Winners of the Transitway Memories Contest

We are pleased to publish the winning stories  and we wish to thank each contestant for their contributions.

Congratulations to:

First prize story winner of an annual transit pass:

Niran Kadhim for the story entitled "My First Ride".
 

Second prize winners of a monthly transit pass:

Honorable mentions:

My First Ride, by Niran Kadhim


I can not imagine daily life in Ottawa without access to the OC Transpo services. When I arrived in Canada, one year ago, I had no idea what the public transportation service would be like. I believed that it would be modern, fast and punctual. However, what one believes and what one subsequently experiences may be different.

I had moved to Ottawa, after initially living with a relative in Montreal, to attend a workshop. I was driven to the Bank Street location of the workshop, but then found myself alone at the end of the day for the first time since arriving in Canada following the workshop.

At that moment, many feelings surfaced – loneliness, insecurity, fear, confusion. What made it more difficult was my limited English at that time and, for a moment; I wished that I was back in my home country, where language would not be a barrier to communication. Soon, I remembered my relatives’ words – she said, “Any OC Transpo driver can help you reach home”.

As a result, I waited for the next bus hoping to get help. When the bus arrived, I climbed aboard, and all my body was shaking from fear. The funniest thing was that I didn’t know how to pay, or how much to pay, or even where to put the money. Directly, with tears in my eyes, I told the driver, “I don’t know how to go home”. No matter what I say, I can’t describe how embarrassing was that.

The first thing the driver said was, “Relax mam, for sure I will take you home”. Immediately, I felt safe, calm, and of course relaxed. As I was living on a small avenue, the driver did not recognize it. Using the bus phone, he called the OC Transpo office. Together, with other employees, they checked their detailed maps, and then they advised the driver the way to take me home.

The driver not only took me to the Billings Bridge station, but also refused to take the money. His behaviour was noble, generous, helpful, kind, and polite. Soon after, he accompanied me to the 97 route transfer point. He told the new driver I was lost, and he asked him to take me to the Lincoln Fields station. This second driver also displayed the same professional behaviour as had the first driver. The first thing he said was, “Soon you will be home”. My relief was overwhelming upon hearing those words. Later, I arrived home after blessing and thanking all the OC Transpo workers. Sometimes, I wonder, “How would our lives be, if we hadn’t had the OC Transpo services?”

Lastly, I would like to thank the OC Transpo and its entire staff for giving me safety, love, and confidence during my first day in Ottawa. God bless you all and keep on the good work.

Running Late, by Keith Farrier

I was running a little late from work that day, having attended on off-site meeting that lasted longer than expected. It was a long way from Startop Road to Stittsville, but there was still a chance to make up some lost time as I was close to the transit-way and would not have the usual wait for my connector. Having recently moved to the West End, it was only a matter of time before I would get this opportunity to test out my “late plan,” so I hopped on a west-bound 95 at Cyrville Station and headed to Hurdman.

“Easy as pie,” I thought to myself as my bus pulled up a little earlier than scheduled. I noticed however, that it had a “62” on the front and a “262” on the side, so I asked the driver if it was the 262. He nodded and acknowledged that he was having problems with the numbers. I boarded the bus with the other patrons, none of whom I recognized; but then again, this was not my usual bus. Before long, we were cruising down the Queensway, heading for the Carp Road exit…..or so I thought until we moved down the off-ramp at Eagleson.

“Perhaps this run stops at the Park ‘n Ride,” I thought (or hoped) to myself, but it soon became obvious that I was taking the scenic tour of Kanata. I hesitated at Hazeldean and missed that window of opportunity but, like any man who has ever been lost (all of us), I would not admit defeat. As I anticipated the long walk home, I waited until the last person got off the bus then asked the driver if we had reached the end of the line, to which he responded that we had.

I told him that I thought I was on the 262 and he immediately recognized that something had been lost in translation when we first spoke at Hurdman. He asked me where I lived and without hesitation he wheeled the bus around to drive me to Stittsville. He radioed his dispatcher to obtain permission to divert, but I’m sure it was only a formality as he was intent on making things right.

As impressed and thankful as I was, I struck up conversation with the driver. I asked if his accent was American, and I soon discovered that he had come to Canada years earlier to play ball and ended up making Ottawa his home. To my pleasant surprise, I learned that my temporary chauffeur was none other than Mr. Larry Cates, who I watched play for the Rough Riders when I was a boy!

Before long, I noticed my neighbors having a good chuckle as my oversized taxi pulled up to the house. Some relatives had also dropped by for a visit, so I could not wait to relay the events that had transpired and we all had a good laugh at what I now consider my most pleasant OC Transpo memory.

(I am enclosing 2 stories because they might involve the same bus operator. If they are different drivers…you’ve hired 2 very special, extraordinary people!)

1) In December, (late 1990’s), I had herniated a disk at work and painfully loaded on to a #32 or #34 bus that was headed to Orleans from Downtown. The driver was extremely attentive, and helped me into a courtesy seat . He stopped right across the street from the clinic where I was to have a back X-ray, on St. Joseph Blvd.
2 hours later, I staggered into the now, dark evening, to wait for a #120 bus (now 130 route), in order to go home. My injury was very painful and I dreaded the bumpy journey home.
I noticed that a car, in the parking lot across the street, was blinking its headlights several times. Then, a man ran across St. Joseph Blvd. In full OC Transpo uniform, he said, "I'm here to take you home, Ma'am". The very same driver had helped me earlier! Because he had taken the care to wear his uniform and the fact that he had a baby-seat in the back of his car, I did not feel threatened and accepted his genuine offer to help when I desperately needed it. (I am not in the habit of jumping into a car with a complete stranger. I assure you, an OC Transpo uniform was every bit as good as one entailing “blue tights and a red cape” at this moment!)
While driving me to my residence, I asked the bus operator his name. He told me it was "Henry." He told me that the route that I was on earlier in the afternoon was his last run and that he lived in Orleans. He said that I really looked like I could use some help. He was definitely right! This driver had gone immediately home, got his own car and patiently waited for over 2 hours in a cold parking lot, while his family was waiting at home. I phoned OC Transpo immediately and reported this outstanding service!

