Waiting For The Bus

On a rainy day like today it reminds me of alternative transportation other than a bicycle. Without a private gas guzzling metal mobile machine my options turn to public transportation.

For years, I depended on public transportation to get me from place to place throughout the city. It was/is a dependable safe and inexpensive mode of transport but you can only get on board at certain sites and must wait for it to arrive.

I wasn’t required to take the bus to school because I lived close enough to walk, so my first real school bus experience was summer camp. I’d wait across the street and the giant yellow wagon would pull up, swing the door open and I’d climb aboard with a bunch of screaming strangers. We’d be delivered to some place deep in the woods and as the sun was starting to set would reload and return us to within sight of our homes. Those trips were just about survival over bumpy roads with no springs.

My father took the bus to work for a while. The bus stop was right in front of our house so just walk out the front door and you are there. His hours started getting longer and he started driving downtown, but it taught me a mode of transportation easily available to me.

Riding the bus was a big deal when I was a kid. Traveling downtown to the department stores, movie theaters, cafeterias, and going to see my dad at work took all day.

During college (also in town) I would take the bus back and forth until I started walking there.

My working location (also in town) was an easy commute. Even in the snow, the behemoth bus could plow through anything. Pull a cord hanging from the ceiling to ring a bell and the bus would pull over to the next stop.

I think this was when I started to appreciate the time waiting for the bus.

Buses, like trains and boats and planes, have schedules and I found our local carrier kept close watch on the time. On my route there was only one bus that went the same direction back and forth. In the morning there would be a bus every 15-20 minutes and the afternoon rush hour was the same. The rest of the day was an hour between pick-ups.

Some days the bus would be crowded with standing room only while others was fairly empty. When I began riding the bus (Jim Crow) the whites sat up front and ‘the Negros’ sat in the back. When white flight happened, except the poor, homeless or students, Caucasians rarely used public transportation.

If with another that you know, the bus ride was long enough for a brief conversation like in a restaurant but without the grub. If traveling alone, the bus ride could be a time for meditation, observation, cultural education or anticipation. I tried to use that time to arrange my thoughts for the day’s chores, but couldn’t help get distracted by my fellow travelers. Everyday was a new cast of characters and every ride was different.

Today my bus stop is a block away from home. Still easy enough to walk to in good and bad weather and most days the bus was there on time. Through the years other neighbors would catch the same bus. Some would just stand (there is no shelter at the stop, just a sign on a pole) while others might strike up a conversation. In the rain or snow, an umbrella was used and in the summer, well, it was just hot.

The other plus, while waiting a few minutes for the bus to arrive, was the ‘people watching’. People do not realize the windshields in their cars are clear enough to not only view out but also view in. Once inside the automobile bubble, all sorts of actions take place that normally people would not do in public.

Since my bus stop was also at a stop light, me and my fellow passengers would stand two or three feet off the street watching the other commuters read their newspaper, drink their coffee, talk on the phone, apply makeup, pick their noses and other disgusting behavior before the light would change and they’d zip off feeling sorry for us who had to wait.

That was a special time awaiting a bus, or maybe I was just loitering?