August 5 - Inner Monologue of a Bus Driver Driving Portland Metro Bus Route 17 for the First Time by Himself

OK, and away we go. Thursday evening, cruising along Portland Metro route 17. Solo, bitches. This is not a drill, fools. It's game time.
Got a couple Mountain Dews in my cooler. Got my shades. Got my driving gloves. Feeling good.
Yes, sir. Training is over. I'm in the driver's seat. Calling the shots. The man in charge. This is how it's supposed to feel. Passengers get on, passengers get off.
He he. Passengers get off.
Check out all them nasty passengers getting off back there! Ha ha!
Focus! That's what they always used to tell us during training. Stay focused! And it's like, duh. Of course stay focused. Tell me something I don't know, Mr. Big Important Metro Trainer Asshole Guy, aka Mr. BIMTAG.
Just like the song. Mr. BIMTAG. Tell me: Who do you think you are?
Yeah, you like that one? Just came up with it. Mr. BIMTAG. That's freaking good, man. Can't wait to tell Dale and the rest of my training class about that shit. OK, Mr. BIMTAG. I'll be sure to stay focused. On your mom!
And more passengers get on, and more, ahem, get off, and . . .
Crap.
MLK Avenue.
Which way am I supposed to turn here? I seriously don't remember. Wow, this is embarrassing.
Shit, my mind is seriously blanking on me. Wow, this kind of sucks. If I can just get to the light and have it be red and be the first vehicle in line and see both ways, I should be able to see my next stop.
OK, here it comes. Shit. I'm too far back to see anything. Crap, which way do I go? And why do I keep looking back at the passengers? Like I'm going to be able to read 'go right' or 'go left' on their faces. Can I just ask one of them? They take this bus every day, they must know.
No, I can't. Besides, it's right. I definitely turn right.
OK, here it comes. I'm committed now. Turning right. Let's see how they take it.
Hard to read. It looked like a couple of people were looking around, but that could mean anything.
Cruising along MLK now. Nobody seems too panicked. Besides, this feels right. OK, I remember it from training now. It's all coming back to me. Yeah, I remember that Exxon station. And yes, here comes the stop. Thank God. Yep, Portland Metro Routes 6, 9, 19, and 54.
Wait.
No 17? Why isn't 17 on there?
(BING)
Someone signalled for a stop. What do I do now? I don't think this is the right way after all. Or is it? Should I keep going until the next stop? OK, this sucks. This totally sucks.
Mr. BIMTAG, who do you think you are?
Screw it, I'm stopping at this stop.
OK, and here we go. Coming to a stop, and doors open and . . . nothing. Nothing except everybody looking at me because this is not their stop.
Shit.
OK, cover it up. How? Check the map. Check the ridiculously inconvenient, massive foldout map that it's impossible to find jack shit on, and oh God, what does this asshole want? Yes, good question, sir: Why am I going north on MLK? So, I should be going south? That's what he's saying, right? I guess?
God, how on earth am I going to U-turn this boat across four lanes of rush hour traffic? Got an answer for that one, Mr. BIMTAG, you worthless bastard?
Wait, Lincoln Boulevard is up ahead. I can take the on ramp to Lincoln, bust a quick right, and then take the next right onto the off ramp for southbound MLK. Boom. Back in business.
Boom. Isn't that what that jerkweek Monroe always said during training, boom? Take the fare, give 'em the transfer ticket, and then boom, you're good to go. Who the fuck says that anyways? Good to go. Fuck that asshole. Fuck that asshole and his gloves with the fingers cut off. Seriously.
Never mind that, here we go. Back into traffic, taking the on ramp to Lincoln. Passengers definitely wondering what's going on. Fuck them. It'll all be sorted out soon enough, fuckies. Just keep your panties on, daddy's got a plan. Just gotta get past this red light, which is taking forfreakingever to turn green. Everybody's talking back there. Looking up at me. They know this isn't right, but I'm not going to acknowledge them. Just gotta get this light to turn green so I can get this boat turned around and back on track.
All right, green. Let's go, bitches. Let's go. OK, on Lincoln now. So far, so good. And here comes the exit for MLK. Just gotta get over. Come on, asshole. Go or get out of my lane. Jesus, he's on his cell. Move, asshole!
Fuck it, I've got this. If I gun it I can get in front of him.
Fucker! Now he's speeding up? What, do you own that fucking lane? Just let me in! Fuck, here comes the exit . . .
And there it goes.
It's behind me. I missed the turnoff for MLK south. And as a bonus I am now getting onto I-5 south leaving the city. Oh boy, is this not route 17.
Shit.
Oh, shit.
Yeah, I know, people. I know. I screwed up. Big time.
FUCK!
OK, everybody just needs to sit down while I figure this out. Next exit is in . . . what is it . . . seven miles?! Freaking brilliant.
In this traffic.
With these mutinous assholes.
I hate this job.
Mr. BIMTAG! Who do you think you are?