The Joys of Bus Riding

Since I don’t have a car here in Houston, I’m completely dependent on public transportation- a.k.a. the Bus. After living in New York, I’m no stranger to public transportation and usually enjoy and prefer it to driving myself. Houston, though, is the exception. In my short time here, I have had quite a few bad/strange experiences on the bus.

During my first week of riding the bus to work, I quickly realized there is no set schedule. Buses arrive 30 minutes late or change routes mid-trip. This just makes things a little more exciting since you never know where you’ll end up.

Two weeks ago my bus crashed into a parked car on a straight road (only a skilled driver can manage this feat). As the bus driver talked to the angry car owners, everyone had to get off the bus and wait for the next bus. Everyone, not wanting to be apart of the accident chaos, quickly dispersed, leaving me and a woman standing alone in the projects. The woman started to chat with me and it didn’t take long before I realized this was no woman, but a transvestite. Always a colorful group of people on the bus. After about an hour the next bus finally came. The next day on we way home the same driver who crashed was driving again.

The following week as I rode the bus home a girl’s cell phone was stolen out of her hand while she was talking on it. The kid who stole it ran off down the street and a dramatic chase scene ensued. Again everyone on the bus had to get off and wait for the next bus since the original bus couldn’t leave the scene of the crime. As I waited an old man gave me a lecture on how I was in “the ‘hood” and need to watch out for punk youth. He also demonstrated how to walk around corners to avoid getting shot or stabbed. This was all very reassuring for me as I stood in a not so good part of town waiting for the next bus.
A few days later, I met Pat- a man who told me how he’s been sober for 7 years and now takes Prozac for his schizophrenia. As he was telling me his recovery story, a woman on the bus overheard us talking and offered her recovery story. She’s been sober for a year and no long does crack cocaine. Then another man on the bus started talking about how he hasn’t had alcohol in a few years and is now sober. Why everyone felt the need to tell me his or her drug recovery story I don’t know, but it did make for an interesting ride.

I’ve since switched bus routes hoping for a less eventful journey. Although the other day I had to wait a few minutes longer for the bus to take me home because it had caught on fire. Never a dull moment when riding the bus.

Paz,
Stephanie