Thursday, May 08, 2003

Morning bus: Okay, people, the

Morning bus: Okay, people, the game is simple.  The bus automatically announces your stop - the one where you get off every freaking day.  The bus creaks to a gradual stop and, a few moments later, the green light shines and a bunch of people standing next to the door push on it; it opens and they leave.  Once they’re gone, the doors close.  By this point you should be on your feet, bag in hand, on the sidewalk.  Instead, you’re on your ass, spacing out.  No music, no book, no conversation - just two glazed eyeballs and a slack jaw.  As the bus begins to move again you leap to your feet, pushing old women and children out of your way, impotently rattling the bars on the doors, screaming, “Back door, you bastard!” The bus drives two more blocks as you sulk and pout, muttering curses until you can leave.  And you do this EVERY FREAKING DAY.  There is a reason for this: busses are “common carriers,” in legal parlance - they can’t keep you off just because you’re too stupid and thoughtless to understand how they work.  You are trapped in a world too complicated for your mental capacities, and I am trapped here with you, as you rain your anger and frustration down on all of us who understand the rules.  The guy with mongoloidism, with his name tag, little plastic briefcase, enormously buck teeth and three-inch-thick glasses, seems to have gotten the hang of it.  Maybe you can ask him for some help. You’d make his day, and you’d save mine. 

Evening bus: The three stood in the doorwell, talking loudly, shouting, screaming their raucous laughter.  The bus was not terribly crowded; there was room to stand in the aisle.  But they wanted the doorway, and they wouldn’t take off their backpacks or move out of the way - even when the doors opened and people had to brush past them to get off the bus.  “The word is EXCUSE ME,” the tall one shouted at their backs.  “Y’all ain’t showin’ no respect!  No respect at’all!  Her voice hurt my ears.  When they finally used the door they’d been blocking and left us in strange silence, several of us audibly sighed and then shared a quiet laugh at our mutual relief.  No one wanted to laugh loudly.  We’d heard enough.