Unexpected Bus Ride to the Intersection of Class, Race, and Prejudice Part I: No Really, Where is This Bus Going Again?

All I wanted to do was to run some errands and kick around on the Drag a little. That’s all . . . When I finally pulled my head out of Vonnegut we were off route heading East on Barton Springs from Lamar. What? Oh yeah . . .the big 5K run is this weekend. I bet we’re just going to skirt downtown and cut back towards Lavaca on 11th St. No worries. Wait . . . we’re getting on I-35. WTF?!? Now I notice other riders nervously looking out the windows and then at the bus driver. Back and forth, back and forth. We finally exit Airport and then head West on 45th toward Burnett. The anxious energy on the bus is palpable. Really, this is nowhere near the actual route the 3 takes. So finally, I get up to talk to the bus driver. He tells me about the race and how they have actually blocked off a chunk of downtown and Guadalupe going northward toward campus. “So even if I get off at the next stop and catch the bus back South I won’t get to the Drag?” “Yup,” he said. So when will this bus go back on route?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re driving the bus!” He calmly stated that the race was almost over and that he would receive a call from the dispatcher letting him know when he was to go back on route. “Let me get this straight. You really don’t know where you’re driving this bus to in the next 30 minutes?” “Nope,” was all he said. What could I do? I just sat back down for the ride. Surely by the time we circled back South from the top of the route the race will be over. Just an unexpected detour. That’s all. I should’ve known that feeling in my gut this morning meant something . . . it always does.

Unexpected Bus Ride to the Intersection of Class, Race, and Prejudice Part II: Wreck at the Intersection

Suddenly at a stop by Nothcross Mall, the driver got up from his seat and announces we won’t get started again for 10 minutes. Great, as if I haven’t been on this ride long enough already (I didn’t realize this was just part of the routine). Disgruntled, I got up to go smoke with 2 scruffy looking older guys, one pretty drunk and really pissed off about the race and subsequent re-route. Warning – if you are offended by foul language, you may want to cover your ears for a minute. “Fuck those rich, short-pant wearin’, jumpin’ up and down smilin’ bastards! I’ll slit one of their goddamn throats - I’m NOT fuckin’ kidding. Poor man’s tryin’ to make a little money for a bed tonight, bustin’ his ass for $10. And now he’s missed work and won’t make shit for the day. These bastards have homes! They oughtta be runnin’ their ass out in Bastrop. And fuck Will fuckin’ Wynn, that cocksucker. You know what? That fucker is talkin’ about eradicatin’ homelessness. You know what that means? Getting’ rid of ‘em. Fuck him in his ass! I remember when he showed up at the meal truck and he was smilin’ and passin’ out hot dogs. When I got up to the front I told him to fuck off and stick that hot dog up his ass! He looked at me and said ‘What?’ So I just told him to suck my dick and fuck off. Alan ran up to me and said, ‘You can’t say that to the Mayor!’ I told him too bad, I just did. I don’t give a fuck about these rich bastards!” I gotta admit, I was hanging on his every word and feeling it too. Fuck the Man. And that’s when it turned ugly. In the midst of his rant against the rich, he turned his vehemence to others he hated and said the one word that makes all socially conscious anglos uncomfortable – Nigger. He said it loud and he just kept saying it. Like a scared deer I stood there frozen and stunned, and then headed straight back on the bus, fully aware the door had been open the whole time and the other passengers had likely heard everything. And as I walked to my seat, the three black passengers looked at me without speaking, but clearly expressing justifiable disgust. I could almost hear them. “Do you hate niggers too?”

Unexpected Bus Ride to the Intersection of Class, Race, and Prejudice Part III: Reflection

As soon as I sat down, I pulled out my notebook as if to run for cover and wrote down everything the drunk had said. What the hell just happened? I felt like I had just been run over at the intersection of class, ethnicity, and prejudice. The disenfranchised disenfranchising the disenfranchised. How do you untangle that? Surely the color of this drunk’s skin didn’t spare him from destitution. Is prejudice rooted in class or ethnicity? Where does prejudice come from? It doesn’t come from your socioeconomic status, but to the best of my knowledge you don’t find too many hate groups springing up in bourgeois neighborhoods either. For example, Vidor and Jasper aren’t exactly playgrounds for the wealthy. Nothing seems breeds prejudice like ignorance, and nothing breeds ignorance quite like poverty. And no matter how much lip service we might give it as a society, we just accept poverty as part of our status quo. We generate enough wealth to make a considerable dent in that problem if we really wanted to. And what about my biases? Aren’t I an enlightened individual? Don’t I stand up against hatred and prejudice? No matter how I spin it around in my head, I can’t deny my own prejudice. I have always harbored resentment towards the wealthy. But what’s my reason? I’m white, not poor and male. Socially speaking, that’s more preferential treatment right off the bat than most ever get. Then the word surfaced. Xenophobia. I always come back to the notion that, on some level we are all fearful of those different than us, and this is the root of hatred and prejudice. And that fear flourishes where people have to fight over crumbs just to get by. Sometimes, during fleeting moments of clarity, I think I can see myself in other people and when I do I wonder why can’t everyone see this? It’s so clear. It’s so simple. But it’s not. To see yourself in others is to sometimes face your own ugliness. And really, who the hell likes to do that? I can almost hear one of Townes’ many laments, “All things in our life are brothers in the soil and in the sky. I believe it with my heart if not my eyes. I don’t know why we can’t be brothers here, I know we should be. Answers don’t seem easy, and I’m wonderin’ if they could be.” I hear you Townes, I hear you.

at least I’m not driving right now

beep beep beep beep beep beep
AARGH! SHIT! LATE!
the 8:09 bus comes in five minutes!
FUCK!
scramble scramble
hectic hectic
rush rush
frantic frantic!
when’s the next bus again?
run run run
pant pant pant
WHEW – just in time
deeeeeeeeep breath – exhale
at least I’m not driving right now

Separate selves sharing space on their way somewhere , even if that's nowhere

On the bus, people's plot lines converge temporarily for varying bits of time so that we share scenes in each others' stories, even if it's only for one stop. For a short time, we are exposed to part of each others' realities - whether we like it or not. This is undoubtedly part of what keeps some people from riding the bus. Because the rub is that it's not just anybody's reality you might be exposed to. You likely won't see, for instance, too many (if any) politicians, executives, "soccer" moms, famous people, movers, shakers, yuppies, glamorous people, etc. You get the point. What you will find are: the working poor and their families, high school and college students, the partially functional mentally ill, the homeless, drug addicts and drunks, the blind, the deaf, the physically impaired, and a random assortment of people like myself who don't fit neatly into any of these categories. However, we could easily be any of these people. Part of what keeps me riding the bus is the opportunity to expose myself to the raw and sometimes unpleasant truth of others’ realities. I have a deep seated belief that part of the reason social problems persist and worsen is because we simply don't pay enough attention to other people's realities. I also strongly feel that car culture exacerbates this. The act of driving ourselves around everywhere forces us to devote most, if not all, of our attention on making sure we don't get into a wreck. And, we rarely drive around with strangers. Given how much of our free time we spend in our cars it's no wonder so many people seem absolutely oblivious to the harsh realities of most people’s lives. A considerable amount of this blog will be devoted to grappling with hard social truths as I experience them through the bus. Warning: at times this will be a bumpy ride.

Will Bloom