Transit Nightmares

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Transit Nightmares


I have made every effort to prove myself an ecologically responsible member of the human family. I am aware of the crisis our planet faces unless mankind alters his profligate ways in how we use the Earth’s resources. And so I faithfully separate my plastic and paper recyclables. I never litter. I even use a pooper-scooper when I walk my dog. But please don’t ask me to take public transportation to get to work. I have tried to use public transport, but each experience has only served to strengthen my resolve to drive to work. I say let global warming continue if preventing it means I must give up my car.


In theory public transportation is quite sound, and it was with this initiate’s view that I first stepped onto a bus in Philadelphia about twelve years ago. Everything started out okay. The bus was only about twenty minutes behind schedule; and since I was wearing my heaviest coat, only my hands and feet were frozen when I stepped onto the bus. Trouble started in earnest when I took a seat and discovered I’d sat in a puddle of what I at that moment hoped was a spilled beverage. Doubts on this point were fueled by the presence of a restrained and whining toddler across the aisle whose pants appeared to be as wet as mine. Moving to another seat, I heard an older child comment, “That man peed himself, mama!” Stifled laughter spread throughout the bus as I finally settled into a seat which offered a view of an especially hateful assortment of racial and sexual prose scrawled onto the back of the seat before me. My return trip that day was no less eventful when four teens boarded with a radio the size of a compact car and proceeded to listen to some form of music I couldn’t identify at a volume I feared would shatter the windows.


Abandoning my mass transit aspirations at that time, about four years later I determined to give it another try when my car demanded a sort of extended vacation at the local garage. Summer this time at least, I boarded the bus with vivid memories of my former adventure. Carefully inspecting my seat, I sat without incident and, concluding I was safe, began to peruse the morning paper. Only a few paragraphs had passed when I detected a presence next to me. “Do ya know Jesus?” I heard a woman say, though I wasn’t at that point certain of whom she’d asked this. Turning my head toward the aisle, I saw a slovenly middle-aged woman with slightly graying hair and a handful of religious articles bending toward me and making to sit down. I so much wanted to return to reading about the murder in my newspaper, but it was not to be. “Miss Betsy” informed me that she was determined to save my soul that morning, and I must give her credit for trying. She begged me to get baptized. She pleaded. She threatened me with damnation and promised me God’s love. She clutched me by the arm and sang “Onward Christian Soldiers,” and she gave me volumes to read in a final effort to save me as I exited the bus a mile before my stop. I took a cab home from work.


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My last, and dare I say final, effort to use public transportation came after I had moved to another city neighborhood. I felt since I’d not be taking the same bus, things would be better. Confidently, I boarded the bus in my new neighborhood, greeted the driver and took my seat. The bus was far cleaner, there was no offensive graffiti and everyone on the bus looked reputable. All was going quite well. And it continued so for as long as I could remember until I awoke at County General Hospital in pain from my concussion and lacerated arm. Apparently, our bus driver had not noticed a traffic light and crashed the bus broadside into a Mayflower moving van crossing the intersection. The accident investigation concluded that this oversight on the part of our driver might have been due to his 1.4% blood alcohol level on the morning of the accident.


No one can say I haven’t given public transport a shot. But there’s something that rings true in the phrase, “Three strikes and you’re out.” I’m sorry if the planet warms up a bit faster because I’m not using the bus, but we’ll all just have to dress a little lighter.





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