youth, I'd find solace in watching movies and TV.  It was my escape from the horrors I'd face at home and as a result, I hoped to, one day, be allowed to permanently escape into the world of pretend by becoming interesting characters.

Alas, as I revealed my hopes and dreams to those around me, it was told unto me, that I'd never be able to do that, as I lacked the skill or the talent to do so.  Resist those words of negativity all I wanted, eventually the negativity will break down those barriers of resistance and belief sets in.  Look at me now.  Today, I still have my face pressed up to the proverbial glass window, peering in at what might have been, rather than what is.

"Break A Leg" is an idiom used by amateur and professional theater folk. It's a term affectionately used to wish someone luck.  Wishing someone ill will, tricks the trickster gods into granting the opposite and as a result, good things will happen.  Superstitious?  Perhaps, but given what's happened throughout my life, I can't deny the logic.

This past winter, I was unemployed.  Like previous winters, ever since I slipped on that patch of ice, that fateful evening in March of 2018.  So for the past few years, I've been employed at a job that was seasonal, so I'd be laid off in the winter.  Perfect for a guy who has some form of PTSD, when it comes to icy surfaces.  That company I worked for, went bankrupt, last year and I had to scramble to find another job.  As luck would have it, the job I had, sucked and they let me go after about a month and a half and I'd, by then, accrued enough hours to go on E.I. for the winter.  Come spring, though, I had some trouble finding work.

Every interview I'd set up, I'd get excited and post to Facebook that I was about to embark on this interview and there'd be a slough of friends and well-wishers sending love and 'good luck'.  Then as well as I'd do in those interviews, I wouldn't get the job.  This happened a lot.  A LOT!!  I have one friend, bless her, who would always send a loving message of "Good luck!  I believe in you."  As grateful as I am to have a friend who cares that much for my well-being, I feel that sentiment was the biggest curse of them all.  Whatever Gods overheard those thoughts of positivity, sought to quickly shit on my parade and prevent me from any sort of success.

Tuesday, I officially become a professional driver.  A bus operator for the City of Saskatoon.  It's a job that I've wanted for many many years.  So much that I almost faced charges of Grand Theft in my pursuit.  At the time, they gave me a choice, resign from my job or face prison.  The choice was a simple one. 😂

I'd had job interviews in the past for civic transit, but failed to get the position.  I can't recall if anyone wished me good luck on that interview, but suffice it to say, probably.  So this time around, when I got the call, I never spoke a word.  Nothing, not to anyone.  Not even my mom.  I wanted this shit more than anything and by keeping my mouth shut and not receiving all the words of positivity and luck, I managed to lock down the position.  Next came five weeks of classroom lessons and practical driving and now, come Monday morning, I'm about to be unleashed on the world.  I hope that I don't jinx myself by releasing this blog a day early and have some kind-hearted soul, inadvertently f*cking me over and having me crash into a pole or a f*cking school.

I had a dream last night or maybe it was early this morning.  Doesn't matter.  In the dream, I set out on my first day of driving alone.  I was given the articulating bus, like the photo seen here.  In training I drove it and loved it.  In the dream, my affection was short lived.  For some reason, while stopped at a traffic light, the bus malfunctioned and the bus began pulling back in reverse.  The transmission was in drive, but the mechanisms had failed and the bus was now pulling in the opposite direction.  I quickly put the emergency brakes on, but to no avail.  The pulling power was stronger than the brakes and screeching tires were being dragged backward, up the street, against oncoming traffic.  All I could do was to attempt to steer the bus and avoid catastrophic collisions with one hand and scream into the phone calling for supervisors to help me out of this jam.  Oddly, the supervisors weren't the competent folks I've been interacting with for the past few weeks, but Kev Dogg (Kevin Schiele from TVs "Bitchin' Rides")

I can't remember what happened next, but suffice it to say that the articulating bus came to rest on a patch of grass, off the road and professionals were on their way to investigate and tow the vehicle back to the garage for further investigation and repair.

In the dream, I was shitting bricks, fearing I'd lose my job after one single day, but Kevin, Kev Dogg, assured me that my job was safe and that I'd reacted properly and in a safe manner.  I hope this dream was one of luck.

When I was a kid, growing up on a farm just west of the city, we had horseshoes hanging over the doorways into the barn.  You always hang a horseshoe with the tangs facing up.  This is to contain the luck, rather than allowing the luck to spill out, if hung upside down.  If I ever move back to an acreage or am in a position to hang another horseshoe, I'd like to recreate this practice.  

I don't necessarily believe in luck.  I've been lucky in life, not in love, but in life in general.  As bad as shit gets, I've always known I'd bounce back.  I don't know if you'd call it lucky or just fate.  I know that when I won that $1000 on that scratch ticket, a couple years ago, the vendor who sold me the ticket, was rude and never uttered anything to me.  I know that when I buy tickets and I'm greeted with a smile and a wish of good luck, I never win.  All circumstantial and coincidental, but I don't believe in coincidence, either.  Only cause and effect.

So when you see me out and about, don't wish me "good luck", because chances are, you're pushing me one step closer to the grave.  Instead, tell me to "break a leg".  I'll know what you mean and that maybe, you actually read my blog.  For which I thank you. 🙂