I'd Never Do Your Job

I come from a background where money may not be the root of all evil, and it was acknowledged that it did indeed grow on trees, but that there were two types of money: Good money and bad money. You never wanted to throw good money after bad. And there was a nuance between money earned and money given. Or money found by luck, or money made easy. I never heard too much about money made easy. Honest money made was the best money. A penny saved was a penny earned. But, boy did that sound like a lot of plodding and not too much fun. So it should come as no surprise, if I worked hard to make money, it should therefore be good money. I was pleased to find work as a transit operator in the city by the bay, the Bagdad by the bay, the city that never sleeps, which was a hard job but a good paying job. I hit the family ancestral jackpot. I was making good money at a hard job in line with my family history.

But I noticed early on in my Muni riding days, that some drivers looked relatively relaxed, and nothing seemed to phase them. And some were actually fun to talk to. And that there did seem to be a way in which to make their work look easy and relaxing, and yet is a high paying job. So the seed was planted early on that this might be a good job for me. As a Gemini sun sign, transportation and continual movement fits my sign.

Fast forward to San Francisco and the late nineties. Newly elected Mayor Willie L. Brown Jr., Esq., was mandated to fix Muni in his first 100 days, and he took immediate action to hire more bus drivers. I went to the Moscone job fair and put in to get on the list. Finally, at age 39, I was finally making a plan about choosing a job that seemed more like a career or occupation than just a need to get another paycheck fast. 

The first thing that comes up about why someone would not want my job is, “the people.” But where in the world do we not have a job involving other people? And if I am to be resentment free, can I not take quiet time every day to see what amends I can make to determine my part in any negative reaction? To me this is where the rubber meets the road: The path that separates the men from the boys. I see so many miserably quiet lives departing the bus after work daily I sometimes feel like I am the only happy bozo on the bus! Gee, is it that bad? And if I smile, I try to break the grimace of the boarding face. Usually it works.

I guess I need to do more research about why someone would never do my job, but I guess in a way it adds to my job security. Most people don’t realize once the mental hurdles are pushed into the background, it is the physical stress that can take its toll and put continued work in to jeopardy. Stopping and starting, braking on a downhill with a full load: day in and day out. As Harrison Ford quipped in one of his action movies after incredible odds, “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.”

 Getting to the Zen zone keeps this in balance. I certainly have had to deal with these demons at the fare box, or when someone is running to get to the door.

excerpted from Finding Zen in SF Transit: https://books2read.com/b/3R1JqR?edit=maybe-later