My First Day on the Bus

Apparently you never really lose the feeling of being a student. I just started this blog, and already I feel like I'm way behind and that I need to catch up (to what, I'm not quite sure). For my first "real" post, and my first day on my new blog, it seemed fitting to me to mention my first day on the bus to the big city - Salt Lake City.

Waiting for a bus is no new experience for me, I spent many years taking the bus to school. I hated every second of it. The big, yellow school bus was not my friend. After 5th grade, there was nothing enjoyable about it. And I can't say I enjoyed it before then either. If I remember right, the first, and the only, time I was ever grounded was in kindergarten - I refused to get on the bus, bawling to my mom as she worked in the garden that I wouldn't get on. While I was probably scared of school, I was permanently scarred and could never look at the school bus with a smile again. So waiting for the bus on this cold January day, I was filled with apprehension as I stood, hoping I was at the right stop, at the right time.

The bus pulled up, and as I got on, I quickly looked into it while hoping I didn't look so new to the system. An older man a few seats back caught my glance and I smiled a shy smile at him. First rookie mistake. Despite sitting myself a few rows ahead of him, he finally felt he had found someone to direct his ongoing commentary of the world to. I was torn between a discomfort of having to talk to a potentially dangerous man (you just never know on these buses) and awe at his interesting retention of knowledge. He rambled on about Yellowstone National Park & Mother Earth's 'indigestion' (a term for Old Faithful that I knew I would have to remember to use someday), and other geological goings-on all over the world.

The old man finally made me participate in his dialogue by asking me questions. He asked if I was "a little secretary" at a medical office, typing things up all day (why did I have to be a secretary? Why couldn't I have been some bigwig at the office? Perhaps an extremely young doctor? Eh, who am I kidding...). When I somehow avoided the personal questions, he saw Einstein's Bagels out the window and got really excited as he told me how great their coffee is, as though it was a secret that he felt he needed to share with me. I didn't know if he was right, but I decided it was best to agree with him; I didn't want to hear much more about it and I really didn't want to spoil his joy by challenging his opinion.

A college kid boarded the bus then, and I was saved as he caught the man's glance just as I had, and he was less awkward and cold than I was. The kid actually responded back to the man, which made him talk all the more. Having wanted to get myself out of talking with the man this whole time, I now found myself intrigued by their conversation - I enjoyed listening without having to participate, and the man's voice was so loud that I decided it would be better to choose to listen rather than be forced to. The kid treated the man better than any of the rest of us on the bus could have, despite the slight condescension his words carried. But it was only slight; far less than what I couldn't avoid, and what our fellow passengers were giving him the man with their glares.

Despite my unease at having a strange man talk to me too early in the morning, I appreciated having an interesting experience my first day on the bus. The man had heard a doctor on the radio that morning talking about SADD, seasonal depression. I didn't even have to wonder if I had it - I couldn't keep from smiling the whole bus ride as I heard this man talk to anyone he could, with such a friendliness in his voice and unembarrassed demeanor to all he did. I thoroughly enjoyed the bus, a feeling I wasn't expecting at all. I walked into work with a smile on my face - which was necessary if I was to make it through the entire day at my still very new job.

Prelude to Memoirs

I carry notecards in my purse, just in case anything noteworthy happens in my day. No matter where, no matter when, I am prepared to jot down thoughts, experiences, sights, anything that needs to be written down. Looking at some of my notecards, it has to seem that I live a very lame life. It's not often that some grand event happens, and there are no records of celebrity sightings, but when I look back at those cards, bent and faded, I see life-shaping experiences and thoughts that have shaped future thoughts and current attitudes. I see me in those notecards, which is something that I easily lose sight of in the day-to-day routine of waking up, working all day, coming home, sitting around, going to bed, and repeat.

It turns out that most of these notecards were written on while riding the city bus to and from work. Some of my greatest thoughts of the last 10 months have come while staring out a window, going into or out of the city. Many faces with no names have made it into my thoughts and onto my cards. So it seemed fitting that, since most of what would make it on here would probably have stemmed from a thought on the bus, this blog should give credit to the very transportation that gave me time to write again. So UTA buses, thank you, you've made my transition from precocious student to wizened working woman so much more interesting.