WE CARRY OUT isolated existences. I don’t mean this in a bleak way; it’s a self-imposed isolation. Just as television has splintered and become specialized, so too has your social existence. You may only know your neighbors through their WiFi network names (WUDDUP SUGARFOOT, PIMPINPALACE, AND SEXYROUTEROFSEX—yes I live in an apartment owned by Three 6 Mafia), and some of your most copacetic friends may exist to you primarily on Twitter. Such is life. It’s not necessarily a bad thing—it saves you from having to become friends with the Wades and Seths of the world and allows you to focus on people who actively bring you the most joy. But if you Galapagos your social life, you’re going to end up with a weird, long neck (or at a steampunk convention).

I’m not saying you should go meet a bunch of Seths so you don’t end up wearing a top hat with goggles on it, but at least be a tourist in the other shards of our shattered common existence. If you live in Portland, it’s easy to do, because in Portland we have the motherfucking bus. You might be reading this on the bus right now. I might be sitting next to you, trying to make the same face as the drawing of me so you recognize me. Put the paper down, look around you, and take in the world. There is no better place in Portland to experience the full ROYGBIV of our city than on TriMet (with the exception of moms from Lake Oswego, who are just visiting to shop at Hanna Andersson. Y’ALL AIN’T IN MY SPECTRUM).

If you’re feeling disconnected from the world, leave your headphones at home and ride the fucking bus. You will experience the beautiful ache of humanity and the maddening pits of institutional despair, maybe on the same trip. A month ago I almost got punched right in the mouth by some full-on bonkers street dude, and I know that’s not a sensitive thing to call somebody who’s been dealt a tough hand, but he tried to use that hand to bust my face open, fuck yo’ truce. He was as bonkers as an anthropomorphic crime-solving bobcat. Was it a positive experience? No. But it was an experience! I was never confronted by a startlingly ripped mentally ill day-ruiner when I was pushing the Dodge Stratus. It sucked at the time, but I had something to talk about with people for a whole week. It allowed me to keep not watching Breaking Bad.

You’ll also see the other side of humanity on the bus. Last night I sat and watched two complete strangers have a warm, cordial conversation just because they happened to be occupying the same space at the same time, and that doesn’t seem remarkable except that one of them was that sort of sad, lonely old man that seems to exist only so present-day Nick Nolte has a context. You could feel the loneliness and desperation in his voice, and you could feel it fade as the conversation unfolded, never touching on anything more serious than the sort of lackadaisical ephemera that occupies the fluorescent bummerdom of every office that has ever existed—except here it mattered, because it wasn’t important if these two strangers were tut-tutting the weather or lamenting the price of something inaccurately priced, it wasn’t the absence of meaning that was important—it was the absence of isolation. Ride the bus. @IanKarmel

10 replies on “Portland as Fuck”

  4. Oh the joys of TriMet… the homeless guy jerking off in his sweat pants huddled in a corner before and during the bus ride. Oh the smell of the person that pissed themselves in the seat 2 rows up; lifting your feet on a hill so it doesn’t get on your shoes. The smell of patchouli oil on the hippy trying to cover that mix of BO and weed…. sigh. Yes! The obnoxious guy trying to hit on the very visible lesbian so he can convert her back to the light side; dude your a ill equipped to satisfy her. I have seen new places to get pierced while riding TriMet… but a few Tatoo’s are fine with me thanks.

    Yeah, I don’t miss TriMet so much. I loved the people watching aspect of it and will occasionally take a ride on MAX just for kicks. It is a great way to connect to humanity in a weird way.

  5. Lloyd Center is also pretty awesome for hanging with all sorts. Whenever middle-aged liberals whine about how white and boring Portland is, I tell ’em to ride the bus to Lloyd Center.

    I don’t think they follow my advice, though.

  6. To all of you long-haired ladies: Perhaps you should wear it up when riding public transport…

    from a recent police report:

    The Portland Police Bureau wants to make people aware that the following news release contains some graphic descriptions of a criminal act connected to the investigation and arrest of 26-year-old Jared Weston Walter:

    On Monday May 13, 2013, Officers assigned to the Transit Police Division responded to the Downtown transit mall on a report of a male that had ejaculated on the back of a female victim’s head. The suspect fled the bus prior to police arrival.

    Officers took witness and victim statements and recovered DNA evidence at the scene. Further investigation revealed similar incidents involving the same suspect that occurred in the previous three weeks, one in Portland and one in Clackamas County.

    At the time of those first two reports, the victims were unsure as to what had transpired, and the seriousness of the offense was not understood.

    Eyewitness accounts as well as TriMet surveillance video allowed police to identify the suspect as 26-year-old Jared Weston Walter. The suspect was familiar to the Transit Police, because they had arrested him in 2009 for repeatedly applying superglue into women’s hair and cutting women’s hair while riding on TriMet buses. It was determined that Walter had recently been paroled from prison, and is on Post Prison Supervision out of Clackamas County.

    Walter’s preferred offending pattern is to sit or stand behind a female victim on a TriMet bus and fondle their hair while he masturbates. Walter was known to frequent the bus lines between Downtown Portland and Milwaukie / Oregon City, including lines 31, 33 and 99.

  10. I was riding the bus a couple weeks ago in the middle of the night, and some lady boarded with a dark look in her eyes and a hub-cap she had presumably found on the street. She sat across from me and started complaining about the lights being too bright on the bus (a sure sign of hard-core drug usage) and that she wanted to sit in the back of the bus so she could see everything going on. Her horrible energy made me feel as though she might try to slice my neck open with that hubcap. Just an example of the grotesquely awesome-ness of riding public transit.

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