Busing: Day Four

Upon shaking my wife's piggy bank for another two quarters, exactly two state quarters shot into my hand, so I knew it was going to be a good day. I went with an iPod today to avoid speaking to anyone in lieu of reading the same copy of Wired magazine. It was a moot point, really, since there didn't seem to be too many riders today.

The driver was different: a younger woman. And while I'm sure it's my imagination, it seems like none (or very few) of the regulars are on board, as if in protest to the new driver and showing a sort of driver loyalty. I know the time's the same; I've got that down cold now.

I suppose it could be that today is a Friday and - just like most anywhere you go - things are just a little off on Fridays. Like the fact that everyone in my building seems to shed ten years instantly every Friday, clad in designer jeans and more casual jackets - clothing that magically makes them seem younger in every other way.

The two young black kids who get on each day (the only regulars today, so far as I can tell) whip out their riding credentials like a television police detective: quick flop open, then back. So they don't actually have to scan them, it seems. I rub my hand over my goatee and wonder: Could I pass for a high school student if it meant free rides?

Busing: Day Two

It’s raining, so I wanted to get to the stop like yesterday - at the exact second before the bus arrives. But, since I didn’t look at my damn watch yesterday, I have to arrive early and just stand in the rain for a while. I try to read my latest issue of Wired magazine, but the pages are getting wet despite my best efforts, and holding my briefcase in the crook of my arm is a pain in the ass anyway.

So I just stand there and debate on playing the brick breaker game on my BlackBerry. If someone else comes up and waits with me, I’m sure I’ll break out the trusting phone just to look too busy to make conversation.

I can’t help but notice the drivers staring at me as they cruise by. Do I stare at people waiting for a bus when I’m driving? I can’t tell exactly what their stares imply. It looks like it could be pity, but there’s something else there. By the time the bus passes by on the other side of the road (meaning it will be to me very soon) I think I have the looks figured out. It’s a tacit thanks, to me and to fate. They’re saying: I may not like my car payment and my insurance payment, bu that’s all right, because I’m not that dumb ass standing on the corner in the rain.

When the bus comes, I swear is earlier than yesterday. I look at my watch but immediately forget the time because I have to juggle everything to get out exact change. I have no idea what would happen if I used two dollar bills. Would I get change, or would the bus driver reproachfully scowl at me or roll his eyes in digust? I don’t risk it, but put in the dollar bill and two quarters as quickly as possible.