(Part 2 of a series)
Read part 1 here.
The bus rides in DC, at least on the route I have to take to work, are scurrilous attacks on personal comfort and sanity, leaving a rider longing for the concrete refuge of the immovable ground and the safety of solitude. (Forget the Metro management - that's a whole other issue that isn't the point of this series of posts, although having to wait ten minutes for three buses that are supposed to come one per every three minutes adds to the irritation, frustration, and aggrevation that suck the quotidien patience from me.) At any random time, unrelated to fluctuations in weather or traffic, the bus can resemble a cattle car, a sardine can, or a mosh pit, depending on how many crazies and children happen to misbehave at the time.
This morning was a typical morning. The doors opened like an obstacle on a miniature golf course - I had to hop through the opening before they closed on me. As I ascended the rubber coated stairs where millions of feet had stepped in the past, the scowling driver unleashed a fury on the gas pedal, and my frantic hands reached for whatever was available to keep my feet on the floor and save me from rolling down the aisle like the empty Coke bottle making its way to the back of the bus. I glared at the driver in her blue Metro uniform and her dreadlocks and her giant silver chain before saying "Good morning." She muttered a reply I did not understand, but hey, it's better than being ignored, which is an all too common response.
My Smart Card screamed go before I embarked on the endeavor of finding a seat. Oh, sure, there were plenty of seats available, but no one wanted to scoot over next to the window so I could sit down. This is a frequent occurence, not a good way to start a morning, especially before the stimulant of java transgresses my lips. Some of this behavior is pure racism. I have observed an incredible amount of racism on the daily bus trips - black against white, white against black, latino against white, white against latino, black against latino, white against asian, asian against latino. Sometimes I make note of the open seats on a bus and who is sitting next to them. When a person gets on, more often than not that person will go sit by a person of the same color. I hear latinos bitching all the time about how the gringos are moving into their neighborhood, as I have begun to understand their conversations after hearing an hour of Spanish every day. I've heard black and whites alike mumbling about how the latinos are taking over the entire city. I've also heard a black man say, "Move over, whitey."
Most of it, however, is not racism. Most of it is simple rudeness, a blatant inconsideration of others. People refuse to move their bags from open seats, scream on those Nextel walkie talkie phones, or simply won't move so you can sit in the empty window seats. I've seen it happen to many people. I've seen old men and women in a desperate panic as no one who is sitting in the seats reserved for seniors and disabled will get up for them. I've seen women with three or four children running around the bus or laying across seats so no one can sit there. I've even seen a woman slap a man for trying to sit next to her.
Getting off the bus is like wading through the mire of rude. If you are sitting in a window seat, the person in the aisle seat far too often refuses to stand up to let you out, but will move his/her legs to the aisle as if the inconvenience is a terminal illness. (I've taken to "accidently" letting my backpack hit these people in the face as a payback for their lazy rudeness.) But this just gets you to the aisle. Next you have to fight your way through the legions of people who stand there cold as statues. Even "excuse me" won't budge them an inch.
You'd think the word "public" in public transportation would heighten a sense of civility in a person, but no, that hasn't been the case. I sometimes feel like a bus ride is forced voyeurism. No one cares who's around - they'll just talk about whatever they feel like. This morning I heard a woman tell another woman about her gonorrhea like it was the common cold or something. I dream of one day owning an iPod to drown out the sounds and the world-o-metrobus, but until that day, I must suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous barbarisms. But hey, at least I'm learning a language.
To be continued
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