Kolina and the bus.

Whoa dudes, a gal I know in real life from her patronage of the tattoo shop has kindly offered to share this bus horror story with the world. Lucky you! Meet Kolina:

Here is her story:

I work directly downtown and take a bus that often picks of partiers and drunkards, so I'm used to the occasional, "Oh dear god, really?" moment. However, what I experienced nary two moons ago on my bus was something for the record books.

I was waiting for my bus after work when two shabby, obviously hammered young ladies zoomed past me screaming bloody murder. One was chasing the other and calling her name repetitively. As if that wasn't irritating enough, they stopped and sat down directly next to me despite the fact that there was plenty of room left on the bench to sit so that they weren't practically on my lap. I gave a glare and a scoot and then noticed the smell. They absolutely reeked of wine, beer, and probably the sewer they had been spawned in.

Lovely bus buddy number one was wearing what appeared to be a child's pyjama bottoms and a white tank top stained with what I could only imagine was the alcohol that was now seeping through her system. She kept reeling and seemed to be having trouble focussing her bleary eyeballs. Her name was Jessica. I knew this because her friend kept shout-slurring it at her, trying to keep her conscious. Lovely bus buddy number two was considerably more sober, but still sloppy. Like I said, she just kept shouting Jessica's name as the latter flopped about on the bench as I cringed. Considering her condition, I figured it was possible that Jessica would woof her cookies at some point. When the bus came, I made an effort to get on first so I could hide near the front of the bus next to some kind old woman and avoid the carnage. Unfortunately the bus was full, as it often is, and I ended up having to sit at the back.

The drunks followed me. Of course.

At the back of Victoria buses, the seats sometimes face each other, as if you're sitting at a diner with people you would never want to share a table with. Beside is a last bench at the back of the bus which is partially blocked in at the ends by the side facing seats. This is relevant to later, I promise. I sat in one of the side facing seats and Jessica and Drunky #2 sat across from me and slightly left. Jessica continued to reel, her friend continued to shout at her. Four stops away, I was looking at other passengers and making a, "This isn't going to end well, is it?" face. I was putting my hand on the bar beside me, about to stand and go inform the driver that he had a ticking time bomb in his care, when it happened.

 In slow motion (I swear it was slow motion), Jessica put both her hands over her mouth. I said, out loud, "OH FUCK" and then there was vomit everywhere. It came out between her fingers in a continuous five second spray. Despite the fact that I was completely disgusted, I had to admire that it was quite the display of vomit prowess.

If I had been six inches closer and slightly more to the left I would have had her wine tainted vomit in my lap. As luck would have it (if we can involve luck in this situation), I wasn't, so I just got a light spray of stomach juices on the hem of my pants. The reaction was immediate. The bus pulled to a stop and there was a mass exodus from the area I was sitting in. A girl that was pinned between the side facing seats and the very back simply looked on in horror and covered her mouth. Before I made my escape (it was every man and woman for them selves at that point), I shouted, "JUST JUMP THE BARF." Vomit Titanic.

And then, sweet sweet fresh air. Unfortunately Jessica, now covered in her own chunks, and her friend followed in a trail of shame and beer stench. Jessica flopped into the grass and just sat there while her friend screamed, "Oh my GAWD, oh my GAWD, Jessica! Are you ok?" as if her bellows would help the fact that myself and a few other passengers were now covered in a mist of puke.

I couldn't handle the stench radiating from my new barf friends - I bolted. I called my mother and begged her to talk about anything but sick until I reached the stop a few blocks away.

A few horrified text messages and Facebook statuses later, I caught the next fresh smelling bus and was revelling in the peace and non-vomit quiet when, six stops from home, Jessica and her friend tried to board my bus. Again. Luckily for me and everyone else in the transit world, the driver was smart enough to notice that they were reeking of vomit and couldn't find their "TRANSFERRRRRZZZZZZZzzzzz." He barred them from riding and I nearly hugged him. As it was, when he reached my stop I thanked him and gave him a short break down of the horror film I had been a part of that evening. "No way!" he shouted. "No way!" "Yes way, my friend," I replied. "Yes way."

And then, guns blazing, I took off into the night, ready to fight my next transit battle.

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Yeah hahahaha that's the bus. Thank you Kolina for sharing your story. If you want to see more of her, she literally JUST started a blog, so go here and check it out.

If you have a public transit story you'd like to share, please do. You can email it to me at novaisawesome at gmail dot com. :)

the oh so interesting bus stop **updated - now with pictures**

I did end up looking in the sketch book and it was just ugly sketches of furniture. So weird. The suitcase was really cool, if only it hadn't been filled with underwear (????) I might have taken it.

Also recently a man at a bus stop stared at my chest for an uncomfortably long time and then asked me if I had a tattoo of a dragon there. A dragon? Really?

And then that evening a crazy person was listening to super loud hiphop, like not even using headphones, and straight up headbanging to it with sunglasses on. For forty five minutes. I tried to ignore him by turning my music up and looking out the window but I could see his reflection! Raaa!

I know I said I say things to people when they're being idiots but not when they are clearly on drugs and would probably just punch me in the neck. Ah the bus.

***UPDATE***

I may not have instagram but I hardly ever leave home without a camera. Unfortunately my bus came as I was shooting, and I was trying to make the pictures not just look like ... pictures of piles of garbage at the bus stop so I only got these two photos but still...you get the point.

triptych: trees and sky. And a bus story 'cause it's been a while.

I know trees and sky are boring but I really love these three photos and wanted to share.

 So for the story...I wrote about this on Twitter just after it happened but nobody even responded. I swear, this is true. I was sitting on the bus in a window seat and this young construction worker guy came and sat down in the seat next to me. I was feeling really quiet and tired that morning and just wanted to listen to my 'on the go' playlist and stare out the window. 

He tapped me on the shoulder and said something that I did not hear. 

I did a big dramatic sigh and took out my earbuds. "What?"

"What are you listening to?"

"Uh...Iggy Pop."

"What?"

"IGGY POP"

"Oh. So ... do you like music from that era then?"

"Um...yes?"

