Inside (Not Under) The Bus
TUESDAY: Lunch is tuna and cream cheese on a whole wheat breadcake. Sadly I've been out of capers for several weeks and can't afford any at the moment, so instead of my usual caper vinegar I had to make do with a splash of sherry vinegar with loads of fresh dill and a few drops of Tabasco. It's actually quite nice. (Sorry, I'm just not a rootin' tootin' tuna-mayo kind of gal.)
Lately, because my current indenture -- er, job is located near the bus interchange, I've enjoyed the luxury of taking a bus to and from work instead of hiking three miles a day, the latter half of the trek requiring crampons and pitons. Unfortunately it's the 95 bus I'm riding, which is the same route that knocked me down and ran over me a few years ago. I still experience a bit of nausea whenever I come into close proximity of the outside of a bus, and I often get a flashback of pain in my now-healed-but-previously-fractured pelvis. As I've never been injured by the inside of a bus, being inside a bus is a completely different story. Not only am I out of danger of being crushed by the wheels, but I never know what eccentricities of life I may encounter during my ride.
My morning journeys into town have been the most enlightening. One recent morning, as the bus edged its way slowly down a narrow city centre street, a 70-ish man in a cap hobbled slowly past the bus on his crutches, hurling a loud Marmite-textured "F*** OFF!" in our direction with every other step. I couldn't help wondering how many times he'd been run over. In stark contrast, the next morning a woman boarded the bus and greeted the passengers loudly, wishing everyone the best day and thanking the Lord for giving us such a beautiful day as well as our health. As the bus pulled out of my neighbourhood and progressed toward town, she continued to address us all, joyfully reciting various Bible verses and finally breaking out into some sort of psalm or hymn (forgive me but I didn't grow up Christian so I don't know the proper terms). At the close of her song she recited another few prayers, said "Amen", and began reading her book, which was a Bible, no doubt. In a couple of minutes she debarked, again wishing all of us a glorious day thanks to the Lord and so on and so forth. The whole time the other passengers were either hiding in their reading material or staring blankly ahead in the hopes that she would stop and they could continue undisturbed in their bored reveries. Ah well, I thought. At least she was happy and pleasant and wishing us all the best, as opposed to the passenger a couple of friends experienced on the same route a few months ago who kept uttering TSK! TSK! and angrily muttering, "…god!" and "I don't BELIEVE IT!" every time the bus stopped.
It's not only in Sheffield or the UK that one can experience this unique world when riding the bus. I've experienced some wondrous things on buses in America, especially Southern California. When I was young I worked for a few months at a steamship agency in downtown Long Beach, and I commuted to and from work on the bus, a rare way to travel in the Los Angeles area. As I had recently graduated from university with the intention of becoming a film director, and as I absolutely detested my mundane job and my over-the-top sexist boss, I took great pleasure in the slightly Fellini-esque part of my day spent on the bus. I even made a diorama of a Long Beach bus stop peopled with the actual or composite characters with whom I rode every day: the Bird Woman who worked at the cafeteria, with her long wrinkled neck and large glasses resting on her pointed beak of a nose, jerking her head this way and that like a bird eyeing the grass for worms; the old gent who enjoyed chatting just a bit too lasciviously with young female passengers; the Candy Man who always wore a pink candy-striped t-shirt, shorts, striped tights, and bright green shoes; the man dressed in camouflage clutching his shoe box full of useless bits of debris and junk and occasionally answering calls on an old telephone receiver, its loopy cord dangling freely in the air. This was Life, this was Inspiration, and I loved every minute of it.
I feel sorry for people who are so chained to their driving licenses that they can't fathom subjecting themselves to Public Transportation. But car travel, by contrast, is so boring!
WEDNESDAY: Lunch is mature cheddar and English mustard and blah blah blah. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: why are so many people who work in University libraries so damn patronising?!! All the more reason to get out of this biz…
