Free Deaf Bus Fare

I live in the woods east of Seattle. (Yes-- that's my front yard.) When we first moved here, black bears used to wander into our yard sometimes. Then some acreage behind us got developed, and we only see deer or coyote now. We've recently been reclassified from rural to "suburban," but most the roads around here are still windy and have only two narrow lanes. One of the roads on my commute routinely floods during a good rain, so I have to brake for confused salmon flopping their way across blacktop.

I have lived in the woods most my life. I can dodge deer, flopping fish, and downed trees in the road with a logging truck on my tail no problem, but put me in heavy
traffic and I become a nervous ninny. So, if I have to go to Seattle-- which is sometimes necessary because all the best doctors are downtown-- I take a bus. Over the past couple decades, Seattle has steadily grown to the point it is now rated among the nations worst traffic cities for gridlock. Gridlock Alert: Five Cities With the Worst Traffic.

Public transportation is free for disabled people in King County (Seattle-metro). But here's the glitch. In order to get the "free" ride, I have to tell them in my perfect Hearing voice that I am deaf. I have to tell the driver anyway, because I won't hear him call out the stops where I need to get off. I go into Seattle so infrequently, I don't recognize street corners by looking out the window. Usually I get on the bus and tell the bus driver, "I am deaf and need to get off at 5th and Cherry (or wherever). Could you please wave at me when we get there? Because I won't hear you."

"Sure." he'll say.

It never fails. We hit 5th and Cherry (or wherever I need to get off) and he "forgets" to wave me down. He finally remembers a stop or two later.

"Oh NO, I am SO sorry!" he'll say. "I forgot!!! You don't seem like a deaf person. Fifth and Cherry is seven blocks back that way. . .I'm SOOOOO sorry!!!" (I wonder how a d/Deaf person is supposed to 'seem', but I know what he means. We are not supposed to talk, or we're supposed to talk "funny" and make wild gestures like d/Deaf people do on TV.)

This has happened at least. . . five times now, which is how I learned it's best NOT to talk when I get on a bus.

It's better to hand the driver a note. I feel like such a phoney. Worse, handing the driver a note reinforces the D/deaf stereotype that D/deaf people are all mute. But when I hand the driver a note, it helps him to remember he has a D/deaf person on board who needs to be flagged at a stop.



When we get to Fifth and Cherry, he smiles, waves and winks. The note has served its purpose. I sign 'thank you' as I leave, and say a silent prayer of gratitude that the bus driver wasn't a CODA, and that no one on the bus recognized me or started a conversation.

Wouldn't that be embarrassing? How would I explain that yes, I COULD talk and No-- I'm not fluent in ASL, but I really AM deaf, just not Deaf, but LATE-deaf. . .and I was faking being non-oral because the last five drivers forgot to flag me. . . Or maybe I could tell a little white lie-- I'm Late-deaf AND I have laryngitis! No-- this wasn't a ruse to get out of paying bus fare. . .

Or maybe I should carry copies of my audiogram to prove I can't hear, just in case someone catches on that I can really talk? That's assuming he could read an audiogram. It's an awkward position. I have to go downtown at the end of this month for an appointment at Swedish Hospital with a neurologist, and I'm already stressing over it. The ride is boring.



Two bus transfers between here and there. SIGH.



Maybe I should drive. . . But our traffic here in Seattle is horrid. . And I would have to pay for gas and parking. Not to mention finding a spot to park, which is a nightmare in itself.