A Bus Driver's Story of Connection, Kindness, and Trust
Muni driver Mc Allen's moving narrative takes us to our destination: Kindness.
Last month, Mc Allen, a driver for San Francisco’s Muni1 transit system, published online a series of mini-posts about his encounter with a distressed passenger.
I am thrilled that Mc gave me permission to share his story, which gives an authentic glimpse into meaningful work from a job holder’s perspective.
Beyond my stitching together the series of mini-posts, the following is Mc’s narrative, exactly as he wrote it. (I’ve added the subhead, AI-generated image, and some paragraph breaks.)
“It is my job to take people where they need to go.” — Mc Allen
This evening, while driving the 44 O’Shaughnessy, I picked up a passenger at Silver and San Bruno. She came onto the bus and asked me if I could help her. She told me that her husband was in the UCSF Parnassus emergency room and someone told her she could take the 44 to another bus to get there. “But I don’t know how. Can you help me?”
I told her yes, she could take my bus to 9th and Judah, and transfer to the 6 or the 43, whichever comes first. “I’ll let you know where to get off, and what to do.”
She had clearly been crying, and sat down in the seat closest to me. In my mirror I kept an eye on her and could tell that she was struggling to keep her composure.
As a Muni operator, I like to make stop announcements, and as I took the bus down Silver, I announced Dartmouth and Princeton and Cambridge. The woman headed to the hospital spoke up. “Excuse me, but do you also drive the 29?”
She had recognized me, or maybe she had recognized my voice. I told her that I do, usually, but I had a different assignment today instead.
“I knew it! I ride your bus sometimes, but I also see you riding on other drivers’ 29s.”
Since I have a split shift, I ride Muni to my second half of work every day, and it turned out that this person is often a fellow passenger on the bus I catch, in the ten o'clock hour.
When I ride the bus, I usually hang out at the front and chat with the operator. I guess I forget that everyone else on the bus can hear our conversations. I don’t know why that isn’t obvious, as I eavesdrop on all my passengers’ conversations and phone calls all day every day.
She started to ask me little questions about working for Muni, and what she had overheard. “I can’t remember, is it that you can’t be late or can’t be early?”
We talked a little about the strange production that happens at Fitzgerald and Keith, the 29 terminal, where people usually have to transfer from a 29 to a 29.
I’m listening as much as answering, and focusing on seeing the road and what I have to see. At Glen Park Station we talk a little about school kids, what it’s like to have 80 kids on a bus. I tell her my own kids ride the bus to school every day, and she volunteers, as a non-sequitur, that she wanted her husband to go to SF General or St. Lukes, because they are closer, but the ambulance took him to UCSF. “I was born at St. Lukes,” she says.
I can tell that all of the stress and fear she is under are alleviated by having a person to talk to, and I decide that for the next couple miles, I’ll do that for her. “Both my kids were born at St. Lukes,” I tell her. We talk about how the older building has been torn down, and I share that I point out to my kids where they were born whenever we go past.
As we pass Forest Hill Station, she starts to become more anxious again. She asks me to repeat the directions I’ve given her. “I’m just nervous because I don’t come to this part of the city, and I don’t know my way around. Plus it’s dark.”
I give her some landmarks to help her orient herself, where Golden Gate Park is, Kezar Stadium. She grew up in San Francisco and knows all these places, but is having trouble this evening putting those pieces in order. “When we come home, will we take the same buses?”
“Yes, you can take the 6 or the 43 back to 9th and Judah, and the 44 from there back to San Bruno.”
“They were going to put him in admin or ICU, but then they called to say he was going into emergency surgery. I want to be there when he comes out. How much farther?”
We are nearly to her transfer point, quite close to the hospital. “You’ll be there in no time”
“I’m so glad it’s someone I know driving me.”
Somehow, she felt safer and more confident in this small corner of what was clearly a momentous and terrifying chapter in her life. Because she could make a human connection, and get help, of any kind, simple transit directions, with someone who felt somehow familiar. Because I make stop announcements, she made a connection. Because it is my job to take people where they need to go, I was able to help her get to her loved one in this time of crisis. There is a small bond of trust there, a little piece of information, gladly given, that makes the difference.
At 9th and Judah, I reiterated the instructions, “Just take the 6 or 43, whichever comes first, it’s only a few stops to the emergency room. There are signs, you’ll be there soon. Say hello and let me know how things are when you see me next on the 29.”
And she was off my bus.
Next: Science’s Surprising Findings About Transit Operator Work. And More from Mc Allen.
Again, my deepest gratitude to Mc Allen for allowing me to post his story. Mastodon users can follow Mc here.
In the next issue of Heigh Ho, I’ll share scientific findings about the unique qualities of transit operators’ working lives. After that, you’ll hear more from Mc, talking about this story and unexpected insights into transit operator life and wellbeing.
The San Francisco Municipal Railway, "Muni," is the transit division of the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency (SFMTA). The Muni system includes cable cars, streetcars, light rail, electric trolley coaches, and hybrid buses.
I have so much appreciation for bus drivers. Where I live, they're such an important part of the community.