Why IndyGo Sucks

I ride the bus. In fact, I try to ride the bus as often as possible to as many destinations as possible. Thing is, it isn’t always possible.

Last Saturday, I had just left the IU Medical Library. My shift ends at 9:00 PM and I have exactly seven minutes to walk a block…er, maybe a mini-block…to the bus stop. Typically, on Friday and Saturday nights, the bus is prompt. Apparently, last Saturday was not a typical night. I waited until 9:27 PM, but decided to call IndyGo for an explanation.

Behold! No one was available to take the call, so I left a message. I gave a specific description of the issue: the route number, the stop number as listed on the sign, the time, the number of people waiting for the particular bus, my name, and my phone number. I also asked that someone return my call. Good thing I’m not holding my breath waiting for the call because it will never come.

On Tuesday, I hopped the 28 bus to go to work. Much to my dismay, the bus was a recycled Blue Line Circulator bus, read small bus, that had been repurposed for the 28 route. Granted, the 28 is not the 10, but it is pretty busy during the morning rounds. In fact, that morning, there were seven people standing because no seats were available and others still needed to board.

My questions to the President of IndyGo are:

1. Why do you allow route drivers to be excessively late or to never arrive without posting a message to your web site or on the answering service? There are people in this city that rely SOLELY on this form of transportation. In fact, one gentleman had been waiting 30 minutes for the Saturday night bus because he needed to get to the farthest point on the Route 10 bus and he knew the last bus of the night, the 10:17 for the particular stop, would not travel that far.
2. Why do you repurpose the smallest busses for some of the busiest routes?
   Am I incorrect in thinking that having multiple people standing on the bus for their entire ride is safe and/or justified? What if someone in a wheelchair had boarded? The situation would have become even more dire.

With the prices of gasoline these days, more people are taking public transportation. Yet, little is being done to enhance or expand the current offerings. I’ve heard people say that they do not want to take public transit because they are dirty, the drivers are rude, the schedules are not enforced, or there isn’t a bus stop close enough to their home.

I agree with all of these statements. The closest bus stops to my home are 1.1 and 1.2 miles away, but I drive the distance to the bus stop and then board the bus for the rest of the trip. I’ve walked it a few times, but with our monsoon season currently underway it’s easier and safer to drive.

I would like to publicly invite Gilbert Holmes, the President/CEO of IndyGo, to contact me. I would like to discuss the policies of IndyGo and to invite him to ride the bus with me a few days and on a few different routes.

I have just the warm up route for him…Saturday night. Bring your best Kung Foo move, Mr. Holmes, you will put it to good use!

When Bus Riders Attack

When I wrote the post When Bus Drivers Attack, I didn’t think I would have a whole series of “attacking” posts. However, in retrospect, it only seems appropriate that I cover all bases.

Last Saturday night, I boarded the bus after my night shift at the IU School of Medicine Library. (I am a deranged Librarian in training, hope to be fully deranged by May 2009.) The bus was fairly crowded for a Saturday night. By Ohio Street and Capital Avenue, the majority of riders exited to catch other busses and few riders remained. This would change shortly.

The next bus stop is Ohio Street and Illinois Street. On this night, there is a large group, mainly teenage girls, crowded in the shelter and spilling into the street. They are loud…excessively loud. In fact, after everyone boards and the bus pulls away, I noticed a police car swoop behind the bus. I can only imagine it was to help deaden the shrill laughter, shouting, and general noise wafting from this area. It was deafening, but most of the noise boarded the bus and immediately went to the back.

I was sitting in the middle, next to a window; but it felt like I was sitting in the back with the noise. I was a teenage girl once, but I was never that loud…or rude.

At Ohio Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, we pick up a couple extra people, one of which was a drunk middle-aged man. This man was equally as loud, but for different reasons. He egged on the girls. The noise level increased. I wished that I could leave, but I now had someone sitting next to me.

