Going downtown this weekend required some bus rides. I’m theoretically a big supporter of public transit but, since I don’t often leave the borders of my neighbourhood, I don’t often ride the bus. I DON’T LIKE IT.
I feel bad about this. Quite guilty.
Here’s the problem: I’m a small town girl. And even now that I’ve learned about pulling that funny cord in order to stop the bus, and I’ve gotten past the “get off when everyone else does and you’ll be downtown” strategy, there’s still the matter of eye contact.
I make it.
I can’t help it! Someone stands near me, I look up and smile. And this leads to all sorts of strange encounters… such as a man showing me the bird beneath his clothes. (I don’t mean that euphemistically. It was a real bird.) The ex-football player telling me about his knee surgeries. The woman telling me about getting housebound in the snow. And — God help me — the men who constantly want to talk to me about the government. Why do old men want to talk to me about the government?!?
Deep breath. It’s material, right? Writing fodder. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to be really hard up for writing ideas before I make bus riding a regular part of my life. There are only so many birds you want to see.