I grew up on Stockton's public transportation. I was so used to it, I didn't even bother driving until I turned 21. People would talk shit on me constantly. My own grandma swore I was stupid, but what else was I supposed to know?
Part 1 of two: Selected RTD Memories.
Part 1 of two: Selected RTD Memories.
Gettin Raised by the RTD
I remember Bus 5 and Bus 1. I predate the Metro Express in Stockton. The RTD been in my life longer than my Papa was. I remember being up at 5:00 am, forcing down some Quaker Oats Dinosaur Oatmeal, and watchin Bear in the Big Blue House on Disney. I was five. Every mornin, my mom would rush us out to catch the Bus 5.
We'd be standin there for fifteen minutes, in the dark ass cold, waiting for the same bus driver who that flirted with my mom.
We'd get on Time's were simpler than. At 5:30, all the tweakers, Nortes, and other "characters" of the San Joaquin Delta Regional Transport District were alseep in their lil drugs dens. Bus filled with nothing but single mothers, fathers, young adults, and grandmas all beginning their day. Sometimes that shit was sad. Even as a kid, I could tell by the looks on a rider's face they weren't happy. It's that head titled back, staring out the window, long-distance expression that always got me. And shit, I would be there in the future. Thinking to myself, "Damn G, you beautiful, but how the fuck we get here?"
The grandmas were always happy though. Even when one of them lost a husband, brother, sister, or child, they would sit around reminiscing with others about whoever they lost. They'd sigh. It end on "Thank the Lord, (Loved One's Name) is at peace. I'll see them again one day." Then they'd talk about their plans for the day.
I was happy I had t.v. and breakfast. I would stare up at all the anti-smoking, anti-loud music, anti-profanity, anti-food and beverages, anti-everything signs on the bus. The bus seats were this brown-grey-beige color with red-orange ribbons and some anti-Plato geometric shapes thrown in like confetti. I liked to rub my hands on them because they had this carpet texture, but my mom would start getting mad at me. The seats captured the odor of every person on the bus, and stored em. I'd get yelled at, and then have a smelly hand till I got to school and washed them.
Bus 5, was my life. I had to take it for school, to the doctor's, to the mall, to my uncle's house, to my grandpa's house, to my other uncle's house -- anywhere I went, it was Bus 5. Bus 1 was to get to Saint Joseph's and when my grandma had to go clean houses in Brookside. She worked for Stagg teachers, and had to take me when something came up with my mom.
But yeah, almost everyday of my first eight years of life was Bus 5.
Metro Express changed the game. Instead of 5, I took 40. And that shit's free. Well. it's free only if you can bypass the security at the Triangle Station and Downtown. If you ain't ever suck on a Metro Express to avoid paying a $1.50, are you really from Stockton? Naw, everyone does. But because everyone does, those grandmas, single parents, and children got exposed to other residents of Stockton.
"I'll suck your dick when we get back" "How old are you?" "Fuck that nigga." "Fuck you too bus driver." "I used to bang, till Jesus saved me." "You look older than that." "Them niggas killed him. Fuck em too." "Bus driver, you gonna do somethin?"
I mean this with all the love in my heart, but the Bus, the 40, that's Stockton. Everything wrong and right about it is there. When I was on it though, those girls that got sexually harassed on the bus, got groped on the bus, got ignored by security, they knew it was bad. The grandmas who couldn't get seats because the drug addict in the back was laid out, mumbling to herself, they knew it was bad. Boys like me and my friends that kept causing fight with other kids that looked just like us, we knew it was bad.
I knew good people during those years. For the two years I was at Delta, I had this old man that would sit and talk to me. He'd talk about God, women, work, school -- everything. He'd call me "Professor" and told me I had to keep pace of myself. In the back was the same woman every morning. She couldn't afford bus fare, but people let her on out of sympathy. She was a prostitute according to rumor. One day, my man was gone. I found out from the bus driver he passed away. She told me to be thankful he was with the Lord. But I wasn't.
I had to take the bus 40 at the mall to get back home. Back then, the Elephant Bar was there, not Red Robins. The mall on the left also wasn't this weird ass monument to Dick's Sporting Goods. I calmed down after almost getting kicked out of Cesar Chavez, and liked Pacific Law too much to risk it. Sometimes though, I wanted to get back to that mean side of myself.
I saw a guy yelling at his girlfriend, and when she spoke up, he swatted a drink out of her hand. We all just let it happen. When the high schoolers from a different school were calling this other one a faggot, we let that happen too. When the homeless and special needs students crowded in so they wouldn't be forced to walk in 100 degree weather, we stayed in our seats. And that's how shit went for three years in high school.
