She-Rider

Taking the bus puts me into closer contact with people than other people I know. They are, however, not all that often people I would choose to be around. Generally when I am waiting for the bus, I am either alone or in the presence of people to whom I have nothing to say. I do my thing, which probably is either listening to music or reading. They do their thing, about which I cannot credibly speak. This is fine.

Every once in a long while, it's different. This is not because I run into someone I know. That happens with the subway, but the bus rider is a different breed. This is far more likely to be someone who depends entirely on public transportation for their mobility. No more than one or two friends of mine are like that. No, circumstances change because of that rare commodity, the cool bus rider. I see them on buses, but seldom do they seem to get on from the stops that I do.

Of course I wouldn't be writing if I hadn't come across what I figure to have been a cool bus rider. My estimation of her wasn't harmed any by her willingness to speak to me or her looks. I had rushed out of the house in a wild panic to catch a bus. I was fortunate enough that it was running a bit late, but not too late for me to catch my connection. In a mere moments-long exchange, we good-naturedly commiserated over our shared condition.

I must re-iterate that this is terribly uncommon. Even when I'm moved to speak to a fellow rider, it seldom goes anywhere, or it goes much too far. They have little to say in response to my extension of goodwill, or they have so much to say that I'm unable to do what I meant to do with the time on my way to where I'm going. With this girl, I spoke to her, and she spoke back words that were not odious or obnoxious. I didn't see how to keep it going once the bus came, though. I wish I had managed.