"Crazies" on the bus, and dead eyes
There are many kinds of people on the bus, social classes, races, and ages. A good number of poor people. Some homeless, some insane. Some who most people would just call crazy or kooky—lacking certain social graces and communication skills, but not medically insane.
When you first start riding the bus, or you ride rarely, you have an innocent, wide-eyed look to you. Oh my gosh, you think as you look out the window, I've never seen that building before, what architecture. The landscape is altered, you see more from the bus's elevated vantage and because you're not focused on driving.
You look with curiosity at fellow passengers, why are the Mexicans mostly sitting in the back two rows? Why are the old and infirm up front--oh, practical reasons, it's harder for them to get to the back? Why is the driver talking on his cell phone and steering with one hand? Another blog will cover this one.
Your receptivity is observed by one or more fellow passengers, they strike up a conversation with you. They are nice, interested in you, and say wild things. You listen with curiosity and being polite don't interrupt. This is a new experience for you. You're getting to know a kind of person who rides the bus, like you. Or not. This person keeps talking, only occasionally asking you a question as a rhetorical device so s/he can keep talking.
You're getting a little bleary eyed, the words don't all make sense. So the talker is an Egyptologist, dislikes the government, sees much injustice in the world, his wife no longer cares for him so sometimes he drinks and goes riding on the bus, etc, etc. It's a tad random, not the kind of conversation you'd have anywhere but on a bus. These kind of talkers don't fly and can't afford Amtrak.
Not everything adds up, or it kind of does, but you're tired of listening. You start to notice what is behind the words of this talker, it's a very deep emotionally honest, soulful human being, who is sharing their truth(s), because s/he feels safe in your presence. You're not like all those dead-eyed other bus passengers, you're nice, you're open. And the talker feels somewhat relieved and s/he likes you, and you know you'll never see each other again, and it's ok, and you chalk up the "conversation" to experience, as having heard another soul's story. It's not apt to happen again.
But it does, nearly every time you ride the bus. After a while you become a little less open, you'll listen but for not as long, and soon you find yourself riding with "dead eyes."
You ride the bus consistently now to get to work, to go places; you bring a book, you close your eyes to doze or meditate. You talk on your cell. You rarely notice the type with a story, anymore, but when you do your eyes feign deadness, the lamp of the soul is dimmed without enough light to share. The would-be talker is invisible now and your are comfortable in your own little portion of private space in the public one all around you, just as you used to be in your own car.
When you first start riding the bus, or you ride rarely, you have an innocent, wide-eyed look to you. Oh my gosh, you think as you look out the window, I've never seen that building before, what architecture. The landscape is altered, you see more from the bus's elevated vantage and because you're not focused on driving.
You look with curiosity at fellow passengers, why are the Mexicans mostly sitting in the back two rows? Why are the old and infirm up front--oh, practical reasons, it's harder for them to get to the back? Why is the driver talking on his cell phone and steering with one hand? Another blog will cover this one.
Your receptivity is observed by one or more fellow passengers, they strike up a conversation with you. They are nice, interested in you, and say wild things. You listen with curiosity and being polite don't interrupt. This is a new experience for you. You're getting to know a kind of person who rides the bus, like you. Or not. This person keeps talking, only occasionally asking you a question as a rhetorical device so s/he can keep talking.
You're getting a little bleary eyed, the words don't all make sense. So the talker is an Egyptologist, dislikes the government, sees much injustice in the world, his wife no longer cares for him so sometimes he drinks and goes riding on the bus, etc, etc. It's a tad random, not the kind of conversation you'd have anywhere but on a bus. These kind of talkers don't fly and can't afford Amtrak.
Not everything adds up, or it kind of does, but you're tired of listening. You start to notice what is behind the words of this talker, it's a very deep emotionally honest, soulful human being, who is sharing their truth(s), because s/he feels safe in your presence. You're not like all those dead-eyed other bus passengers, you're nice, you're open. And the talker feels somewhat relieved and s/he likes you, and you know you'll never see each other again, and it's ok, and you chalk up the "conversation" to experience, as having heard another soul's story. It's not apt to happen again.
But it does, nearly every time you ride the bus. After a while you become a little less open, you'll listen but for not as long, and soon you find yourself riding with "dead eyes."
You ride the bus consistently now to get to work, to go places; you bring a book, you close your eyes to doze or meditate. You talk on your cell. You rarely notice the type with a story, anymore, but when you do your eyes feign deadness, the lamp of the soul is dimmed without enough light to share. The would-be talker is invisible now and your are comfortable in your own little portion of private space in the public one all around you, just as you used to be in your own car.
posted by LDJ at 5:02 PM
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