A Commute Worth Speaking Of

I now make an effort to keep to myself the mundane details of my own exploits, and instead write about matters of greater interest to a broader range of people. Sometimes, however, those exploits are too interesting to not tell. Such was the case with my commute out to the east side of town last Thursday. Typically, this trip bears mentioning only in passing as a trivial status update, but once in a while, trips made via public transportation are truly remarkable.

It began as I struggled to end a pleasant conversation with a friend so that I might get going and not be late for the plans I had made. I have no small amount of difficulty ending such calls before the party on the other end is through speaking their piece. I rushed from my building to get to the stop, and found there was no hurry after all. In fact, I had another very nice conversation with a neighbor, with this one being regrettably terminated when I got off at the subway station and he continued on.

The train ride which constitutes the middle of this regular trip of mine was uneventful, for which I suppose I may be grateful. I recall I did some reading, and thought about what I would be doing when I reached my destination. Now, things picked up once I got on the final link of the chain, the number 79 bus. It's always the same driver: a seemingly kindly elderly lady who must have some hidden reserve of toughness to manage her duties as bus driver. I got on, swiped my pass, and moved to the back as I am wont to do.

Sitting across from me most of the trip was an interesting pair of persons. I don't believe in assumptions, so I'll just say what I noticed, about which I am not mistaken: They, two young women, were especially fond of each other. It made paying attention to my book challenging. Adding intrigue to the matter was that which weighed on their minds: gambling. They spoke at length about some manner of bet which they had made or would be making. It was a fresh reminder that there is inevitably more to each person you encounter than some quality which leads you to generalize on stereotypes.

After that incident, I got to the destination and enjoyed a great improv class, not to mention the company of those attending it. More interesting, though, was what transpired upon its conclusion. One attendee volunteered to take me as far as my bus stop, and I gladly accepted. I realized that my bus would not be coming for half an hour, so I went exploring the neighborhood, which I usually see only from that stop and the window of the bus that picks me up at it. After walking for a number of blocks, I stopped in at a grocery store and bought a loaf of French bread and a soda.

After reaching the nearest bus stop served by my bus, I made the acquaintance of a man who had been waiting for over an hour before I came along. The bus scheduled prior to the one I was awaiting apparently never came. This happens, and yet this experienced Metro patron was most shocked and exasperated. Disengaging from conversation from him was as much a relief as it was a trial. I especially found it hard to explain improv to him when he got curious about what I was doing in that area of town.

The next chapter of this story involved the driver of this bus. The way that line works is that, because it runs all night, it has the responsibility of picking people up at the final stop served by a shortened version of another bus line that ends at the time I am heading home. It's important that the driver communicate with either his superiors or the driver of the other bus, or what happened this time could happen. Without explanation, our driver pulled over, and just waited. He waited for what seemed like an awfully long time, gradually explaining the situation and acting mystified that the other bus was not there. He made no effort to ascertain its location or reason for not being where he expected. We ultimately found out that he had, unknowingly, already picked up the passengers from that bus, which was long gone. I shortly thereafter got off at Union Station.

While exiting the bus, the soda I had bought slipped out of my plastic grocery bag. While holding my precious cell phone and my backpack, I bent down to retrieve it from where it came to rest- against the feet of a stranger. It was badly shaken. Then, after stepping off the bus (always a kind of exhilarating experience when one considers the chore of parking a car), I dropped it several more times. The soda would be fine and was of no consequence, but I felt more anxiety shakes when thinking about the potential injuries my brand new smart phone might have suffered as I labored to save a soda worth less than two dollars.

I got on the train, and experienced nothing worth noting most of the way. As the train approached North Hollywood Station, I listened with some interest along with my fellow riders as the driver repeatedly warned us to get ready to exit. Now, I had seen previous to that night a great deal of non-descript equipment arranged around the North Hollywood Red Line station, but was unable to identify any of it and thought no more about the subject. This time, however, I could not let it go once I saw what was now there on the platform. Evidently, some film or television production had contracted with Metro to film there inside the station, for the interior was littered with all the trappings and detritus of a film set (with which I'm fairly familiar). I studied what was in evidence intently on my way out, but learned nothing more.

As I rose to the Earth's surface on the escalator, I was delighted to see the bus which began it all waiting for me. When this happens, it's the most convenient outcome imaginable, because for me it is akin to narrowly avoiding a deadly accident while driving. When the danger passes, one exhales deeply, and, his shoulders slumped, begins shaking with anxiety over reflection on the tragedy that might have been. There was no anxiety this time, perhaps because I was giddy with fatigue. It was crowded, being the last bus of the night. Just as it reached my stop, I encountered an acqaintance, with whom I discussed science fiction and children's literature briefly. I then entered my domicile, and the day came to a close. My cogitations about the goings-on were only beginning, however, and pay off here now with this post.