Okay, that was a good stopping point, I thought. I put my earbud back in and turned back to the window. But then... tap tap tap. I turned angrily and kept listening to music, hoping he'd get the hint. He said something I couldn't quite make out. So I pulled out my earbud again. 

"Pardon me?" I said, because I've noticed that if I say "excuse me?" or "pardon me?" in a teacher voice it scares most people who are being idiots. I use it when I'm angry and it totally works.

"Can I listen to Iggy Pop too?" He asked, gesturing to the earbud I was holding in my hand. Which was just stuck in my freaking  ear canal.

"Um. NO." I laughed, and went back to my window staring. 

Then he started yell-talking at me super aggressively. And, okay, not cool, but also ridiculous. And this was a full-ass bus. I'm sure half the people were listening to this exchange and/or recording it on their iPhones. 

"OH SO IGGY POP IS JUST FOR YOU THEN? NO IGGY POP FOR ME? IT'S ONLY FOR YOU?" 

I said yes it is, and ignored him for the rest of the thirty minutes he insisted on sitting beside me. Talk about awkward. For him. I didn't care. So now anyway every time Iggy Pop or the Stooges songs come on anywhere I'm always telling people not to listen because it's just for me. I think it's funny anyway.

My bus tweets. Again. Already. Things just keep happening. The first two go together.

(click here to see the video, there's a better visual at 1:07ish actually)

 

Welcome to my world. At least nobody stole my teeth though, amirite?

The worst bus story of all-time.

 Painting by Tiffany Liu.

OH NO YOU GUYS do you want to read the creepiest bus story ever ever ever? It was sent in from a lovely lady (who didn't want any credit) and I can't even...

Just click here to read it. Nightmares. Because WHATTHEFUCK

A positive spin on public transit by Sarah.

Our next bus story comes from Sarah. She keeps a blog on her transit experiences, and says "I have to admit ... most of my stories are kind of all about the Public Transit lovin'. I really loved taking the bus, and thoroughly miss it. The types of people I met were always interesting, even when they were really fucking crazy. Actually, ESPECIALLY when they were really fucking crazy..."

So pretty much, she's like, the bravest person on earth.  Take it away, Sarah!

---

Ernie

From late 2009:

I met a man named Ernie today on the 33 Fremont bus. I was heading home from dropping off a rental truck with a friend, and I was still tired and headachy from my cold. The bus was almost empty, other than two woman up front and one man in the very back. I sat in the back, close to the door, far enough away that I thought conversation with the man in the back would be impossible, as I'd seen him looking at me as I got on the bus.

Well, far away conversation is not in fact impossible for those willing to yell. He loudly told me I work at Safeway. I looked back and shook my head. He then loudly told me I work at another grocery store. I looked back again and said no. He caught my eye, stared at me for a couple seconds, and when I turned away again, he loudly asked me if I had a good heart. He had a strong Jamaican accent, and was yelling, so I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. So I asked him to repeat himself. He asked again if I had a good heart. I just looked at him for bit, and said "I'm not sure. I think so."

"AHHH!!! You're not sure!" he yelled "But you THINK you have a good heart!".

"Well," I said "I don't really think you can be sure. I mean, if I was sure I had a good heart, do you really think I'd have a good heart?"

This caused a giant laugh to swell from his chest, and I mean giant. The man sucked all the air on the bus into his prodigious lungs and expelled it in the loudest laugh I've ever heard. He then got up and came closer, sitting down right behind me. This prompted a muttered "Shit" from me and a frantic searching for my headphones and MP3 player. Before I could get them safely in place, though, he started a conversation.

"So", he says, "You're pretty, but if you don't have a good heart I'm not really interested in you"

"Oh yeah? Well, I might not have a good heart. I mean, I'm not sure, and while I think I do I could just be delusional."

"Well, I'm not always cheerful. This might be a freak moment of cheerfulness for all you know. I could be an incredibly gloomy person."

"No. You're cheerful. I can tell. You smile alot. And you're laughing at me instead of running screaming into the safety of your headphones."

With a guilty start I look down at the headphones clutched in my hand. "Yes, well... what's your name?"

"Ernie"

"Hi Ernie, I'm Sarah."

We talked for a bit, then. It turns out he's the owner of a shop I pass all the time, called New Born Tribe. It's a very Rasta shop, and I've never been in. When I confessed this, he proceeded to make fun of me. "Oh, yes. It's all the black men in dreadlocks. I can see why a little girl like you wouldn't want to go in. It's a pretty scary place. You don't know what we do in there."

Instead of the giant FUCK YOU this deserves, I say "Well, from the look and smell of it, I'd say you sell music, clothes, African flags, and lots and lots of incense. And probably a pipe or two." (I refrain from saying "And a misplaced sense of pride in an identity that most of you will never understand." I don't like Rasta very much.)

This prompts another GIANT laugh, and he tells me I have to come by and see what it's like. I say I will. He then invites me to a reggae show he's putting on at a club down the street from my house.

Now, this club is probably the last bastion of blackness in my neighborhood. It is the only place in this area that I still see a consistent sea of young black men out in front of. It's also rowdy, loud, and has a reputation for getting violent on the weekends. But, the show he's inviting me to is on a Tuesday, and I'm about to say I'll go when he starts teasing me for my hesitation. He starts carrying on a conversation with himself, pretending to be me in my own head.

"Hmm..." he says, "This old black dude is inviting me out. He's pretty sexy, maybe I'll have a hot date. But I don't know... this could be scary. Maybe I'll bring my friends. Yes. That's what I'll do. I'll bring some friends and it'll be nice and safe. I'll go hang out with the black people, and listen to this sexy dude singin' some good reggae, and it'll be scary but I'll have fun."

I'm laughing hysterically at this point, because you can tell this guy is making fun of every little white girl in his head, but he's trying to make it sound like a good idea to me at the same time. It's barbed humor, because he's making fun of me, but it's actually pretty close to what I was thinking, minus the racial stereotyping. I'm charmed in spite of myself. I tell him I will be there, and that yes, I will be bringing friends. We shake hands and he gets off the bus.

