Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The bus

As most know, I parted with my car when I made my move across the country. Now, I know what many of you are thinking: what a crazy notion to have to rely on public transportation. While it can be a little stressful (ok, maybe not the best of words, perhaps irksome is a better term), I've come to enjoy relying on a system that is imperfect and often unreliable. Maybe enjoy isn't the best of terms either, perhaps at peace is the better working phrase. Anyway, here's why:

1. It lets me clear my head and do a lot of processing. I need that time. I need to rethink my day in order to be content with myself. In a way it has taken the place of running for me (which makes me a little sad because I loved the pounding of my feet on concrete and the steady rhythm of my breathing while processing my thoughts). In other ways it has let me be more at peace with myself and my past; I've been able to think through some major events and realize where I stand in the aftermath.

2. I get to listen to a lot of music. I can close my eyes and just listen, forget where I am and let the music take me away to places. It's beautiful riding a bus, but not really being on the bus thanks to Smetana, Beethoven, Vaughan-Williams, Adams, Handel, Debussey, et al.

3. I get to read books; even books I haven't thought about reading before: So Long, See You Tomorrow, Greek mythology, Picnic, Lightning, 1984. Oh, and crosswords, sudokus and other puzzles courtesy of my dad who thought I could use them on the bus (he was right, I've been thankful for those puzzle books a number of times).

4. I get to be a stranger in a sea of faces; an analogy I used before to help describe my feelings, but sometimes I'm thankful for it. It allows me to be an observer, an outsider, with no attachment to the people I'm watching. I see things others miss: the smiles when a text from a friend arrives on a phone, the last-minute editing of a paper for school, the hand-holding of an elderly couple still very much in love, the lonely old woman longing for conversation, the horny old man flirting with the much-too-young girl across the aisle, the young man sitting in his seat nodding his head to the rhythm of his music; all these people in their own worlds paying no heed to each other, just trying to get to their destination. I'm often overwhelmed by what I see. And I often wonder if someone watches me and thinks of me as the young man who sits on the outside trying to connect with the strangers he's watching.

5. There are some genuinely crazy people that ride the bus. Seriously, crazy. No, Crazy, with a capital C. One man mumbled to himself, another pooped his pants and kept saying loudly, "I [pooped] my pants," a young lady who dresses like a pirate (for fun), the junkies, the drunks, those that have lost their minds due to trauma. And the man who sings to himself, loudly. I've only run into the Serenader once, but he was well worth the trip.

6. You never know what smell you're going to get. The buses are like scratch-and-sniff stickers, except really they're more like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans only with smells. Some days they can be quite pleasant, like Molasses cookies on a cold winter day. Other days you can get curry with body odor. Some days you get vomit, or poop. Others: roses, or autumn leaves. You really do play Russian roulette with the smells of buses. (And on a side note, I think one day I sat in someone else's urine. Sick. I got home, took a hot shower and scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed.)

7. There's an odd humanity to riding the bus: a code that exists for bus riders, if you will. Always greet the bus driver with a hello, or inquiry to his/her day. Always move to the back of the bus, don't cherry pick the front seats (unless of course they're all that's left), and always sit on the inside seat in case the bus fills (which doesn't happen too often on the bus lines I take). As you leave, always thank the driver and wish him/her well. The code is odd, but who am I to argue with code?

But some days I do miss that "sporty" Kia Rio of yesterday and hope she's doing well. I miss her scent, her beauty, and her reliability. I miss her stereo system that allowed me to sing along with her beautiful song. I miss her spontaneity, her flirt-with-danger attitude. But most days I do not.

4 comments:

  1. One day, remind me to tell you about the time that a man sat next to me on the bus, turned to me with blood-shot eyes, and said in an authoritative voice, "You and I will travel to Marion County Indiana, and be buried in the grave of James Dean."

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  2. This reminds me of the saying "Redeem the time." You are surely doing that, and you are probably more relaxed than you would be if you were driving everywhere. Good for you!

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  3. Ok, the part where you referred to your Kia Rio's "beauty" made me laugh out loud. No offense to her. Also, the man who pooped his pants on the bus might not be insane... maybe he's just one of Cory's relatives!

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