By: Jamie
I’m a watcher. I’m usually extremely aware of my surroundings. I don’t forget faces. I’m a dreamer too. I can concoct some crazy story about a stranger I see. I’ve always known these things about me, but it wasn’t until I had to commute a measly 3 miles to work on a bus that I began to realize that these people are a part of my life.
Most of my life bus riding, I should clarify, city bus riding has been novelty. As a kid it was something I did for leisure when my parents couldn’t get me there or I wanted the freedom, to feel “grown-up”. For most of my adult life it’s been the same…a trip to a festive where parking would gouge into my budget, easy transportation to a Seahawks game where no DD was needed or (my personal favorite) early morning trip to Pike Place to grab a bouquet of flowers before the tourist crammed every square inch. It wasn’t until I had to commute bus for work that it really sunk in. In my 3-mile commute (which I rode for 2 months tops) I realized that I’d see the same people, I began to know where they got on, where they got off, their bus habits. I began making stories up about their lives…the uptight lady whose house was oh so very tidy, the loud talker who was not liked by any neighboring co-workers, the brown bag lunch carrier who of course was a man and his mom always packed his lunch in a brown bag, so why change now?
Then in a quick minute my life, or maybe more importantly my budget, depended on me being a bus commuter. My 3-mile commute became 7-miles. But again I found myself becoming attached to these nameless people and brining them to life in my mind. And my mind has been reeling….
