I don't know precisely why I'm persistently incapable of helping people in need - perhaps it's my general difficulties with language, or my alleged inability to understand what life is like in the "real world," or perhaps I'm just generally so alienated from my fellow humans that it's difficult for me (trapped in lead boots) to help someone else swim up for air - I don't know why. But, this morning, I was reminded simply that I can't seem to help.
I was reading while on the bus to work. To get to lab, I must take a bus to a pseudo-neighborhood between the Space Needle and Lake Union, a decent-sized lake in the middle of the city, a bit north of downtown. Once I get off the bus, I walk across South Lake Union (yeah, apparently that's a neighborhood) to lab. There's not a very direct bus route I can take - this is the best I've been able to figure out without switching buses halfway through (and I hate switching bus routes).
I generally rise early and get to lab before "rush hour," so the buses are usually virtually empty, as was the case this morning. There were only six or seven passengers on board, so I chose an empty row and began to read. As we sped down the Aurora highway (very little traffic at 6:55AM anyway), I dove into a particularly interesting chapter, and therefore didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until my nostrils noticed a particularly musky smell coming from the seat next to me. I pulled my nose out of my book and turned to find that a woman who had been sitting in the front of the bus had walked back and sat down next to me. Next to me - in the virtually-empty bus.
I'd realized that she'd started speaking almost immediately, while I'd been reading my book and only beginning to contemplate her musky, but not offensive, odor. I'd say she was in her early 50s, shorter than me, clutching her handbag with tension, and speaking so softly that I had to draw my good ear closer to her. She drew back a little, but I was pretty confident, despite the fact that she was facing the seat in front of me, that she actually intended to address me.
Her English was broken, thick with accents I couldn't begin to pinpoint.
"Does this bus... to downtown?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Mercer... does this bus... to downtown?"
"Are you asking me if this bus goes downtown?"
"Yes, to go downtown..."
I obsess over the names and boundaries of Seattle neighborhoods. Yesterday, while having coffee with a friend, our discussion of grocery stores quickly evolved into an intricate debate concerning the boundaries between Lower Queen Anne and Upper Queen Anne. I proudly announced that I've "always" lived in Wallingford, only to discover a little over a year ago that, technically, I now live in Fremont. Many a poor, unfortunate soul have also heard me lament that I don't know "whether I work in South Lake Union or Eastlake!"
So, you can imagine that I have a very literal, structured idea of where "downtown" Seattle is. I realize, however, that probably no other human being shares my obsession with Seattle neighborhoods... so, while I'll easily use such partitions in my own life, I'm very hesitant to force these geographic restrictions on others.
Particularly strangers on the bus who don't know much about Seattle.
"So, you want to get downtown?"
"Yes... this bus go?"
"Uh, no. Well... no, not really.
"Oh no. I need downtown."
"Well, this'll get you close. It goes to Seattle Center."
"Yes, this Seattle."
"No, no. Not Seattle. It goes to Seattle Center. Where the Space Needle is."
At this point, I thought it'd be a good idea to stick my right arm up to represent the Space Needle. I've no idea why I thought this was a good idea.
"To downtown?"
"No, this bus stops at the Space Needle. Do you know the Space Needle?"
"No... downtown."
"I know you need to go downtown. But, you could go to the Space Needle, and then catch another bus downtown."
I, at this point, was also getting frustrated because my definition of downtown, while precise, is also quite large. Many buses go downtown, and they all go to different parts of downtown. At this point, most likely confused about my Space Needle/Seattle Center spiel, she tried a new approach.
"Fairview... and Mercer?"
"Excuse me?"
"Fairview and Mercer. You know?"
"Yeah, I know that intersection."
I know that intersection because it's very close to work. Did she want to go there? "Oh, shit," I thought. "She's on the wrong side of the lake."
"Fairview and Mercer. Do you know this?"
"Yes. Very well, in fact. Do you need to go there?"
"No, downtown."
"So, you need to go downtown, but not to Fairview Avenue and Mercer Street, right?"
"You know Fairview and Mercer?"
"Yes, but you want to go downtown, right?"
"You know Fairview and Mercer?"
At this point, I noticed the measured panic in her eyes. Her face was lined - a persistent worrier, I thought - much like me. Years of a furrowed brow and shaking head and, sure enough, your face will freeze that way. I thought of myself in 25 years or so: will my brow look so tense?
She summoned the courage to look directly at me as she continued her desperate inquiries. When she spoke, the musky scent became stronger - her breath, no doubt, was the source of that rustic fragrance. The rest of her body had an unaugmented scent. That is, she smelled like one who washes, but doesn't bother augmenting her natural scent with deodorants or perfumes. I suddenly felt conscious of (and embarrassed by) the generous douse of cologne I apply each morning.
"Ma'am, do you want to get to Fairview and Mercer? 'Cause I'm going there. But, it's a bit of a walk. I think you got on the wrong bus."
