I love the train. When I worked downtown, I loved the 20 minute warm up and cool down to my day. It was 40 minutes dedicated to reading or daydreaming. Turns out, I liked the train far more than I liked that job.
The bus is a different story. I’ve been scared of the bus for as long as I can remember. All of the routes, all of the stops, all of the times, all of the buses – I started sweating just thinking about it. But I was determined to get home on it this weekend.
There were bus stops at three of the four corners of the intersection to which Google maps directed me. Ahh! Which one?!?! The first two looks like weekday-only stops with routes 133-179. I needed 5. The 5B to be precise. And it’s icy. This Sherpa couldn’t possibly sprint between them whilst carrying my weekend on my back. Crap. The third one had a listing for the 5B. Whew. Maybe this isn’t rocket science after all.
It doesn’t give change, barked the bus driver. I looked for the quarter owed to me. It doesn’t give change, she spat again. Frazzled, I wedged myself on the very first seat, my butt fighting my bag for space. The bag was winning and even the quadriceps keeping me off of the floor didn’t care. To my left, the unshaven older man from the stop who I was certain was going to start screaming at me about the people stealing his stuff. I’ve heard plenty of urban tales about the ‘crazies’ who ride the bus. However, a screamer was the least of 
my worries – mental illness I get. The bus I do not. Across from me were four ladies in Hijabs and snow boots. Each downtown stop picked up riders who all looked very different from me. I didn’t care, but I stood out and was suddenly very aware of it.
Even as the gruff lady bus driver grumbled each stop, 22nd – and it’s a toss up if she was talking to me, 26th, or my fellow new-American passengers as she said this bus doesn’t go to the mall. 28th – I still worried I’d boarded the wrong bus, 30th, I’d get shanked, 32nd, one of the guys on the bus was going to follow me off and snatch my purse, 34th, where are my keys, 38th, that girl’s hair is really cute, 40th, I need to remember to note what not to pack on my next me-time adventure, 42nd, TB and I should take the bus more often, 43rd…dang it! A rider pulled the the stop cord before I could.
It was stupid to be afraid of the bus. But I’m sure proud of myself for figuring that out.
reducerenewrecycle 