this is me now

February 5, 2008

Bus Stories

Filed under: buses,random — by heatherdc @ 5:10 pm

Every day I ride the bus, and every trip to and from campus is different.

I wait. I get on. I sit. I ride. I exit. I say “Thank you”. I am at my destination.

I’ve shared my bus experiences once or twice before; they are never the same. There’s the bad-driver, the crazy-driver, the friendly-driver….the list goes on. But there’s also the passengers.

There’s the older guy who goes bowling every afternoon with his buddy. They get on at Allen Street with their bowling balls in a rolling-suitcase (fit for a bowling ball. Yes, these apparently exist), and they chat with those around them. He always has a “Steelers” hat on, sometimes a jacket too. I always wonder what he does before his bowling time. Maybe he eats lunch at “The Corner Room”. Maybe he even has a specific “pre-bowling” meal. I wonder if he gets Strikes and Spares, or is he in it for fun?

There’s the guy with the back-pack. He will randomly get on and off the buses, taking “Ride Guides” and saying “hi” to the drivers. His bag always sags off his shoulders, and his jacket always looks too big. He walks up to everybody at the stop and says something. “Good morning”, “How are you?”, “HI!”. He always has headphones. What does he listen to? Sometimes he walks around the library too, I only know because I work here. Where else does he go?

There’s the people who are always there in the morning. We share the frustration as full buses pass, paying no attention to us. We share the relief when we finally get on, and it’s warm. We share the dreaded departure, because it means that we are going to class.

These are the people I see frequently. What about those that I don’t? What about the woman sitting next to me today?

I sat down and put my bag on my lap. She got her phone out of the pocket closest to me, I moved a little so she had room. Without thinking about it, I looked down at her hands. At first I thought she had gloves on, it looked like a faux-snake skin material. I quickly realized that this was her skin. The age of her hands didn’t match that of her face. Another look would tell me that she was scarred.

What story would her hands tell about her? I wondered. How long ago did this happen? Does she even notice anymore? I thought about how I put lotion on all the time, does she do this too?

The guy standing in front of me had let me go on the bus before him, gentleman-like. As we rode to campus, he held onto the bar over-head. He pulled Carmex out of his pocket, and as he unscrewed it we were turning. I thought, if I knew him, I’d offer to unscrew it for him so he didn’t fall. He managed, which I found impressive. I always have to hold on the entire way, or I feel so unbalanced. I hate holding the bar on the top, because my arm falls asleep. He didn’t seem to mind.

The three of us got off at the same stop, and went three different ways.



  1. What a cool look at something so normal. So what did they notice about you?

    Comment by mikesgotnothin — February 5, 2008 @ 5:55 pm |Reply

  2. it’s been so long since i have taken a day time ride on the bus! all of the night excursions have drunk guys saying things like “WHOA! Models!”

    Comment by L B — February 7, 2008 @ 12:56 am |Reply

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