The Wheels on the Bus

I've recently started taking the bus to work again after spending a good year among the intrepid (crazy?) population who treks from Minneapolis to St. Paul and back every workday. The drive would be passable but for 1) bad weather and 2) construction. As winter and spring take up the first problem and summer and fall take up the second, that really leaves very few days to make the 25 mile roundtrip drive worthwhile. And, to quote a friend who will remain nameless, I'm a "hippie," and reducing my carbon footprint is really just part of my job.

I have two main bus drivers on the route I take, gentlemen of exceedingly different personalities who see me near 6 am on the trek into St. Paul, and 4 pm on the trek home. I don't know their names. The gentleman in the morning always says hello, he smiles and thanks me when I wish him a happy day upon his dropping me off downtown, and he welcomes me back when I miss a morning or two due to travel or oversleeping. He often gives a lift to a fellow driver who's headed home after his shift and they laugh and smile at one another as good friends do. He waves at other drivers on the road. I even saw him blow a kiss to another bus driver, a bubbly-looking woman with her hair in a ribboned ponytail, who we drove past at a light on Nicollet. He smiles the way some people do, the way you know that smiles are their most common facial movement.

The gentleman in the afternoon clearly hates his job. He stares straight ahead, never says hello. He's much younger than my morning driver, and wears sunglasses even on the cloudiest day. Everyday when he drops me off I wish him a good day. I thank him. He has never acknowledged me. But I may have found my "in" for getting an occasional hello from the man...

Evidently if you fall down the steps of his bus and land, hard, on the sidewalk with your farmer's market potatoes rolling out of your "Virginia is for Lovers" bag, he will not just drive away in his sunglassed, mopey world. He will jump down the stairs and exclaim, "Holy shit, lady, are you alright?" I really was fine and potatoes are totally edible when bruised, so it could have been worse. He actually gave me a smile and a "you have a nice day" when I stood up. Public embarrassment inspires kindness, I suppose. I do not plan on making a habit of falling off his bus so hopefully cordiality from here on out will not require injury. I'm all for reducing my carbon footprint but I hadn't factored in bruising as a possible result of that pursuit.