Thursday, October 16, 2008

Riding the bus

When we bought our house in a woodsy, out-of-the-way neighborhood, I confirmed online that we were (theoretically) within reach of Washington-area public transportation. But I never actually tested that theory, until this morning. I did get to work -- but a trip that takes 30 minutes by bicycle, or 15 minutes by car... took nearly 2 hours. (I rode 2 buses (45min.); walked 1.5 miles (30min.), waited at curbs for 35min.; jaywalked across 2x6 rush-hour lanes; and climbed 2 grassy embankments.)

This was homework for that course I'm taking. So I tried to imagine what I would say if I got stopped for running across a divided highway buffeted by tractor-trailers: "Your honor, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all this has been happening to me because of this guy named Mark Scandrette ..." (source)

... who writes, "If Jesus lived in our day, I think he would take the bus." I thought about this as I rode, waited, walked, and bushwhacked. I also chuckled at the line from Repo Man, "I do my best thinking on the bus... The more you drive, the less intelligent you are." I recalled the daily bus rides I'd taken as a kid in Tunis and Casablanca; others in Boston, Atlanta, and Los Angeles; ... and how insulated I've become since then from buses and all that they represent.

I also thought of Joseph, a Togolese refugee who briefly lived with us a few years ago, and all the time he must have spent on buses getting from our house to places much further away (30 miles instead of my 6) in search of menial work, or signatures on forms. At one point I realized I'd taken the wrong bus and had to ask the bus driver for advice: I thought of Joseph's severely limited command of English, and how panicky this must have been for him. (And probably a frequent occurrence.) I felt sheepish at how much more we could've helped Joseph get around. More generally, I felt for those constrained to take buses across these far-flung suburbs -- inward along one "spoke" of the network, transferring once or twice to go back out along another spoke; hours spent each day just getting around.

As I stood waiting for the first bus (my feet hurting from my 1.2 mile walk in poorly-chosen shoes), dozens of cars whisked by in sleek efficiency -- door-to-door, no waiting. Through lightly tinted windows I saw their (usually sole) occupants and thought of their plush seats, precise climate controls, and glorious surround sound.... In my mind, every one of them seemed luxurious. Playing a have-not for a day: what could be more artificial? Yet I found myself wishing one of them would stop and give me a ride -- at least to my next bus..? Sharing their convenience, velocity, and comfort with me for a few minutes would cost them nothing, but it would completely make my day. From my curbside perspective this made so much sense that I fully expected one of them to slow down from 50mph, pull over to the curb, and invite me aboard.

Have mercy
Been waitin' for the bus all day
I got my brown paper bag and my take home pay

1 comment:

Mike Stavlund said...

Mark Scandrette is a menace to civilized society.