"Can I get to 70?"
It took us a few moments of number exchange to cement whether she was telling me "seventy" or "seventeen." I know both bus routes, and both go along different sides of the lake.
"70?"
"Yes, can I get to 70 for downtown? You show me?"
"Oh, shit," I thought again. "She's completely on the wrong side of the lake." It's easy to do. I began to ponder how she, probably in the University District, was given some hastened directions, and mistakenly boarded the 74. I knew the driver of this bus - he probably just nodded at her mumblings (assuming she'd made inquiries as she boarded) and made sure she paid her full fare - not the most helpful driver in King County Metro, but he runs on time.
"Show me 70?"
"You'll have to walk across South Lake Union with me."
"This bus here... not to downtown?..."
"No, it goes to the Space Needle."
"No, want downtown."
"Yes. You could take the 16 from the Space Needle and go downtown, though. Where do you need to go downtown?"
"No, to downtown."
"Yes, I know. But where downtown?!"
"You know Fairview and Mercer?"
"Is that where you need to go? Fairview and Mercer?"
"Downtown."
"Is your hotel at Fairview and Mercer?"
"70 to downtown?"
Her painted eyebrows were distracting. She was close enough now that I could see where the plucked hairs were growing back, black hairs defiantly against dark violet paint. I wanted to ask her why she painted her eyebrows on, but I also noticed my stop coming up.
"Take this bus to the Space Needle. Go ask the driver to make sure you get to the Space Needle, and then take the 16 downtown."
"60 to downtown?"
"No, 16. One-six. Take it downtown. You'll see the Space Needle after I get off the bus. It's a big tower... spire... sorta."
She looked monumentally confused. I kicked myself as I pulled the STOP chord.
"Come with me. I'm asking the driver for you."
She muddled up ahead of me and tried to pay the fare a second time. The driver waved her away. I turned to address him as my fellow passengers scowled at me.
"She needs to get downtown. What's the best way from here?"
She decided to chime in: "70 to downtown? This bus no go?"
"No, we don't go downtown."
"Fairview and Mercer?... You know?..."
"Is this where you're trying to go?" I begged, cutting in. "Are you trying to get to Fairview and Mercer?"
The driver rolled his eyes. The woman went on.
"No, downtown. But, you know Fairview?"
The driver grumbled, "Just have her catch the 5 right here."
I coaxed her off the bus.
"Stay here until the number 5 bus comes. Tell the driver you want to go downtown."
"Downtown?"
"No, you're not there yet. This isn't downtown."
"Downtown?"
"Wait for the 5."
"Here?"
"Yes, it will come here. When you get on, tell the driver to take you downtown."
"Thank you."
"So, you don't need Fairview and Mercer? I'm totally going there now and could show you, but you'd need to walk with me for ten minutes or so."
"No, downtown. Fairview and Mercer?"
"Look, just wait here for the 5, okay?"
"Thank you."
I walked away, leaving her brow as furrowed as ever. "I just gave her a few more wrinkles," I thought as I navigated the pedestrian underpass. Should I have taken her with me? Why was she asking me about Fairview and Mercer? There are hotels near there, making me wonder if she was really trying to get there, and was thinking that was really "downtown." (I'd place it more in the Eastlake/South Lake Union/Cascade neighborhood collision.)
With each step, uncertainty and guilt mounted. Did I just send this woman, obviously lost, on a wild goose chase? What else could I have done to help her? I floundered, nearly turning back in a few places, thinking it'd be best to go back and bring her with me. But, by then, I was navigating between flocks of geese in South Lake Union. "Too late," I figured. She was probably on a 5 by now, either going to her destination ("downtown") or further from it ("You know Fairview and Mercer?"). A man about ten paces ahead of me was smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee as he walked. He was obviously going to the same place I was (there aren't many other employers in the area). He walked with confidence, brow furrowed in determination as he quickly finished one cigarette, and fished out another (smoking isn't allowed anywhere on Hutch property since... you know... it's a cancer research facility). I imagined that he smelled like a mixture of cologne and nicotine.
I was tempted to catch up with him, introduce myself, and seek alleviation of my guilt... Seek redemption for the potential trouble I'd caused in trying to help her out... And perhaps a cigarette, too.
"So, do you think I did the right thing?" I'd ask, between puffs. "Should I have brought this woman with me and taken her to the intersection she said most often?"
"No," he'd say. "She persistently stated 'downtown' as her goal, and anyone familiar with this city knows that Fairview and Mercer are far from downtown. I'd say they're in Eastlake."
"Or Cascade," I'd add.
"Yeah," he'd say. "By the way, why is your brow so furrowed?"
Because I'm as lost - and helpless - as she is. I just didn't realize it until I neared Fairview Avenue.
Posted by James at July 25, 2006 07:31 AM