Missing the bus

As the summer draws to a close, I think about the one thing I will not miss: taking the bus to my internship everyday. Or, as I should say, the two buses, since I had a transfer on Broadway and Hildebrand. The less-than-ten minute car trip from the house to Trinity becomes a forty five minute trip (minimum) involving me sitting on a sidewalk, trying to avoid ruining my nice work dress, and attempting to read a book while the wind doggedly keeps me from staying on whatever page I actually want to read.

Oh, and missing the bus. The worst feeling is running to the bus stop only to see the bus driving by ahead of you, the driver completely unaware that if (s)he had been ten seconds later, you could have gotten to work on time. There is no question about where the blame goes in cases like this. If you miss the bus, it's the bus's fault. As you sit on the rough mirage-paved sidewalk in 104 degree weather, it's a small drop of consolation for your justice-parched throat that it is the bus's fault for deciding to be on time, and not yours, for deciding to sleep an extra five minutes that morning.

And the creepy people. You know, you get all kinds of sweet little videos and anecdotes about the nice things that happen on the buses/subways/trains/random places with random people, but in actuality, I (who, while I will happily strike up a conversation with half the internet, shut down in awkward-- or any-- social situations) find that I would much rather keep to myself and avoid talking to people. I have been approached; one guy named David asked me if I would be uncomfortable if I held his hand on the bus, and this other guy asked me what restaurant was closest to my house, because he would like to take me there. Encounters like these result in my finding the most secluded corner on the bus and reading my book and listening to my iPod, feigning complete disinterest in everything that goes around me. Feigning disinterest...or refusing to feign interest. I'm not sure which one is correct here. Either way, you get the point.

There was this one guy on the bus yesterday who kind of caught my eye. He was huge, at least three hundred pounds, and wearing a black shirt, black pants, a black collar, and he had black hair in a bowl cut. He also had a large sketchpad, on which he was drawing a dragon. I couldn't help but watch. The drawing was very good. I tried to look cool and aloof, as if I had absolutely nothing better to do than to watch, or as if I was zoning out, and just happened to be looking at his drawing. I even took a few minutes to fiddle with my phone, like I was sending a text or something (obviously I wasn't, because nobody I know is up at eight in the morning). He turned the page of his sketchbook, and began working on another drawing-- the kind that I like to call "anime pseudo-porn" (imagine an anime girl wearing nothing but what is absolutely necessary to cover up the important parts, and imagine them being covered with really heavy armor, with spikes on the armor).

It reminded me a little bit of this picture that I came across later that day (click on picture to enlarge it if you have trouble reading):

The story, unfortunately, ends with the bus getting to my stop. I got off, and got on my transfer bus, and went to work. I didn't say anything. But for the rest of the day, I began to feel something nagging at me, in a very uncomfortable way. I found that I wished nothing more than to go back in time and tell him that I really liked his pictures, and that I wanted to take a picture of them. For god's sake, I took a picture of a rock last week that I thought was especially pretty. Last night, I took a picture of a facebook status I thought was amusing, with my phone. I even had my phone out with me on the bus, to pretend to look occupied. 

I probably won't see that kid again-- it's very rare that I see the same person twice on the bus, although there are definitely a few bus "regulars" that I'm beginning to recognize. Sometimes, the source of my aversion to talking to people on the bus is obvious. Sometimes, I'm not sure where it comes from. In any case, would it really have hurt me to say that I thought he was a really good artist, and how long has he been drawing things? I am worried to think that I may be in that group of people that needs to find someone to look down on to feel better about themselves-- and yet I am certainly the kind of "weird and quirky" girl on the left. I googled "Zooey Dechanel" when I saw that picture.

I realize I'm not painting a very flattering portrait of myself, but I don't want to do that, because there are very few people who, when scrutinized up close, are perfect (neither am I raising my hands and saying "well, nobody's perfect, why should I be?"). I'm saying to stop looking for perfection, and look for what catches your eye. The thing is, out of all the people on the bus I've seen this summer, that one kid with is drawings is the one I really noticed this summer, and that's kind of amazing. Because of that, I regret never saying anything to him-- I am positive that he will not remember me after this summer, even though I'm sure I will remember him. Perfection is so easy to find-- we are bombarded with it; it's far more unique to find something that makes us look a second time, capturing our interest.

I want to encourage you (aka, whoever's read this far) to talk to someone today who you wouldn't normally talk to, and tell them something they would really like to hear. Ask them about their family, or how they are doing, or give them a deserved compliment that they might appreciate. It could mean far more to them than you might think-- and that's the point, isn't it? It's really no effort for you to say something that could brighten their day.

In any case, you don't want to miss the opportunity while you have it, in fear of a little awkwardness, and then regret it later. And hey, you really could be the person who makes someone's day. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.