I wrote the following commentary in February half way through my eight month journey without a car. I hope you understand what I mean.



I’ve recently found myself traveling on the bus to and from work. The bus is a very interesting place filled with very interesting people going about their lives in various different directions all meeting on the bus or at the bus stop. If you get on the bus once (just because your car may be in the shop or for any reason at all) you might catch a glimpse of us, but you won’t fully appreciate our circumstances or our fraternity. Once you start a routine catching the same bus at the same stop at the same time day after day week after week you find that the faces on the bus are the same…they’re just people trying to get to work or appointments or the market. People just trying to live their lives in a city that demands you have a car and spits at you if you even think of walking anywhere.
You’ll see young and old, newbies and oldies, mothers and children and men whose wives pack their lunches before sending them off to labor. Some will smile and talk to you and others, like me, just observe their surroundings trying to figure out the stories behind the faces. Like why a woman would travel from Alhambra to Seal Beach on the bus each day…or why that mother is struggling to carry two toddlers and three bags of groceries. Because they have no choice! Most of the people I see on the bus come from a different country and more then not being about to afford a car, they just cannot understand the language or are just used to the simple ness of not having to fight traffic. Anyway you look at them you can see that this is a unique crowd of people.
And don’t forget about the drivers, they are as diverse as the commuters. Their stories, I assume, are as vivid and colorful as the little Asian woman who runs to meet the bus and only stays on for two stops. The earlier the time the less you see. Because really how many teens do you see on a bus at 6 in the morning? It’s mostly just us, those of us stranded in this city without a car and without the money to fix our old ones or purchase a new one.
The evening commute brings a different kind of bus rider, the tired and hungry or the loud and angry, whatever way you look at it. The evening is the time to find conflict and the ultimate despair. From couples fighting to women who just need to rest their feet it’s more of a chore to ride the bus after the workday ends. You’ve seen the start of your week and can only long for the day you can sleep in and maybe get a ride from a friend or family member. But before you can think it’s Monday again and back to the bus, back to the early evening of sad dullness that leads to a sad night of sleep.
Think back and remember the days of the school bus. That wasn’t so bad, packed with people you knew, whether you hated them or not, you knew who they were and you talked…you talked so loud that at times the driver would have to yell to get you and your fellow students to quiet down. The bumps in the road would be celebrated with cheers and an unexpected drop would signal a gasp of applause. Those were the days when you looked forward to your destination, the days when it was all simple enough to be a field trip to the zoo or the museum, not just another day at work. Sometimes I sit on my bus and watch the teens board remembering my delightful ignorance and my past friends longing for a friend to chat with on my 45-minute journey. Too bad talking to our imaginary friends in public isn’t deemed very sane. Isn’t that what we all need though? A friend to talk to and chat with, not at 6:25 am when you might say the darndest thing and not be able to stop yourself from sticking both feet in your mouth. So we politely choose to read or talk, look out our windows or casually look around at our fellow passengers, we count cars and watch the signs go by, but ultimately we are just riding on to our destinations quietly moving through life wishing our days didn’t have to start so early and end so late.