So, I head up to the front of the bus to ask the bus driver about my stop, and stay up there to chat for a bit. The bus driver is an older black man, tubby and tired looking, but with a very sweet face.
He looks at me in the mirror and says "So. Were you just being nice?"

"Excuse me?"

"You really going to hang out with that dude? Or were you just being nice?"

"Uhh... I said I was going to, and I most likely will. Why?"

"No reason. Just wonderin' what a girl like you is doin' talking to a man like that. How do you know if he's nice or not?"

"I don't. Why? Do you know something I don't?"

"I'm just sayin'. He might not be nice. How do you know?"

"All I know is what people tell me. He seems nice, and that's all I've got to go on. He's charming."

"Oh, well, charming. You be careful, young lady."

Now, I don't know this dude from adam. I've never been on his bus before. And now he's lecturing me. This leads me to think he knows something about this Ernie character, so I try to pump him for some more info. Nothing. Eventually it comes out that "girl like you" = white, and "guy like him" = black. Which makes me sad. It's not that this guy is prejudiced. He just honestly doesn't think I could possibly be interested in getting to know this person. We chatted for a bit longer, and I got off the bus feeling invigorated by the conversation. It's so rare that people come right out and challenge both their own preconceived ideas and yours. It was interesting.

---

Thank you so much Sarah, I really enjoyed reading this! If you liked this post, let Sarah know in the comments, I'm sure she'd appreciate it. Also, don't forget to check out her Portland bus blog here.

If you want to share any bus or public transit stories here, whether they're good or bad, please email me at novaisawesome at gmail dot com. 

lately on my bus...

Here are some true tales of my bus rides in the past week...as told by me on Twitter.

Hating the bus goes global: Melbourne, Australia

This next post is by Christine. She says she has no photos of herself at all, so let's just all imagine she looks like this. 

(Bettie Page photo by Bunny Yeager)

Anyway, here's what Christine has to say about public 'transport' in Australia. Enjoy! 

--- 

In Melbourne we have Trams, Trains and Buses. We also call it “Public Transport” 

Trams are giant, rattling sardine cans made to run slowly and make you late for everything, even when you leave an hour early. They are usually always packed full of people and you have a high likelihood of standing for the whole way or if you are lucky enough to get a seat, be glared at the entire way by someone standing or get bags, small children, other people or your seat neighbour to fall on you as the tram driver takes another corner way too fast. A high percentage of crazies take the  trams. 

I avoid buses like the plague because the drivers have a strict schedule they must meet so they usually tailgate, go too fast and stop too suddenly and most of the time the streets the buses are allocated are too small for the bus, or even two cars side by side. Not as many crazies because the bus drivers make sure everyone has a ticket.

Trains are the best place to meet the crazies. One morning I was on my usual train when a man decided the best thing he could do that morning was explain loudly to the train about how a sports ground in a nearby suburb was built upon marshes in the dark ages. Really riveting stuff… When he got told to shut up he abused the train with the words “I am a free citizen and I must educate the masses” or words to that effect and then abused the people who told him to shut the hell up for the next 20 or so minutes.

If you visit Melbourne please make sure you have headphones, music and preferably a drivers licence because public transport is not something tourists should see. 

Not that anyone, including the locals can work out the system anyway.

Its all character building right? 

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It is all character building, isn't it? I must have loads of character by now. Anyway, if you enjoyed this, please let Christine know in the comments. And if you have any advice or stories about public transit transport, please email me at novaisawesome at gmail dot com. I'd love to share your story!

Hating the bus goes global: Chicago, USA

Meet Malori. She's one of us. She takes the train. These are her stories.

My  name is Malori and I’m a student in Chicago, Illinois.  My main mode of transportation is the “L” which is our elevated subway system.  I’ve lived here for almost three years and in my time on the trains and busses I’ve experienced some seriously odd sights, sounds, and smells.  Rather than sharing one story I thought I’d share my top 5 best public transit stories of all time.  Going in order from least offensive to most offensive—let’s kick things off, shall we?!

This is how the “L” looks--image source

5) For number five I simply want to draw attention to the way the subway smells: sort of a mix between high-powered cleaning supplies, drunk-person vomit/piss, old food, and sweat.  Some cars are worse than others but for the most part it is a seriously unappealing smell.  My freshman year of school I went on a field trip with one of my classes.  We hopped on a train and suddenly realized that a woman sitting in the car had peed… All. Over. The. Train.  At the next stop we leapt over the puddle of urine and into the next car over.  I showered immediately when I got back to my apartment.

4) The train is not always reliable.  Sometimes trains fall behind schedule or have to run express due to overcrowding.  Earlier this year I waited for a train home from work for at least 30 minutes.  Three trains on the tracks heading the opposite direction came and left in the time I was waiting.  I finally got on and we went ONE STOP before the conductor announced the train would be running express to a stop that was WAY farther than I needed to go.  After all of that waiting I ended up having to walk home.

3) Public transportation gets REALLY crowded during the summer in Chicago.  This is a problem because everyone is already sweating and miserable from the crazy humid weather we have then we’re crushed like sardines into the train cars, which just exacerbates the problem.  Over the summer I was heading home from some shopping and decided I’d rather take the train than walk the few miles home.  I squeezed onto a car and waited until we reached my stop.  The whole ride I kept feeling like the guy behind me was WAY too close but it’s difficult to tell if someone is being creepy or if there really just isn’t any space so I decided not to say anything.  Finally, the train got to my stop.  As I went to step off, the man behind me took the opportunity to full-on grab my ass.  Apparently he thought it was totally okay because I couldn’t see who he was.  This is not the only time someone has groped me on the train.

2) Sometimes the “L” doesn’t take me where I need to go and I have to hop on the real train (the “choo-choo” variety).  This is a different experience than the “L” because it’s generally more quiet, people have a bit more space, and have to stay on for longer.  This train is called the Metra in Chicago—I have to take it when I visit my brother who goes to school about an hour outside of the city.  One night my roommate and I were heading back downtown on the Metra after spending some time at my brother’s school.  We got on and sat down on the upper-level across the aisle from a guy who was loudly rapping.  Not long after sitting down, the rap-star wannabe makes his way over to our seats.  He gets too close to me, says something incomprehensible, then sits on my lap and puts his arm around me.  Ummm… who does that?  Seriously?

