7:23 in the morning. I am one hour and thirty-seven minutes early for today's round of Physical Therapy and Occupational Therapy appointments, and as such, I am the only one in this white-tiled waiting room. I am here before the receptionist, before the coffee, and from the looks of the pitch blackness outside, I'm earlier than Daybreak herself.
My life is in a constant state of waiting, especially these days. Waiting rooms, and waiting for rides. Waiting to get to class. To work. To my internship. The "getting there" is completely out of my control. Sure, I can tell the folks at Go!Bus dispatch that I need to be somewhere by 9:00am, but I can never guarantee the timeline. Last week, on two occasions, my ride was an hour and a half late. Today, I am extremely early. Rare and blessed are those rides when I get someplace on time, and rarer are the rides when I am not riding all over town for two hours, before I get to my destination on time.
Waiting.
When I am waiting for the Go!Bus, I have time to think. I have time to go through stages of anger and frustration. Of pity and self-loathing. Of hating systems and corrupt individuals who run them. Last week, when the Go!Bus was so late, I ranted in my mind. Be cautious, dear reader, for the words that I write next are true, and of that moment, but not at all polite or congenial.
It started with exhaustion: How long have I been standing here? How long do I have to stand here, out in this cold, before they come and get me? I could go inside and wait, but they never know where I am, and I can't miss this bus. I have to be out here, so I can see them.
Then it moved intoself-pity: This sucks. I hate my life. I hate this. I fucking hate my eyes. This is ridiulous. Why do I have to be the one on the look-out for THEM? I'm the blind one, here! God! Why can't I just get in a fucking car, and fucking drive! I would BE THERE by now! I'm tired. I'm tired of this life, this waiting, this constant struggle to just go anywhere. Fuck.
Done waiting in a blizzard, I shuffled and turned around to wait inside the foyer of my apartment building. I clicked on my phone to check the time. The bus was now 34 minutes late. I called dispatch, and politely asked where my ride was, but also expressed my frustration at being late for my internship. "I am so sorry, Cassaundra," the dispatch operator said. "We have been lacking in drivers lately, a lot of folks just not showing up, so we're working as best as we can Someone should be to you anywhere between ten and thirty-five minutes."
Waiting.
And that's when my anger became directed at broken systems: Damn that Go!Bus. They need to hire more drivers. And they need to pay those drivers more money, so that they choose to go to work and stay in their jobs. Because if the drivers don't do their job, then I can't do my job. I hate this system.
And it continued like this, me screaming in my head, fighting back tears, fighting with God, fighting to not just throw my hands up in the air, and call it a day before it had even begun.
Waiting.
And the Go!Bus arrived. And, as I had suspected, it didn't know where to stop, and zipped past me in a blur of blue and red, and roaring diesel. I bolted out the door, my anger mounting in my voice, curling around my words as I screamed, "HEY! YOU! GO!BUS!" Tripping in the snow, tripping over my cane, I rounded around the corner of my building, and with panted breath, rushed to where he had parked the vehicle.
The doors opened. "You....are....supposed to be... BACK. THERE," I heaved as I gulped in frostbitten air.
"Sorry," the driver shrugged.
And I got on the bus, and started my Monday.
When I am waiting for the Go!Bus, I think about the kind of car that I would drive. (A lime green or powder blue VW Bug, thanks for asking.) I often wonder what I would do if given back the time that I spend on busses on streetcurbs. I wonder how my life would look if I could drive. I would probably sleep in, knowing that in a car, any one of my numerous commute routes would take, at most, twenty minutes. I would probably open a tab at a Starbuck's that's "on the way". I would have a backseat full of everything that I need - rather than a mammoth collection of purses that double as Mary Poppins' carpet bags ("Oh, you need a lamp? I've got that in here, somewhere...."). If I could drive...
If I could drive, my phone would most likely always be charged because I would have a car charger right there. And my butt would certainly always be warm, because, heaven knows, if we're living out this fantasy right now, my imaginary car totally has seat warmers. If I could drive, I would constantly play a blend of my favorite music -- from Michael Buble to Michael Bolton, from Taylor Dayne to Taylor Swift. And you had better believe I would be singing along to every single word.
It started with exhaustion: How long have I been standing here? How long do I have to stand here, out in this cold, before they come and get me? I could go inside and wait, but they never know where I am, and I can't miss this bus. I have to be out here, so I can see them.
Then it moved intoself-pity: This sucks. I hate my life. I hate this. I fucking hate my eyes. This is ridiulous. Why do I have to be the one on the look-out for THEM? I'm the blind one, here! God! Why can't I just get in a fucking car, and fucking drive! I would BE THERE by now! I'm tired. I'm tired of this life, this waiting, this constant struggle to just go anywhere. Fuck.
Done waiting in a blizzard, I shuffled and turned around to wait inside the foyer of my apartment building. I clicked on my phone to check the time. The bus was now 34 minutes late. I called dispatch, and politely asked where my ride was, but also expressed my frustration at being late for my internship. "I am so sorry, Cassaundra," the dispatch operator said. "We have been lacking in drivers lately, a lot of folks just not showing up, so we're working as best as we can Someone should be to you anywhere between ten and thirty-five minutes."
