Every day, I catch the same bus to work and the same bus home. Because I am not the only working schlub on the planet to do this, I encounter the same people just about every day. Each day of commuting has things that add to my well being, and things that detract from what I am sure would otherwise be blissful communion with my fellow humans.
On the way to work, it is a regular snapshot of the diversity of human language. On any given morning, I can sit and watch a couple signing to each other, listen in on a Spanish conversation while catching snatches of folks chatting in German and what I assume to be Mandarin. While all of this is going on, in the back more often than not are several high-school aged boys that are rapping. It is almost like being on the bus that is pulling away from Babel.
This bus is also rather special because every day we crest the hill on Pine Street to a spectacular view of the Space Needle and EMP museum with the sound and mountains in the back. This view is just about the most spectacular that I have seen. The EMP (as you may or may not know) is made of all of this multicolored metal and so the look and feel of what I see has moods and is subtly different from day to day, depending on the weather. Let me put that another way; when I first moved here and would remember seeing this later in the day, I kept believing that I was remembering the scene wrong as it seemed implausibly wonderful. As if I had made a composite in my mind of several pretty things that I had seen at different times.
The bus home, on the other hand, is a different matter. Just as the ride to work uplifts me almost without fail, the ride home tests my character. To begin, it is almost always very crowded. The driver, as far as I can tell, has some form of mild autism and is just about the most maladjusted (socially) person that I have encountered outside of my one-time employment at the Winfield State Hospital. Also, this particular bus seems to be one that is favored by those who, through unfortunate economic circumstances, have only a passing relationship with soap and water.
There is also a woman who boards at the stop after I do who rides one of those motorized cart things. I am not sure why, but in looking at her the one obvious reason for this is that she is morbidly obese. Now, on the Seattle busses, one of these mobility devices has the effect of displacing 6 people that are already seated.
And see, this is where I sort of have my convictions tested. I believe from the bottom of my heart that, as a society, we are only as good as our ability to accommodate our less fortunate members. Everyone should be able to get around, no exceptions. Nor is it my business why she needs the scooter, and I want to be glad that the small sacrifice of comfort on my part helps to make a positive difference in her life. But here is the thing, I have had a long day and just want to sit and read the damn newspaper!
So, you see, each day has this weird built in cycle to it. Uplifting in the morning, yet bittersweet as I am (after all) on the way to work. Testing of my better human nature in the afternoon, yet tempered by the fact that the workday is done.