My roommate and I had been drinking so rather than helping me, she is laughing so hard she cannot breathe.  As this stranger sits on my lap, he begins to tell me about the music he is rapping to which sounds something like this, “mother fucking nigga bitch…”  After a couple minutes he attempts to put one of his headphones in my ear so I can listen along.  I am really grossed out by other people’s headphones and there is NO way a stranger is putting their headphone into my ear.  I keep pointing to the empty seat in front of me and asking if he’d like to get off my lap.  Rap-star is having none of it—apparently my lap is far more comfortable than the empty seat.  For the next 25 minutes he stays on my lap rapping to me and attempting to put his headphones in my ears.  I spent those minutes trying to get him off of my lap and blocking his attempts to make me listen to his music.  Finally he stands up, tells me to have a nice night, and goes on his way.  I don’t even have words to explain how ridiculous the entire experience was.  This also resulted in an immediate shower upon returning to my apartment.  Some people are crazy…

1) My number one story is actually my dad’s story.  My dad comes up to visit my brother and I quite often and is no stranger to horrible public transit experiences.  One night he was riding the Metra from Chicago to the suburbs that house my brother’s school.  A white woman sat down on the train next to a black gentleman.  Apparently she wasn’t happy with her seating options so she pulled the conductor aside and complained about having to sit next to someone who is black.  This woman must not have been to bright because the conductor she was complaining to was also black.  Also, it’s no longer the 1800’s…  I’m 100% sure that sitting next to someone who is black is no different than sitting next to someone who is white/purple/yellow/brown/teal/etc.  If you’re racist and refuse to sit next to someone who is a different color than you, drive.  She failed to realize that she’s an idiot and continued to complain to the conductor.  At the next stop, they politely asked her to get off of the train.  If I was the conductor, I can’t say I would have been so polite…

So those are my top five public transit horror stories.  It’s not all bad but it’s definitely not something I enjoy doing.  I’m so happy to have had the chance to share with all of you!  I can’t wait to read the other posts from ladies who also hate public transit—these stories always crack me up.

To hear more from me, stop by my blog Sunday Morning Sugar.  I cook, craft, and dress all fancy-like even though I don’t do many fancy things.  It’s good times all around!

HAHAHA wow. Thanks Malori! 

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If you want to participate in the public transit hate-fest, have any stories to share, have any tips for surviving the bus or just want to vent, please email me at novaisawesome(at)gmail(dot)com.

Hating the bus goes global: SCOTLAND

 Meet Amii. She's one of us. A bus rider. Here is her story.

 

 I live in Central Scotland, in a town between Edinburgh and Glasgow, and outside Stirling. Being beside these major cities, you'd assume the public transport services would be efficient? WRONG. At even the slightest hint of snow or gales the service operators freak out and close everything down. This March, after a really bad winter, we went into total shutdown because the RAIN was heavy. You'd think, considering Scotland's infamous reputation for having four seasons in one day half the time, we'd be used to this and have solutions? Nope.

 So, now I've painted you a lovely picture of where I live, imagine this; I'm standing at a bus stop, in the pouring rain, wind blowing spray into my face, trying to hide under the measly bus shelter, waiting on another bus. Yes, another, as the first one decided waiting for a girl with a pram and screaming, tired baby was just too much and drove past me, and the second switched his 'Not In Service' flag on two minutes before he rolled past. 

 I've already come off another bus to come up to the town centre, and that took me from my 'lovely' little temporary housing flat in the middle of Junkiesville, after I'd waited at the stop 20 minutes listening to two men drunkenly square up to eachother on a Wednesday afternoon, a toddler repeatedly shouting 'SHIT, MUM, LOOK, I'M SAYING SHIT, SHIT CAT, SHIT HOUSE, SHIT DOG, BABY SHIT' or something to that effect, while his mother blabbered away on her phone ignoring him - not that the bus ride was much better, as unfortunately I got stuck next to a handsome fella we nicknamed Captain Gid Hat Glasses Man. (See dictionary definition of 'gid' here; http://gid.urbanup.com/755050, used sarcastically of course...)

 Captain Gid Hat Glasses Man (let's call him Cap'n Specs for short) is an obese, smelly, dirty chap who always wears the same bobble hat with llamas knitted onto it, the same filthy red cardigan, bright green glasses, and trousers that are too big that bare his hairy arse crack, which is always speckled with something I HOPE is dirt. Even breathing through my mouth, I could still feel myself retching because all I can smell is BO, burnt onions and poop. My little boy screamed the whole half hour bus journey, and Phone Woman's little boy is still cursing at the top of his lungs. 

 Back to the beginning of the tale now; I'm still at the bus stop. I'm getting more and more pissed off as time goes on, as cars pass, and as my son screams louder. Nothing's calming him down. Eventually, the bus turns up, and the usual process happens; the driver doesn't lower the bus, I struggle to lift the pram on, the bus driver scowls and mutters under his breath after I pay my fare in 20 pence coins, and an elderly woman grumbles about prams taking up disabled spaces (don't get me started, I've fought with this woman over this matter before!). I'm yet again wondering why I'm making this bloody godforsaken journey to my mum's house for dinner, and thinking murderous thoughts about the junkie who's clearly going through his gear in a black bag across from me - it's almost the exact same nightmare every time, like a really bad, expensive recurring dream.

 As we reach the village, the junkie sits next to me. I can practically smell the methadone rolling off him. He comes up close, and then hooks his fingers through my tunnel in my ear and yanks it, pulling me with it, and slurs, "So, wha'ssat fur? Puttin' bottle caps through?"

 Enough is enough, I storm to the front and throw us off the bus, buggy and all, even though my mum's house is still a 15 minute walk away. As I walk, I can feel the frustrations of the day building up, and my eyes tear up. I stop to rest on a wall, put the pram's brakes on, and throw my face into my hands, ready to burst into tears. I feel a little tug on my sleeve, and look up. My little boy is looking at me, his bright blue-green eyes are filled with curiosity and his little button nose is scrunched up as if he's concentrating.