The first was getting kicked off. The next three, sneaking on board and trying to block everything out, even the stuff I shouldn't have. I got on the bus for free. Made a friend for two years, then he died. Like of course the bus was packed, it smelled, but that's not the shit I remember.
We'd be standin there for fifteen minutes, in the dark ass cold, waiting for the same bus driver who that flirted with my mom.
We'd get on Time's were simpler than. At 5:30, all the tweakers, Nortes, and other "characters" of the San Joaquin Delta Regional Transport District were alseep in their lil drugs dens. Bus filled with nothing but single mothers, fathers, young adults, and grandmas all beginning their day. Sometimes that shit was sad. Even as a kid, I could tell by the looks on a rider's face they weren't happy. It's that head titled back, staring out the window, long-distance expression that always got me. And shit, I would be there in the future. Thinking to myself, "Damn G, you beautiful, but how the fuck we get here?"
The grandmas were always happy though. Even when one of them lost a husband, brother, sister, or child, they would sit around reminiscing with others about whoever they lost. They'd sigh. It end on "Thank the Lord, (Loved One's Name) is at peace. I'll see them again one day." Then they'd talk about their plans for the day.
I was happy I had t.v. and breakfast. I would stare up at all the anti-smoking, anti-loud music, anti-profanity, anti-food and beverages, anti-everything signs on the bus. The bus seats were this brown-grey-beige color with red-orange ribbons and some anti-Plato geometric shapes thrown in like confetti. I liked to rub my hands on them because they had this carpet texture, but my mom would start getting mad at me. The seats captured the odor of every person on the bus, and stored em. I'd get yelled at, and then have a smelly hand till I got to school and washed them.
Bus 5, was my life. I had to take it for school, to the doctor's, to the mall, to my uncle's house, to my grandpa's house, to my other uncle's house -- anywhere I went, it was Bus 5. Bus 1 was to get to Saint Joseph's and when my grandma had to go clean houses in Brookside. She worked for Stagg teachers, and had to take me when something came up with my mom.
But yeah, almost everyday of my first eight years of life was Bus 5.
Teen Boi. Eyes out the Window.
Metro Express changed the game. Instead of 5, I took 40. And that shit's free. Well. it's free only if you can bypass the security at the Triangle Station and Downtown. If you ain't ever suck on a Metro Express to avoid paying a $1.50, are you really from Stockton? Naw, everyone does. But because everyone does, those grandmas, single parents, and children got exposed to other residents of Stockton.
"I'll suck your dick when we get back" "How old are you?" "Fuck that nigga." "Fuck you too bus driver." "I used to bang, till Jesus saved me." "You look older than that." "Them niggas killed him. Fuck em too." "Bus driver, you gonna do somethin?"
I mean this with all the love in my heart, but the Bus, the 40, that's Stockton. Everything wrong and right about it is there. When I was on it though, those girls that got sexually harassed on the bus, got groped on the bus, got ignored by security, they knew it was bad. The grandmas who couldn't get seats because the drug addict in the back was laid out, mumbling to herself, they knew it was bad. Boys like me and my friends that kept causing fight with other kids that looked just like us, we knew it was bad.
I knew good people during those years. For the two years I was at Delta, I had this old man that would sit and talk to me. He'd talk about God, women, work, school -- everything. He'd call me "Professor" and told me I had to keep pace of myself. In the back was the same woman every morning. She couldn't afford bus fare, but people let her on out of sympathy. She was a prostitute according to rumor. One day, my man was gone. I found out from the bus driver he passed away. She told me to be thankful he was with the Lord. But I wasn't.
I had to take the bus 40 at the mall to get back home. Back then, the Elephant Bar was there, not Red Robins. The mall on the left also wasn't this weird ass monument to Dick's Sporting Goods. I calmed down after almost getting kicked out of Cesar Chavez, and liked Pacific Law too much to risk it. Sometimes though, I wanted to get back to that mean side of myself.
I saw a guy yelling at his girlfriend, and when she spoke up, he swatted a drink out of her hand. We all just let it happen. When the high schoolers from a different school were calling this other one a faggot, we let that happen too. When the homeless and special needs students crowded in so they wouldn't be forced to walk in 100 degree weather, we stayed in our seats. And that's how shit went for three years in high school.
The first was getting kicked off. The next three, sneaking on board and trying to block everything out, even the stuff I shouldn't have. I got on the bus for free. Made a friend for two years, then he died. Like of course the bus was packed, it smelled, but that's not the shit I remember.
Artie D
The Bus company did this image overhaul with the Metro introduction. They got this mascot, and I don't know what the fuck it is.
Fuck you too then.
ReplyDeleteDon't be like this Artie. Remove that hatin ass spirit and love.
ReplyDelete