I like to ride the city bus to my part-time job in the downtown area. I avoid the hassle and stress of driving in traffic. I have nary a caring about finding a place to park and weighing myself down with a pocket full of change to pay for it. The bus stop is a short and pleasant walk from my house through my quiet neighbourhood of well attended yards and birds singing.

Since I reached the “age of discounts” my monthly bus pass costs me only $13.00, or in other economic terms, the cost of one bottle of reasonable wine, or almost two, discounted at the liquor superstore. When I am pan-handled for loose change at the downtown bus stop I can politely decline, claiming possession only of a bus pass.

Bus riding makes for interesting people watching, but in a very subtle way, so as not to stare in close quarters. It requires looking out of the corner of an eye or a quick visual scan without pausing noticeably on anyone while pretending to observe the passing street scenery with great interest.

The decorum of bus riding seems to require an emotionless expression, often staring straight ahead, as if practicing for a driver’s licence or passport photo. In fact, it is amusing to imagine the whole bus load of passengers on their way to the passport office.

It has been said that such an expression make us look like we hate driving and traveling, and I would add, riding a bus. Everyone is on their way somewhere, with a destination focus that by all appearances is not a happy place, like a root canal.  No one seems to be at liberty to enjoy the journey whatever the destination. I can only be thankful they are not behind the wheel of a car.

Bus drivers are interesting people to watch. There are, in my experience, two clearly definable ends of the spectrum. Drivers see themselves as providing an important public service of transport for humanity, or as being paid to drive a large vehicle, seeing passengers at bus stops as no more than hitchhikers.

The first verbally greets passengers with a smile as they enter the bus and waves as they depart. They watch in the rear view mirror that passengers have found a seat before starting off. They readily and willingly answer questions about bus routes to anxious passengers who are unfamiliar with the transit system. Riding the bus feels like a public service.

The second looks stolidly at my bus pass as I step on the bus. They give a small, curt nod of the head, as if they were border guards of a small dictatorship, granting a grudging admission. I pause for a split second, imagining that once on, I may not be allowed off.

Questions are typically answered in a minimalist manner, apparently being above and beyond the call of their duty. There is, after all, a transit website that one would be well advised to check before bothering the bus driver. Once on the bus, it is important to grab a support as quickly as possible before driver puts a foot abruptly to the accelerator causing the passenger to stumble off-balance down the aisle, hopefully into an empty seat.

Speculating on the personality of the driver is an added value of the experience for me. As I stand at the bus stop among other waiting passengers already vacant in “bus riding state”, I keep my own brain alive by wondering whether or not, on this day, I should be extending my thumb to get a ride. It is a coin toss if only I had one.

© C O P Y R I G H T   2 0 11.  Gary Holdgrafer ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.