 "What's up, baby boy?" I ask, trying to calm myself. He thinks a little more, looks around, then beams at me as he utters his first word, which makes the day's awful journey with those horrible people, the money problems, and the sadness melt away.

 "Mummy!"

Hurrah!

 One of the worst and best days of my life!

You can find Amii's blog here and she's also on twitter. 

Thanks for sharing, Amii! :) 

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If you want to participate in the global public transit hate-fest, if you have a funny bus story, or any tips and tricks to surviving the proletariot chariot, email me at novaisawesome(at)gmail(dot)com. I'd love to hear your story.

HATING THE BUS GOES GLOBAL

A little introduction is in order for this post I belive. Remember about a week and a half ago I wrote this? If you're too lazy to click through it's that post about the idiots on my bus. Well one of the comments on that post was all like:

And then I was all like:

 And then it was like:

And she really did! I didn't think it would actually happen but she did! :) This made my week and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Her writing is like poetry! So, without further adieu, allow me to introduce ... Soumashree's bus experience!

Greetings!

I live in Kolkata. Or Calcutta as it was known earlier. It probably leads the list of the most populated cities of the world and is officially the rich West's charity outpost. No, I dont always talk like this. Heh heh.

So, bus rides, eh?

Buses are THE transport here. Everyone uses them. If you're out n the road and happen to be sticking your arm out, be warned a bus will stop in front of you. Which brings me to the most important bus phenomenon here... though there are a million designated bus stop and though bus drivers are fined if they stop outside the stations, buses will stop anywhere and everywhere in this city. Which brightens the situation for those needing a bus but makes it horrible for those on the bus who cherish the desire to reach somewhere.

Second, we're always standing. Buses actually have more standing space than seats and owing to the man count of this subcontinent, there are even people hanging out of gates during the peak office hours.

Sometimes, while I am jostling in the middle of one man who wants nothing as much as to brush his arm against by right breast and another who is artfully aligning himself so he can peep into my cleavage, I hear and see things which make all this worthwhile. Topping the list are people who speak over the phone. They don't need to. They speak loud enough for the other person to hear them without a phone. The lies they speak are quite entertaining. They're at meetings, at hospitals, or (and this is the crowd favourite) just five minutes away from a place which is actually no less than an hour away.

Endless battles ensue between endless hoards of men and women. Some people find a backpack very offensive, since it takes up extra space. I've even heard stories where men have been asked to take off jackets for the same reason. But these instances are more and less far between in case of the Great Indian Railway and buses are exempted, thankfully.

Of course, if a driver is stopping every minute to pick up every stray passenger from the road, an old man or two are bound to call the bus (loud enough for said driver to hear) a 'bull drawn cart with headlights'. Of course, the vernacular for this does not sound as ridiculous. It's short and swift but as bizarre.

Just the other day, I was speaking with a friend who had called from London. I asked him to call me later because speaking in a bus is plain impossible. A lady who overheard me was quick to ask how I met someone in London, whether I intend to live there and get married to him, etc.

C'est la vie.

Best,

Soumashree.

You can find Soumashree's blog here. I'm so happy she allowed me to post her e-mail for all to see!

If any of you out there have any bus tales to share (i.e. horror stories or general awfulness) please please email me along with a couple pictures of yourself and I will include you in my global bus hatred club. What does that mean? I do not know.

Things that make me hate people - two recent encounters.

Picture this: I'm on the city bus. Me and two other people are sharing the five person bench seat at the very back. I'm in the middle and there are comfortable spaces between the three of us.

The bus stops and I see about fifteen people get on. Instinctively I get up and move to the sideways-facing seat that is directly in front of where I had been sitting. A large man in hiking gear with a backpack instantly appears where I had been, placing his backpack between himself and the young girl by the window to his right.

People are still getting on the bus.

An obese man storms to the very back, and in a very aggressive tone, says to backpack guy "Could you move please?"

Backpack guy is also ridiculously aggressive. It's an instant showdown of what I can assume are men with very tiny penises. "I don't think so."

"There are five seats there, buddy."

"Yeah so pick one, asshole."

"I would like my fucking girlfriend to sit with me, so move over."

I had been staring at a library book this entire time, eavesdropping, but I had to get a look at these people. I glance up and yes, he is holding hands with an equally obese woman in pink sweat pants. The backpack guy makes a big deal of moving his bag to the floor in front of him and surprisingly slides over without another complaint.

The couple sits down, literally taking up three seats worth of room with their thighs, and squishing everybody in the row. I thank my bus guardian angel for warning me about them. I sure have cultivated some sharp bus instincts over the years.

But it's not over yet...they start talking. My iPod was in the bottom of my bag somewhere and there was no way for me to fish it out without dropping tampons or flinging change around or generally making a ruckus, so I just kept on pretending to read my book.

"So they just want to talk to us each seperately, but as long as we keep our story straight there's nothing they can do. Soon enough I'll be going home."

"Yeah."

"What did she say on the phone?"

"She said the kids are fine and the lawyers called again."

"I talked to the lawyer and he said I should be going home as soon as we talk to the social workers. Just make sure you tell them the right story. It's fucking crowded in here."

"I'm really hot."

"There's so many fucking people on this bus. Hey buddy. HEY BUDDY! HEY. Fuck. HEY BUDDY COULD YOU OPEN THAT WINDOW? IT'S FUCKING HOT IN HERE."

It was NOT hot in there, and it was like 2 degrees celcius outside. (Let me convert that into Fahrenheit for all my American buddies...um, 35 degrees!) I shivered and stared at my book nearly all the way home, hearing more and more about what I assume was some sort of child abuse charge. They finally got up to get out of the bus and the fat man stepped on backpack guy's foot.

"You fucking stepped on my foot," he said.

"Shut the fuck up," he replied. And then, turning to his girlfriend, "This is why I don't like taking the bus, the people are so rude."

