The Runny Pen

There is nothing Americans dread more than taking the bus. If you travel to other countries, you’ll see lawyers and engineers and store owners and every other kind of person taking the bus or subway. Gas in Europe has been five bucks a gallon for decades so the idea of driving yourself to work just seems dumb. The Japanese love to get hammered free from the worry of a DUI ticket. But not here. There are zero rappers rhyming about the ego rush of public transportation. But I wish they did. “I claim the 75 Route to Milwaukie. Phyllis is the dopest driver in North Portland, fool!”  

I love not having to command the steering wheel or hunt for a parking spot (I’ve always detested parallel parking and parking garages. I also hate the sound of a ringing phone, pleated ‘Dockers’, purple beets on salads, the TV show “Lost” and the Jonas Brothers…but I digress).

I relax on the bus. I feel like a millionaire with a personal chauffeur. And nobody cuts you off in traffic when you ride the bus. If they did, you wouldn’t notice because you’d be reading your latest issue of Rolling Stone magazine, listening to Diana Krall or The Isley Brothers or System Of A Down on your iPod, checking out that attractive stranger with the backpack, making your seat available for the old woman with your grandmother’s smile, listening to a foreign language you can’t quite place, watching high school students whisper in each other’s ear or watching the insane janitor mumble to himself. (Anyway, nobody cuts-off a bus in traffic. It would be like a trout cutting off a whale. Even the HumVee driven by the angry man with the horribly small penis submits to a bus.)

When taking the bus, you just walk out your front door. That’s it, you’re done. You don’t have to heighten your skills in regards to spatial relationships. Beyond route selection you don’t have to navigate. You don’t warm your car’s engine, you don’t mentally struggle to recall if your insurance has lapsed or if you need gas. You just walk three or four blocks (sometimes less), hang-out on a corner and read your newspaper or call a friend on your cell phone. Sometimes you study the courting rituals of squirrels. Just when you smile at the breeze against your cheek and the meditative rhythm of the neighborhood drops your heart-rate, you hear those air brakes and your eyes rise as you dig into your pocket for fare.

You either get the friendly/helpful bus driver or a guy with a Basset-hound’s droop to his bloodshot eyes, someone whose resignation is way beyond the help of your optimism. The other negatives can be unruly teenagers or the socially uncomfortable twitches and smells of the destitute. The rare argument occurs between passengers but this is not the norm, I’ve only heard it happening once. Conversely, in my own truck, I’m not proud to say that I’ve experienced road rage so intense that I tried to fight a tailgater at the shoulder of the 101 freeway.

So please, put away your fears of rape and status and have an adventure within your city limits. Take a break and let someone else control the wheel. Feel good about reducing your carbon footprint and maybe even make a new friend. Liberation is only a few steps from home.