Commuting Realities

While idly waiting for my bus, I noticed a grandmotherly-looking old woman at the same corner. I intuitively decided that something less than good would take place;

I knew that the conversation we would soon share would leave me wondering why I hadn't chosen another means of transportation. And yet, as weird as the bus stop experience may be, it is also quite entertaining -- a break in an otherwise dull routine.

After a long day of seeing the same files over and over again, I almost relish the break from the tedium that the bus stop affords. Almost on cue, in some Truman Show reality, the old woman walked toward me. Much of her appearance was unkempt. Her hair was dyed red and looked quite tussled. She wore a masculine green plaid shirt and a long shapeless green dress finished with blue orthopedic shoes and no socks. To add to her ensemble a shopping bag, marked with the words "I survived Cairo Airport," was slung casually over her shoulder. It was definitely clear to me that she had survived something.

"Are you waiting for the bus?" she asked me. "The N16 has vanished without a trace from the face of the Earth. You know, we've been waiting here for half an hour." In reality -- which I'm not totally convinced that we shared -- I had been waiting there for five or ten minutes. She had come to the stop shortly after me. Combined, our waiting time was not long at all. However, I checked my watch, which blinked a digital 4:59. I informed her that the 5:00 bus would be here in one minute. She shot a disgruntled look at me and made a "shhhmmph" sound, then walked back to where she had been standing.

And as scheduled, the N16 bus that I had ridden dozens of times from work appeared at the end of the street. When I noticed the approaching bus, I looked behind me to see the woman creeping up towards the curb. I was determined not to let her get away with "shhhmmphing" me earlier, so I casually remarked, "There you go" and pointed towards the bus. She smiled with crooked green teeth, saying, "Yes, we must have cast our lucky stars." That, or perhaps "Yes, we must have caught the magic cards." Either way, I had no idea of what she was speaking.

The bus doors swung open and I jumped aboard before we could share more words. Perhaps the old woman was merely having an off-day, but the five minute wait also proved to be more stimulating than the previous eight hours of work.

Just last week I encountered a man who seemed to be talking to himself. On a whim, I asked him if he had been talking to me. He ranted, claiming to have seen a large, shirt-less black man. He seemed quite dismayed and kept shouting in the direction of the man he had perceived. I probably would not be able to see him though, the man told me -- much to my disappointment. The man turned around the corner, presumably in search of his absent "friend." Regardless of the large black man's true existence, I decided that I would no longer deprive myself of such comical conversations in the future.

The following day, I spoke to a man who was left catching his breath in the hope of catching the bus that was nearing our stop. He asked me if I were waiting for the bus. Obviously, I had been, so I answered the man truthfully. When we reached the bus itself, we spoke for the duration of the ride, when I learned that he had once worked for my current summer employer. We exchanged names and handshakes, and then shared a few laughs about work, not the least of which was the boredom it created; boredom that urged me to talk to him, or any of the others, in the first place.

The day before I encountered the old woman, a watch-less college-aged person -- a bus newbie -- was fumbling with the bus schedule. My intuition surmised that two questions would come, and they did -- "It is ten minutes to five o'clock, and the bus comes at five," I said. "That's not what the schedule says," he responded. By the time the bus came, I had learned a dozen things about him. Among other things, he had learned that Tuesday is not covered under weekend service, a valuable lesson, I'm sure.

Although not the most luxurious means of transportation, the bus stop experience creates an exciting opportunity to interact with people I would certainly not meet otherwise. So, why not talk to that person? For someone looking to escape the routine of the five o'clock world, that chance is invaluable. My suburban existence will be hereafter enlivened by the colorful people who utilize the MTA bus service. And since I need a way home anyway, it is worth hanging around.

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