And then Hell broke loose…

The drunk middle-aged man called one of the girls a “Ho” and this girl ran to where he was sitting and began hitting him. The bus stopped. Cell phones opened and 911 was dialed. The bus driver had no control over the situation and many people were stuck in the middle, literally, between the group of girls and the drunk man. It was insanity at its finest.

We sit. We sit so long that the drunk guy had yet another opportunity to mouth off again…this time to another middle-aged man sitting in the noisey section with the girls. This man chased the drunk man off the bus, but we continued to sit. As we waited for the Police, the drunk guy showed up and began kicking the bus and hitting its windows. It was like being on a demented amusement ride, but this one didn’t seem to have an end.

Finally, the Route Supervisor and the Police arrived. The Route Supervisor boarded the bus and reprimanded the girls. I kept thinking to myself, “Kick them off. Just kick them off.” No such luck.

There is one thing I’ve learned when dealing with teenagers, they fear nothing. Idle threats do nothing to squealch their behavior. In their world, there is only black and white…on and off…yes and no. There is no gray area and idle threats are gray.  For some reason, the bus driver did not feel empowered enough to kick them off the bus. Sure, calling the Route Supervisor was a great idea. Calling the police was an even better idea, but the girls should have been removed and their parents called. Detain each girl until their parents come to pick them up, teach them a lesson about how to ride the bus, and how to act in public.

Interesting note, the drunk middle-aged man was picked up by police for public intoxication. The girl that hit him was free to roam and ride the bus another day.

I boarded the bus at 9:07 that night. I exited the bus at 10:11. I was never so happy to be home.

Pax tecum

A funny thing happened on the way home today. I stepped onto the bus and entered church. It wasn’t just any old, non-denominational church. It was hard-core “you can’t be alive and not love Jesus” church.

It started before I was picked up at North and Alabama and was in full-swing by 10th and College. There was shouting, name calling, accusations, judgement, belittling, and an occasional “Amen”. It was a religious shout-fest between three completely unrelated individuals, two innocent, one pugnacious.

It was uncomfortable for the two women involved and even more so for the 20 others sequestered by the bus walls. In the few months I have been riding the bus, I have never witnessed such a mass exodus (no pun intended). People requested a stop, sometimes several blocks before their normal locations, and wasted no time pushing through the doors.

 I now understand the religious unrest in the Middle East a bit more. Yet the bus argument did not involve multiple religions, just multiple interpretations of the same religion. It was disconcerting and painful.

All I can say is peace be with you.

Don’t squeeze the Sunbeam!

The Route 10 bus home is often crowded. There have been days when the previous bus doesn’t arrive and everyone, their brother, and mother are packed like Japanese businessmen on a subway train. (Check out YouTube, I’m sure there are all sorts of videos on this topic.) On these days, I hang ten because I stand in the aisle and “surf” my way home.

Last Monday, the bus was busy, but not hang ten busy. I was able to find a seat nestled between a pole and an older gentleman cradling a shopping bag. As people exited the bus and personal space was reclaimed, the gentleman and I began to talk…he just didn’t want me to squish his Sunbeam bread. In fact, he gave the meticulously wrapped package its own seat and watched it as if he was a mother hen observing her chicks.

I don’t blame him. There’s nothing worse than smashed bread. Well, there’s soggy bread, but soggy bread can dry out. Smashed bread never recovers. Never. Part of the joy in eating fresh bread is reveling in its soft, white fluffiness. It’s like being a kid again. It’s innocence.

During our ride together, I learned that he was a widower and his wife worked at the then Bank One Building. He was going home (with his bread) after a long day, which started at 3:30 AM. By the time we spoke, it was creeping dangerously close to 5:30 PM. He was tired. I could see it in his eyes and the way his slouched slightly in his seat. It probably wouldn’t be long before he was safely tucked into bed, but not before he enjoyed a sandwich made with his Sunbeam bread.