.the perks of being a bus rider.
riding the bus is a pain in my ass. but the one major perk (besides not having to drive and give up half my paycheck for parking) is getting to watch the infinite parade of freaks who ride public transit.
usually when i walk out the front door of my apartment building at 7:30 am into the inevitable cold, rain, and darkness, i'm checking my pocket for my keys and lamenting not getting into my warm, safe, and solitary car. i mean, shit, it has radio that i can sing to. i can talk to myself in there. i guess i can talk to myself on the bus too, and i wouldn't be alone.
but rarely is a ride in my car as eventful as a ride on the trimet circus. i mean, i almost never have to call the cops on myself for refusing to pay fair, or for ranting and screaming and refusing to get out when i'm told to leave. this happens on the bus, however, once a week. i almost always take care to wear deodorant, and not to smell like throw up or booze. and when i'd like to get out of my car, i almost always stop for myself and open the door. rarely do i have to fight my way through a crowd of strangers to reach the door just in time for the car to pull back out into traffic, and rarely do i have to walk back several blocks to get where i'm going.
the bus seems to motivate me in a surprising way that being late to class or even high school gym never did: it makes me run. there's something unnerving about the haphazard staccato of the bus schedule. it's not going to arrive just when you're ready for it. stopping to feed the cat or to grab my mittens on the way out the door could mean waiting in the cold for an extra five, ten, or fifteen minutes. you never know. this makes me walk extra fast in my black work pants, staring ahead at the bus stop and nervously wondering if i'm going to miss it. and more than once have i run across the street, arms flailing, coffee splashing, ipod ear buds falling into my hood, to crash through the doorway at at the last possible moment to stare at a busload of people who have just witnessed me behaving desperately and foolishly. i thought i was too cool for that.
i remember when i first invested in my yearly pass -- that's right, a full year of bus ridership, not one of these pithy month-to-month passes, those are for pussies-- i was excited to interface (yes, i said interface) with so many people on a daily basis. i mean, odds are that some of them will be men, some of them will be single, there could be serendipitous seat swapping, eye contact while reaching to pull the yellow next-stop cord. the bus ride seemed to sparkle with romantic possibility. in reality, it sparkles more of urine and soda cans.
so far, the romantic bus fantasy has gone unrequited. i have, however, developed a (platonic, of course) fondness for some of the strangers (emphasis on strange) who ride the 12 and the 19. there's big fat long hair baseball cap guy, who wears shorts in the cold and removes his hat periodically to wave and fluff his hair like in shampoo commercials. i worry for his cold calves. and there's the sci-fi hipster, who i can't figure out if he's an adult or a teenager, but he's cute in that gangly anemic hipster way and wears t-shirts of punk bands and skinny jeans before they were co-opted by the gap and always reads paperback sci-fi novels. there's girl who gets on and off at the exact same stops as me. she's just a little bit skinnier than i am, with a slightly cuter handbag, boots, and jacket. i try not to scowl at her, but i can't stop myself.
so all in all, while the comfort and ease of solitary driving is not on my work commute, it is in part compensated for by these and other captivating characters. thank god most of them don't require phone calls to the police.
usually when i walk out the front door of my apartment building at 7:30 am into the inevitable cold, rain, and darkness, i'm checking my pocket for my keys and lamenting not getting into my warm, safe, and solitary car. i mean, shit, it has radio that i can sing to. i can talk to myself in there. i guess i can talk to myself on the bus too, and i wouldn't be alone.
but rarely is a ride in my car as eventful as a ride on the trimet circus. i mean, i almost never have to call the cops on myself for refusing to pay fair, or for ranting and screaming and refusing to get out when i'm told to leave. this happens on the bus, however, once a week. i almost always take care to wear deodorant, and not to smell like throw up or booze. and when i'd like to get out of my car, i almost always stop for myself and open the door. rarely do i have to fight my way through a crowd of strangers to reach the door just in time for the car to pull back out into traffic, and rarely do i have to walk back several blocks to get where i'm going.
the bus seems to motivate me in a surprising way that being late to class or even high school gym never did: it makes me run. there's something unnerving about the haphazard staccato of the bus schedule. it's not going to arrive just when you're ready for it. stopping to feed the cat or to grab my mittens on the way out the door could mean waiting in the cold for an extra five, ten, or fifteen minutes. you never know. this makes me walk extra fast in my black work pants, staring ahead at the bus stop and nervously wondering if i'm going to miss it. and more than once have i run across the street, arms flailing, coffee splashing, ipod ear buds falling into my hood, to crash through the doorway at at the last possible moment to stare at a busload of people who have just witnessed me behaving desperately and foolishly. i thought i was too cool for that.
i remember when i first invested in my yearly pass -- that's right, a full year of bus ridership, not one of these pithy month-to-month passes, those are for pussies-- i was excited to interface (yes, i said interface) with so many people on a daily basis. i mean, odds are that some of them will be men, some of them will be single, there could be serendipitous seat swapping, eye contact while reaching to pull the yellow next-stop cord. the bus ride seemed to sparkle with romantic possibility. in reality, it sparkles more of urine and soda cans.
so far, the romantic bus fantasy has gone unrequited. i have, however, developed a (platonic, of course) fondness for some of the strangers (emphasis on strange) who ride the 12 and the 19. there's big fat long hair baseball cap guy, who wears shorts in the cold and removes his hat periodically to wave and fluff his hair like in shampoo commercials. i worry for his cold calves. and there's the sci-fi hipster, who i can't figure out if he's an adult or a teenager, but he's cute in that gangly anemic hipster way and wears t-shirts of punk bands and skinny jeans before they were co-opted by the gap and always reads paperback sci-fi novels. there's girl who gets on and off at the exact same stops as me. she's just a little bit skinnier than i am, with a slightly cuter handbag, boots, and jacket. i try not to scowl at her, but i can't stop myself.
so all in all, while the comfort and ease of solitary driving is not on my work commute, it is in part compensated for by these and other captivating characters. thank god most of them don't require phone calls to the police.
posted by .i'll never tell. at 8:47 AM
1 Comments:
i have a strange penchant for public transportation. i miss sf for that reason.
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