So bus #11 runs right by my apartment building. I didn’t know that fact when I first moved in and nor did I care back then but flash forward to today and my choice of apartments looks pretty well thought out (almost like I knew I would do something stupid to be in a situation that required regular use of the public transit system…?) Anyway, the bus stop location is pretty convenient and the schedule is relatively consistent but just taking that bus by itself won’t get me to my final destination – for that I need to string another 2 buses together (or just one additional bus if I’m up for some walking). I don’t mind changing buses partly because it’s sort of the like a time based game – will #11 get to the bus station before #35 leaves… (oh the drama) and as long as the answer is “yes”, I usually feel pretty good and chock up a little mental “win” for myself. When the answer is “no” I feel like the entire planet is against me – as if every car on the road that day slowing down traffic or every bus rider who pulled the cord for a stop were collectively plotting against me and my quest to be on time. I get so pissed that it’s comical – really it’s ridiculous, especially because I could have avoided all the stress and anxiety by very simply leaving the house a few minutes earlier. Easy as that. BUT that is not how I view it at the time – all I see is my precious ride #35 blowing clouds of black smoke as it high tails it away from me at what seems like lightspeed. In my mind I picture all the riders high-fiving each other as they motor down the road… those bastards.
But in reality the “lucky” riders who made it onto Bus #35 are not high fiving (nor are they wearing little party hats like I also sometimes imagine). In fact, they are most certainly sitting separately from one another in complete silence or at least as much silence as a 15 year old city bus can provide… #35 is basically a rolling crash box, every nut and bolt creaks and groans like the bus was assembled 30 years ago by a pre-schooler with plastic tools. Interestingly enough after months of riding I have become a bus “aficionado” in some sense. The buses on #11 are usually the newer, cleaner and quieter ones while routes #35 and #78 get the scraps of the fleet –buses that are about one oil change from the big junkyard in the sky. The new ones are labeled (very, very obviously) as HYBRID. The still run on diesel and still produce a decent amount of noise & black smoke, so I’m not sure how efficient they really are but they have to be better for the environment than the old ones (plus their seats aren’t as sticky). The newer buses also have improved ingress and egress as the floors are lower to the ground than the older ones. I also dig their fancy high intensity head lights (I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who is actually geeky enough to notice a detail like that but I’m ok with that) and the lighting is generally improved throughout. Needless to say the newer buses also have less graffiti. Oh, and carvings (… why do people always carve up public property? It’s not like you can carve your name on a bus seat and claim that you own it). The reduced amount of human induced torture helps considerably with the overall generally cleaner feel of the newer ones. Like I said, I’ve become quite the bus connoisseur since this whole adventure began… so I got that going for me – which is nice.
Anyway, I’ve been debating which screw-up story to tell first. After all, the first story could set the tone for the entire series (and believe me, there is a series of screw ups to review) so I don’t want to set expectations too high (like starting off with one of my best stories involving having to retrieve my fake ID from a strip club with my parents on a Monday morning) nor set it too low (really, who doesn’t have a “showed up at the bar with wood chips on my back because I stopped on the way to lie down to listen to a cool song” story? Obviously I was a few drinks in at that point – why would a completely sober person stop at any point to lie down to rest in a random mulch bed? If they were having a heart attack, maybe, but even that sounds a bit moronic).
So I guess that’s what I need to work on now; where to start? Let me think about it and get back to you…
icarusridesthebus 
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