The Bus, Part I

To get to my job and classes at the University of Illinois, I drive to the commuter lot and take the bus from there. There are no more than two shuttle busses running (Route: 23Shuttle), so you have to wait no longer than 10 minutes for a bus to come. The ride itself lasts about ten minutes as well.

I am a bit of a control freak when it comes to getting from point A to point B. As such, I like my car. It does what I tell it, when I tell it to. I don’t have to pull a cord and ask my car to stop and let me off. There aren’t people in my car who converse loudly about how their cat threw up in their best pair of pumps at 4 a.m. Most importantly, I never have to wait in the rain or snow or ninety-five degree heat for ten full minutes for my car to come and pick me up. Yes, ten minutes is not a long time to have to wait, unless you have another hour and three-quarters yet to drive. Adding insult to this wait is the absolute fact (in my mind, anyway) that other bus routes are teaming up to demonstrate the inferiority of the 23Shuttle route. As I stand on the curb waiting to be taken back to my car, the air is thick with busses. My bus, however, is rarely among this swarming cloud of transportation. Before 23Shuttle comes even once, 22Illini, 26Pack, and 5NorthWestReddishBrownSuperDoubleExpress frequently stop twice each for pickups, their self-satisfied riders smirking at us commuter lot losers.

I am willing to apologize for some of the above peevishness, but only some of it. Yes, father-in-my-head, I am lucky and blessed that the U of I has a (semi-)free transportation service that makes my life easier. This blessed condition does not make shower-phobic guy sitting right next to me smell any better. Allow me my small complaints.

I suppose that there is an upside to this, which demonstrates one of life’s truths: hardship and reward often come from the same source. Because waiting ten-plus minutes in the sleet is no fun at all, waiting for zero minutes provides a small but real joy. To walk out of my building and arrive at the bus stop at the exact moment that 23West pulls up to the curb is a solid ending to a frequently boring workday, and it allows me to imagine that the bus is really a limousine sent solely for me. Allow me my small derangements.

The second part of the bus-waiting equation is music. Upon being given an iPod mp3 player (traveling personal soundtrack device), I decided that I would never again have to hear about anyone’s cat puke or similar. There is the argument that eavesdropping on the conversations of random strangers can provide entertainment, comedy, insight into the human condition, etc. I contend that this is not true at all, mainly because ninety-seven times out of one hundred, the lives of random strangers are as boring as an accountants convention. I find it much more relaxing and enjoyable to have my favorite music piped directly into my brainpan, simultaneously shutting out the blather and creating a soundtrack for the moment. Watching two secretaries yak about their day to the tune of Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” is infinitely more entertaining than hearing what they’re actually saying. Thank you, iPod, for allowing me to press the mute button when around the general public.

Don’t worry – I didn’t tell you about the bus simply to complain. I told you about the bus so that I could tell you about one particular incident that falls directly into the “I need to buy a camera cell phone” category. I’ll tell that story shortly. Thanks as always for your interest and your patience.


What are these people talking about? I'm not terribly interested.