---

Picture this: I'm tired and very grouchy and just had a frustrating day at work. I'm depressed because it's the grey season on the wet coast and while walking to the bus stop to go home I remembered that I had dropped some film off at the photo place like three weeks ago. It definitely should be ready by now! (They have to send it super far away to get it processed for some reason.)

I figured I could pick up my photos and then spend a few minutes looking at them before catching the bus. I was nearly half an hour early anyway. I changed trajectory and headed into the mall. The photo place was pretty empty, there was one employee and one old man looking at cameras.

The old man needed some help, and I allowed him to cut in front of me to talk to the employee who we will dub 'Johnny Eager' from now on.

Johnny came out from behind the cash register and explained the auto focus function on a standard pocket sized digital camera to the man. He took a couple example pictures of faces, and explained the macro settings. I stood there for maybe five minutes, my feet already getting sore (they hurt the worst when I'm standing still). I was patient. My bus wasn't coming for at least twenty five minutes anyway. I could wait.

They came up to the till. Johnny scanned the box that the camera came in. The old man asked about the memory card, and said he had one at home but wasn't sure it would fit into this new camera. Johnny assured him it would, but the old man thought maybe he should just go look at the selection of cards anyway. Johnny left the counter and went with him, not even acknowledging that I was there.

Two girls walked into the store and stood behind me, and we officially became a line-up. One had an accent and they were talking about how silly it is that the passport office didn't have its own photo-booth. They have a point.

The old man decided he was fine with the four gig memory card because "twelve hundred pictures is plenty", and they made their way back to the cash register. Johnny still did not acknowledge our presence.

The old man asked where the memory card went in the camera. Johnny put it in for him. The old man asked how to look at the pictures he had already taken. Johnny showed him. Another man lined up behind us. Johnny did not acknowledge us. My bus was coming in fifteen minutes.

I cleared my throat. The man at the back of the line asked if this was a line-up. We all said yes.

Johnny handed the old man a flyer advertising free digital camera lessons, and instructed the old man to try the camera for a few days and write down any questions he had, and come in for his free lesson. The old man said he would. He still hadn't paid but at least they were nearly finished.

Johnny asked the man his full name and address for the warranty. His postal code. His phone number. He didn't even look up at the growing line-up. He asked the man to sign something. He explained every single thing the warranty would and would not cover.

The old man paid with a bank card and finally made moves to go, saying 'thank you very much'. Johnny asked him if he wanted him to set the date and time on his camera. The old man said yes. The rest of us groaned.

Once the time and date was set, the old man took the camera back. I looked at the time. My bus was coming in ten minutes. Johnny said "Do you want me to put the strap on that camera for you?" The old man said yes and handed it to him. My feet really hurt. He put the camera strap on, struggling to get it through the tiny plastic 'D'. My bus was coming in eight minutes.

"Okay sir, we are all set. Here's your camera, and...oh, wait. Let me explain how you zoom in on something." He took the camera back.

"FORGET THIS" I shouted and stormed out.

...

The day isn't over yet. Because then I get on the bus. It's a double decker. I am up to my ears in frustration at this point because the one thing that was going to cheer me up has made me angry.

I take a seat upstairs, where there's only me and one other guy who is quietly reading a book. I decide to distract myself from my poison thoughts by making a playlist of happy songs like Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

At the next stop about fifty freaking people get on the bus. But it's fine. I'm locked in my own little world of Sweet Caroline and Mumford and Sons and that one Primus song that goes dun dun dundundundun.

But then somebody plays a slide whistle. Over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over. And over.

And the rage builds up inside me with each whistle until I turn around ready to say "Can you please stop that?" in a calm yet intimidating voice. But when I turn, it's one of seven teenaged girls who look like mini crackwhores and I know that anything I say will be used against me and I'll just make it worse.

I try to ignore them but the whistle is so loud and why isn't anyone saying anything and why isn't the bus driver doing anything about this and I just want to punch that girl in the face and maybe I'm going to go on a killing spree.

Finally it's really too much, it's either scream for real or get away from the sound, so I get up and go downstairs. It was pretty full down there, but there was an open seat right in front of a couple drunk guys talking about really disgusting sex stuff. P.S. it was like two thirty in the afternoon on a Monday.

I turned up the volume on my music until their slurring words were just background noise and stared out the window, deciding I just might survive the day after all.

And then there it was. Slide whistling. Over and over and over and over. The crack whores had come downstairs to get off the bus. But at least they were getting out. It would be okay.

I smiled as they stepped out of the bus. But, as slide whistle sounds are apparently very catchy, one of the drunk men behind me began WHISTLING THE SLIDE WHISTLE SOUND. Over. And over. And over. And over.

And that's when I killed everybody. Just kidding. But my head literally* exploded.

---

True stories.

*Duh, I know what literally means, I was just trying to get you to imagine my head exploding in a bus, so save it grammar jerks.

Nine of my pet peeves about other bus passengers, aka if you do this I hate you.

1. Playing your music loud enough so everybody around you can hear. This is the worst thing you can ever do around me. But you know what brings the 'worst' up to the next level? Not using headphones at all. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Your music sucks! I swear I have never heard a single song I like playing on someone else's portable device in all my years of being on the bus. Nobody is enjoying this but you, asshole. And you know what's even worse than that? Whistling along to your music! AAARGH

2. Putting your feet or bags or luggage or whatever on an empty seat when the bus is nearly full. Don't be a weiner. You are no more important than anybody else and everybody wants a seat. If you put your feet on the seat you are getting your disgusting dirt and dog poo and street crap and garbage on that seat and could be ruining someone's khaki pants. How rude!

3. Loud talking. Prolonged cell phone conversations in a valley girl voice are so obnoxious. Nobody wants to hear about what Jen said about your shoes. Same with loud conversations with your friends where you are trying to sound cool but actually you sound like a total white trash idiot: talking about who tried to shank you, talking about the hot chick you banged, talking about the drugs you're on...you are a loser and are ruining my quiet bus reading time.