2) For about 6 weeks in Nov. /Dec. 2000, I became notorious among my bus chums for my terrific “sprint” for the #39 bus every morning. The driver always halted the bus and I produced my bus pass with the usual heaving and breathless puffing from my sprint! He’d always smile and say, “Good morning! “ in his African or West Indies accent. On December 17, after remembering a Christmas ad campaign for “Pot-of-Gold” (where a young girl gives her piano teacher a box of chocolates), I felt that this was a “Pot-of-Gold” moment! I presented this kind operator with a box of mixed toffees!
The driver was sooo touched and looked up to me and said in his lovely accent, “This has special meaning for me, Ma’am. Today is my birthday!” WOW! Perfect timing!
Who would have thought that the next year’s driver during this period was the same gentleman! Same time. Same route. On December 16th 2001 which was a Friday, (his birthday would have been a Saturday, and he wouldn’t have been driving) I produced a wrapped box of powdered truffles and announced, “You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” His face lit up and he said, “You know Ma’am, I thought it was you!” and he nodded his head in thanks.

On the following Monday, while disembarking through the side door of that same bus that brought me once again, to my downtown destination, I was called to the front of the bus. The driver produced a small package that was wrapped with care. I opened it in my office and burst into tears! It was a small brass lighter with “December 17, 2001”. (He’d noticed that every time I left his bus, I lit a cigarette!) I still have this lighter and it is only used on special occasions.
We’re all anonymous people who get from point A to point B with a busy, bustling schedule. There are some people who are remarkable, with a unique gift of to see beyond the anonymity and generally care about the people they come in contact with. If this is 1 operator or 2, OC Transpo , I commend you in your outstanding service!

Transitway Memory, by Habiba Chakir

When I first arrived to Canada in 1997, I had to take the bus to go downtown to apply for my SIN card. When I finished, I took the bus to go back home. While in the bus, I decided at the last minute to stop shopping somewhere, so I had to leave the bus in a hurry. After 2 hours, I remembered that I left my case that contained all my residency papers, my passport, my ID cards and a big amount of money that I was planning to take to the bank.

I was lost and so desperate to find my papers and money… Nobody wants to be in that situation in a new country, where I knew nobody and where I lost everything. I called the first OC Transpo number that I could see on the OC transpo timetable. I told my dramatic story to the operator. He told me that he will look into it and asked for a phone number where to reach me. I gave him my home number knowingly that I lost everything. When I got home, I found the best and the most unforgettable message on my voicemail. The OC Transpo agent found my case and it’s secured with the bus driver. The lady who was sitting beside me found the case and handed it in to the driver….This incident thought me a lot on this country and made me love it from the first days…I will never forget it.

Transitway Memory, by Karlis Bouse

Being an Ottawa native, the Transitway has always been a part of my life, whether racing to class, going to work, or heading out to a concert. There have been a multitude of experiences over the years, but if pressed for a single, special memory, I think of the first time I took the bus with my young son, just over two years ago.

As with most neophyte parents, one of my goals was to offer my son as many different experiences as possible, and in particular, sharing those that I had enjoyed over the years. One such simple pleasure was the excitement of riding the city bus.

Leaving our house one day, I hoisted my little guy up on my shoulders (as my father used to do to me - as has nearly every father since the dawn of time). We walked to the Westboro station, descended the stairs (hold on tight!), and waited for the bus patiently. My son marvelled at the expanse of the Transitway tunnel, admiring the roughly blasted rock and the speed of the west-bound buses.

Before too long, our bus arrived, and we hopped on, staying near the front to allow for optimal sightseeing. My son's eyes raced as he tried to follow the tunnel, sculptures and eventually, the houses on Scott Street as our bus whizzed along. Nearing downtown, I told him he would soon have the pleasure, nay, the honour, of ringing the bell to stop the bus when we reached our destination. When it was time, I prompted him to stand and grip the yellow cord tightly in his pudgy little fist. My son stood on the seat, looked at me expectantly, as if to say, Now, Dad? Do I ring it? And when it was, I said, 'Give it a pull, son.' Ding!

You could just see the pride he took in bringing that 20-ton articulated OC Transpo bus grinding to a halt, simply because he had rung the bell. At home, he doesn't always get to pick out which pants to wear, but here, he was the master of this giant steel chariot. I scooped him up, and we jumped off the bus to continue our father-son adventure around downtown, having already gotten off to a very exciting start.

Experiences such as riding the bus are such simple, menial things for the average 9-5 commuter, but that day, it was the single neatest thing my son and I did together. And it never fails to fill me with a sense of pride when I see my children experiencing everything that is life, whether on their own for the first time, or with Mommy or Daddy close at hand. Each moment we share leaves an indelible impression on me, that they will only truly appreciate when they have children of their own. This was certainly one of those times, and is my fondest Transitway Memory.