Maybe, if you rode the bus, you’d get a better handle on the needs of the district’s constituents, what matters to them, and how to reach them where they are and on their terms.

That’s what I wish I had said to those two white males aghast that I was riding the bus.

And maybe, just maybe, If you rode the bus, you’d meet these people and tell them about the next protests and which bus route they could take to get there. Or tell them about the next elections and the latest candidates and their platforms and which bus will take them to the rally or the polling place.

If you rode the bus, you’d witness the patience and tolerance of the riders who do not roll their eyes and who do not complain when the bus driver does all of the above even though they are behind schedule.

If you rode the bus, you’d realize that each and every bus driver in this town is a social worker with the patience of a saint, waiting for riders to load multiple carts and bags, assisting and strapping in wheelchair riders, and answering riders’ questions about routes and timing, all while keeping the system running.

If you rode the bus, you’d hear, like I heard, a Black man and a white man share concerns about the high price of rent for a one bedroom apartment and offer each other advice about how to get financial assistance and find affordable housing.

If you rode the bus, you’d see the middle-aged woman whose back is so contorted that she walks bent over, her head turned to the side to see where she is going, carrying her groceries and other goods on the bus because I’m not sure she could even sit in a car seat in the back of an Uber.

If you rode the bus, you’d see the man in the wheelchair left behind at the bus stop because two other wheelchair riders were occupying all of the wheelchair spots on the bus, none of whom would fit in the back of an Uber, by the way.

If you rode the bus, you’d see the signs of a society rife with untreated mental illness that could benefit from a better healthcare system.

“If you rode the bus, you’d see, like I see, the elderly woman shuffle onto the bus with her walker while juggling bags of groceries.

If you rode the bus, you’d see the two elderly men smile and fist-bump before having a lively conversation across the aisle during their journey.

More chatting, then I left. Later in the day, I had regrets. I should have rebuked the two older white men as they sat safely in their air conditioned office enclave.

I should have told them that, “Maybe, if you rode the bus, you’d connect better with your community and seize more opportunities for the Democratic Party to win.”

I saw the man’s eyes widen, staring at me. “How do get around? Uber?!” he asked in disbelief.

“I am using your fine transit system here in Palm Springs,” I replied defiantly.

We chatted a bit, and then I also asked about the protests. “There’s one at City Hall on Saturday at noon, and then there’s an “empty chair town hall” at Republican representative Ken Calvert’s office in Palm Desert on Sunday. He won’t show up to have a town hall, so we set out an empty chair and air our grievances outside his office.”

“I don’t think I can make the one in Palm Desert. I don’t have a car,” I said.

Two older gray-haired white men sat at desks. One was on the phone – a landline phone. After hanging up, he turned to the other white male and reported that the caller had inquired about the locations and times of the next scheduled protests. Nearby, a bowl of Harris/Walz buttons sat next to some “Dump Trump” buttons, a few Ukrainian flag pins, and some flyers for the district’s latest Democratic candidate for Congress.