4. Sick people on the bus. People who cough without discretion. COVER YOUR DANG MOUTH! I'm so serious about this, do the vampire sneeze and the vampire cough or try to do that closed-mouth-impossible cough. Bring tissues when you're sick and be discrete when you blow your nose. If I get mothereffin' sick because you're too much of an dick face to cover your germ-hole I am gonna be SO ANGRY.

5. Not holding on while you're standing up. DUDE you don't look cool stumbling all over the damn place falling into people's laps and hitting them with your backpack. Just hold on. If you're afraid of germs then bring some fucking purell in your pocket. I got myself in the habit of washing my "bus hands" the second I get home, and never touching my face or eating after being on the bus until said hand-washing occurs.

6. Letting your kids do what they want on the bus. I never ever want to sit beside your toddler because you think they're old enough to start talking to strangers. And I never want some baby pulling my hair. It's not cute.  I don't want your two boys to be reaching across me, hitting each other.  Worst of all, watching your kid to go down the steps of the double decker is stressful as hell! What if they fall? They'll break a leg! Hold that kid's hand, dangit!

7. Eating on the bus is disgusting. I don't want to smell shrimp flavored chips and you are probably ingesting some form of the bubonic plague.That is all.

8. Picking a fight with other bus patrons. This is a weird one that happens more often than you'd think. Usually it's young men between the ages of 18-35ish who have had a few brewskies on the way home from whatever their jobs are that causes them to wear brown carhart overalls covered in paint. And be drunk. Double worse? Picking a fight or talking back to the bus driver. Oh how I feel for the bus drivers. What a terrible job. I always cheer on the inside when a driver kicks someone off the bus. You got your come-uppance, fool!

9. PDA. Nobody wants to see your tongue anywhere near anybody else. And really? Is this romantic? Because I think it's akin to making out in a dumpster, maybe with less rats. No matter how great your girl looks in her sideways Ed Hardy cap, orange makeup mask, spider leggy mascara and/or Lulu Lemon yoga pants, please, just wait 'til you get home, mmkay?

I bet if I thought about it I could come up with thirty more things...sometimes I just really hate people. Except for you guys of course. Heh heh heh (awkward)

6 tips for riding the bus in peace.

At this point in my life, I've become a seasoned vet when it comes to taking public transit. There are a lot of crazy people, idiots and jerks who ride the bus, and I'm sure it's the same with taking the train or whatever else.

Oh sure, there are days when I think that meeting strangers is the spice of life, and you can't meet new friends without talking to a stranger or whatever... but these tips are for the other days. You know, when you  just want everybody to shut up so you can get home as quickly as possible and watch The Walking Dead with your boyfriend!

Here are a few things I have learned that have helped me have more peaceful bus rides.

1. Identify the troublemakers before you get on the bus and then let them board first.

You can tell who is going to be annoying or trouble by a few key signs: are they menacingly glaring around trying to be intimidating? Are they creepily trying to look down your shirt? Are they talking loudly? Are they not-so-stealthly drinking those weird Jack and Cokes they sell that come in a can pre-mixed? Are they rummaging through the garbage? Do they have seven kids with them and are not even worried when one runs into the road?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, these are the people you want to avoid. Let them get on the bus first, and choose a seat as far from them as possible.

2. Avoid eye contact.

I wrote about this before, but eye contact in a small space filled with strangers really does invite trouble. Just sit down, stare at the window or your lap, and don't look at anyone. Either you're going to attract the attention of the crackhead guy who will then scream at you to "fuck off bitch" or someone's going to start talking to you. Or staring at you for the entire 45 minutes you're on the bus which can get really awkward. Unless you like that kind of thing.

Related: perfect your dismissive yet polite responses for the times people try and talk to you when you are not interested. Mine is usually a distracted sounding "yeah" with a laugh and then back to my book or staring out the window I go.  If they don't get the hint and I'm really not in the mood for a chat, I will tell them exactly that. "No offense but I really don't feel like talking right now."

3.  Bring as much to distract yourself as possible...without looking rich.

I imagine this is more important in a bigger city or a poorer country, but do not take out your thousand dollar laptop on the bus unless you want to get robbed. I usually have a paperback book with me, and if anybody too sketchy is looking at me I take care not to pull my iPod out of my pocket. Bring some knitting, a book, some homework or something else you can immerse yourself in, and try to use the time on the bus productively. Not only will it take your mind off the tedious ride, it will also give you a sense of accomplishment.

4. Redefine your spacial boundaries.

Don't stress if somebody is touching you. Unless they're gross. Yesterday a girl used my shoulder as a pillow ... hey we've all been there. But the second somebody touches my thigh or stands with their crotch too close to my face they are getting called out on it.

Now in most of the arenas of my life, I would never allow a stranger to sleep on my shoulder, but she was just a really tired girl and it's a long ride home. And to be honest, it was cold that day and she was keeping my side warm.

5. Choose your bus stop wisely.

If you notice that you're fighting for the last few seats on the bus with ten other people every single day, a really easy solution is to walk up the street to the stop before the one you usually wait at. Sometimes when I'm feeling extra tired and just want a window seat to lean on, I will walk the extra three or four blocks to guarantee I'm one of the first people to get on my bus.

6. Try and sit in neutral territory. 

Definitely avoid the front where the wheelchairs and strollers go, because you will most likely have to change seats at some point. Also, you may want to avoid the back because there's probably somebody drinking a beer and/or rapping back there.

And if you get on a double decker bus, sometimes the novelty of driving around while two stories high is not worth the crackheads and people literally smoking joints beside you. The upstairs always invites trouble because the bus driver can't keep a very close eye on everybody up there; they can't enforce anything without literally stopping the bus and walking up the steps. Which I've only seen happen once. Oh, and the loudest stickiest children with full ice cream cones will be up there too, fighting over the front two seats. It's best to stay on the bottom level in the neutral zone.

I could go on for days about bus stuff but I think six things is enough for now. Do you have any public transit tips or tricks I should know about?  Tell me in the comments because seriously...this is minimum ten hours of my week I'm talking about. HELP ME haha.

Shut up and look out the window.

