L'autobus Vignettes

As I embarked on a post-work walk after a stressful day at the office my mind wandered as it tends to wander. Today it focused on buses and the things that change when you become an adult.

During the better half of junior high, I used to strategically select a seat on the bus. Conveniently for me, my bus crush's stop was a few after mine and the bus was reasonably full by the time she would board. I'd scan for that prime open seat. On those lucky days, I'd snag it then wait in hopes that we'd sit together for those few fleeting, bumpy minutes. Some days I'd sit on the aisle hopping she'd ask me if I minded if she sat next to me. Others, I'd sit by the window, so the open seat was clearly visible. Maybe we'd compare homework or discuss whether we wanted to wed on the beach or in the mountains. Sadly, she opted to sit with other friends and started dating a guy on another bus route. We never had the opportunity to firm up our matrimony plans.


I miss that youthful desire of wanting with everything of your being for that person you like to sit next to you on the bus. It doesn't get much simpler than youthful desires. I would have been content just to sit next to her. Now, when I take the bus or the L in the city I rapidly scan the riders to try to pick out who is least likely to jump my suburban ass. "Is he hiding a gun? How much garlic did she eat for lunch? I can smell it from here. I wouldn't have guessed he was literate. She clearly doesn't value being able to hear." Typically, I opt for the oldest woman. Eventually, I'll get the snot beaten out of me by a purse-wielding nana, but until that time, I cozy up to the gal who stopped using perfume and instead relies on the alluring aroma of moth balls and IcyHot. At what point did I adopt a Harding-esque policy of public transit isolationism?

As a freshman at a private Catholic high school I found the ladies much more affable. However, either private education or general developmental disparities between boys and girls led them to maturing far faster than I had. The bus was far more empty than those I previously took and everyone had their own bench. The school had a dress code where the guys wore oxford shirts and navy pants and the ladies wore an oxford and a skirt. Once the final bell rang, the shirts were untucked and the tweed skirts started their rolling ascent. Toward the end of that year one of the girls called out to me as I headed off the bus and toward the front door of mon maison. I turned around only to discover her flashing me. She repeated this for the remainder of the week.

Two summers ago I hopped on a bus at Union Station to interview for a position I ended up not getting. Sitting next to the window, I was asked by a blonde with several shopping bags if I minded if she sat next to me. Not at all. I only mind if married women and thugs sit next to me. How far I'd come since junior high. We started chatting as strangers do on buses and I shared that I was en route to an interview. After talking about the people her boyfriend knows, she asked me for my number and then wished me luck as she left to do some more shopping.