Waiting.
And that's when my anger became directed at broken systems: Damn that Go!Bus. They need to hire more drivers. And they need to pay those drivers more money, so that they choose to go to work and stay in their jobs. Because if the drivers don't do their job, then I can't do my job. I hate this system.
And it continued like this, me screaming in my head, fighting back tears, fighting with God, fighting to not just throw my hands up in the air, and call it a day before it had even begun.
Waiting.
And the Go!Bus arrived. And, as I had suspected, it didn't know where to stop, and zipped past me in a blur of blue and red, and roaring diesel. I bolted out the door, my anger mounting in my voice, curling around my words as I screamed, "HEY! YOU! GO!BUS!" Tripping in the snow, tripping over my cane, I rounded around the corner of my building, and with panted breath, rushed to where he had parked the vehicle.
The doors opened. "You....are....supposed to be... BACK. THERE," I heaved as I gulped in frostbitten air.
"Sorry," the driver shrugged.
And I got on the bus, and started my Monday.
When I am waiting for the Go!Bus, I think about the kind of car that I would drive. (A lime green or powder blue VW Bug, thanks for asking.) I often wonder what I would do if given back the time that I spend on busses on streetcurbs. I wonder how my life would look if I could drive. I would probably sleep in, knowing that in a car, any one of my numerous commute routes would take, at most, twenty minutes. I would probably open a tab at a Starbuck's that's "on the way". I would have a backseat full of everything that I need - rather than a mammoth collection of purses that double as Mary Poppins' carpet bags ("Oh, you need a lamp? I've got that in here, somewhere...."). If I could drive...
If I could drive, my phone would most likely always be charged because I would have a car charger right there. And my butt would certainly always be warm, because, heaven knows, if we're living out this fantasy right now, my imaginary car totally has seat warmers. If I could drive, I would constantly play a blend of my favorite music -- from Michael Buble to Michael Bolton, from Taylor Dayne to Taylor Swift. And you had better believe I would be singing along to every single word.
I know that I shouldn't complain, that I should be thankful for the blessing to live in a city that offers door-to-door transit for its disabled and elderly population. And I am thankful. Most days. It has become increasingly difficult to hold out that gratitude. I still don't know how to hold gratitude, and to hold anger and frustration. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that both are valid emotions, and are not exclusive. Because it feels like they should be. I'm hoping to understand these complexities.
Waiting.
And as much as I complain about the Go!Bus, as much as it makes me want to scream and gnash my teeth, and get all Psalmist and weepy, I am also devastated that this service will no longer be available to me, come Monday morning.
March 16th, 2015 is my proverbial stroke of midnight. That's when my horse-drawn carriage of a Go!Bus turns back into the squatty, orange pumpkin of multiple, fixed-route bus lines. I hope that glass slippers make for good walking shoes.
You see, according to the Go!Bus Powers That Be, my disabilities are not severe enough to warrant receiving Go!Bus service all year round. Just at night, and just during winter months. "Limited Access", they call it.
Limited access. For those who are already limited by physical disability. Yeah, that makes a whole lotta sense.
This information was delivered to me in November, and though I knew that I could have appealed this decision, at the time, I decided to lay that battle aside. As a full-time graduate student, with a part-time job, and an internship, I didn't have the time or energy to bring a case before a panel and fight for transportation rights. Because why the hell do we even need to discuss this? I am legally blind, and i have Cerebral Palsy. I can't drive a car. The regular bus routes, while accessible, are not the best for my already fatigued body. End of story.
I have reapplied for the Go!Bus, this time, enlisting professional recommendations from both my physical therapist and a blindness rehabilitation counselor. I hope this helps. I've done all that I can do.
And again, I wait.
Waiting.
And as much as I complain about the Go!Bus, as much as it makes me want to scream and gnash my teeth, and get all Psalmist and weepy, I am also devastated that this service will no longer be available to me, come Monday morning.
March 16th, 2015 is my proverbial stroke of midnight. That's when my horse-drawn carriage of a Go!Bus turns back into the squatty, orange pumpkin of multiple, fixed-route bus lines. I hope that glass slippers make for good walking shoes.
You see, according to the Go!Bus Powers That Be, my disabilities are not severe enough to warrant receiving Go!Bus service all year round. Just at night, and just during winter months. "Limited Access", they call it.
Limited access. For those who are already limited by physical disability. Yeah, that makes a whole lotta sense.
This information was delivered to me in November, and though I knew that I could have appealed this decision, at the time, I decided to lay that battle aside. As a full-time graduate student, with a part-time job, and an internship, I didn't have the time or energy to bring a case before a panel and fight for transportation rights. Because why the hell do we even need to discuss this? I am legally blind, and i have Cerebral Palsy. I can't drive a car. The regular bus routes, while accessible, are not the best for my already fatigued body. End of story.
I have reapplied for the Go!Bus, this time, enlisting professional recommendations from both my physical therapist and a blindness rehabilitation counselor. I hope this helps. I've done all that I can do.
And again, I wait.