I found this passage in an article on cultural faux pas in NYC*, but I love it so much I just thought I should share it with everybody...I think it applies anywhere public, crowded or otherwise.

This one is absolutely vital - don't interfere with others' privacy. New York is a very crowded place. The way people deal with it is to create their own space. Thus, what outsiders often see as aloofness and isolation is, in fact, a sign of community; there is a shared ethos that everyone respects others' privacy and expects others to respect his own. This is chiefly communicated through eye contact. If you stare at someone on the subway: if you linger in looking out your window into someone else's bedroom; if you react to or interrupt a celebrity; or if you seem to be intentionally listening in to another's conversation, you are violating one of New York's most sacred unwritten rules. Keep yourself to yourself, buddy, and let others do the same.

I read this and automatically thought of the bus here in Victoria. Daily bus-commuters share this community of mind-your-own-business mindset. I can immediately spot people who aren't used to taking the bus because they're looking at people too much, talking too loudly or too much, or listening/trying to join in on conversations that have nothing to do with them.

Just something to think about next time you're out in public. 


*article found via Nubby Twiglet

Happy Anniversary to Me and Ryan! *updated so the link works*

Today is our 4 year anniversary, counting from the date of our first date, where we held hands and had dinner and kissed at the end. And I made him drop me off two blocks away from my house so he wouldn't know where I lived in case he was a crazy person. Aww, how romantic!

 **also**

Today on my photo blog: I ranted about the awkward seating arrangements they force upon us on the bus! I know how much you all like hearing about what I hate about public transportation. Check it out! (haha)

I also decided right this second to change it from a 365 blog to a plain ol' takin' photos blog. No pressure, just pretty pictures. Because I am dreading the day 365 comes. Then what happens? I take it down? Hell no! So I'm going to work on that today. Right now! Here I go.

Um, that is, after I finish drinking coffee out of this ginormous skeletor mug I found in the cupboard and cuddling with Tankenstein all morning.

Life is rad.


**update**

The photo blog is ready for viewing here.

GUERILLA KNITTING!

I saw some trees today that made me so happy! Have you ever heard of guerrilla knitting (aka "Yarn Bombing")? To me, a knitting ignoramus, it seems like magic. How do they get it on there? Total magic. There is no other possible explanation.

I actually spotted these trees from the bus window this morning on my way to work, and immediately jumped off at the next stop to take a few flicks.This is why you should always have a camera with you!

Look how pretty they are!

 

 

See more guerilla knitting projects here, here and here.

worst day ever.

Yesterday was a bust. 

It was cold out when I left the house. Not like, "I'm gonna die" cold. More like "gosh my fingers hurt after thirty seconds outside of my sleeves" cold. 

I always compare the weather here with the weather in central Alberta, where I grew up. The temperature is never as extreme. But here's the thing I have to remember: when I lived in Alberta things were different. I had a completely different lifestyle. I never ever walked 2.3km to get anywhere. And here I do it twice a day between the bus stop and my house.I never waited outside for the bus either. I had a car. They plow the roads in Alberta. They don't here. People know how to do winter in Alberta. They don't here. 

-9 degrees Celsius is really tough here.

I should have just stayed home; called in 'snow day'. Instead, I psyched myself up (literally telling myself "You can do this."), put on layers upon layers of clothing, and went about my day as usual. I waited at the bus stop for 25 minutes out in the blustery cold, but hey, it's winter right? Suck it up, buttercup. It was fine.

I got to work...which was totally dead so I left after a few hours. Victoria is like a ghost town when it snows and yesterday was no exception. And it was really starting to come down out there.

The 12:00 bus was super late, and when it arrived at 12:35 around thirty people got on with me. The bus was completely full by the next stop. I'm talking double decker full, which hardly ever happens. It holds over a hundred and twenty people. 

And, long story short, my twenty minute bus ride took four hours. 

The traffic was so bad. 

SO BAD

I'm looking at various news reports right now, and they're saying stuff like "literally countless traffic accidents occurred" because "police stopped taking calls for minor fender benders", they barricaded a bunch of main streets for "snow related closures" throughout the city, and along my bus route "a dozen or more vehicles were involved in a chain reaction pile up".

It was such a mess. 

After a couple hours on the bus with a hundred people, you start to make friends. I was lucky, I got a seat upstairs. There were probably forty people packed like sardines in the stand-only area downstairs. ("Standees", the bus driver called them.) Some people had to pee. I was really hungry though. Some people had packed whole lunches and stuff. My seat neighbor was eating a roast beef sandwich so I didn't ask to share. But if it were veggie...maybe I would have.

I read about a hundred pages in my book, stared out the window, laughed along with others' jokes about a hundred car pile-up that wasn't even funny, texted people about where I was now, and played an entire game of Tetris on my phone. And we still weren't there! 

It really doesn't sound that bad on the outside but...have you ever taken a city bus for so long you've wondered what happens if it runs out of gas? Have you ever been in traffic that literally took half an hour to go two blocks? It was mentally exhausting. It's really hard to explain...I felt so trapped and there was nothing I could do because that was my only way home. And I really wanted to be at home.

Finally, after almost four hours we made it past...nothing. Just all of a sudden the traffic was normal. It was so weird. Ryan told me he read that it was the traffic lights in the city themselves, and the ultra slippery roads that was causing people to slide, not be able to get going for an entire traffic light's length of time, and then have to stop again right away. That, plus the mass exodus of people trying to get home early and all the little fender benders...ugh.

When we made it to my stop, I phoned Ryan right away and shouted into the phone "I'M FREE!" but then had to hang up in a hurry because it was FREEZING out and my hand was too cold to hold the phone. I walked home. The wind was so strong my hood wouldn't stay on my head and I had to hold my hat down too. I thought my chin was going to get frostbite, and for the first time in years I wished I had worn a scarf. 

When I burst into the door twenty minutes later I was so exhausted and hungry, and my hands were so cold that I couldn't unzip my boots. I literally sat on the floor and just started crying. 

Terrible stupid day. 

-----

Hey, my coffee's ready. And it's my day off. And all I have to do today is lay under blankets and watch movies with my cat. 

Things are lookin' up.