Standing At the Bus Stop Sucking On a Lollipop...

Now that I've moved I live closer to everything. Everything except work. Today Tuna asked me where I was going when I told him I was leaving for lunch. "Goin' home?" I shook my head no and then he remembered - I don't live close enough to go home anymore. I no longer watch bits and pieces of Judging Amy reruns in the middle of the day while sitting on my bed anymore.

My commute only causes me to leave the house at 8:30 a.m., which isn't bad. Especially when you consider that I leave that early not because it's the time I need to leave in order to catch the bus, but because I'm paranoid I'll miss the bus and then be late for work. Oh yeah, and especially when you consider that I used to routinely get to work late, when I had the luxury of leaving whenever I wanted to, since I was walking.

The bus stop I wait at in the mornings is on a little cement island in the middle of the street. A busy street, with morning commuters rushing by. I looked into the cars today, and can tell you that less than a third of the people were carpooling (the woman with a baby in the backseat doesn't count since that baby didn't have the option of driving his own car). Each morning I stand on the island, unable to easily see if my bus is coming due to a street sign blocking my view. Each morning I wait, freezing, worrying that someone will stop paying attention and jump the curb and run me over. It's not so much that I worry about dying that way, as much as I worry about being hurt and not dying and being hurt by someone who has no money and no insurance so there's nothing to sue for. I hate standing on that little island with the cars going by me. There are too many cars for me to recognize them day to day, but it's possible they recognize me. Holy shit, she's worn that scarf every day this week!

My bus driver is an Asian man who drives very aggressively. You may think that's how you have to drive in the city, but you'd be wrong. Other bus drivers don't drive the way he does. He zooms along the streets in a bus I'm sure is from the 80's, almost blowing past each bus stop. I get a mean vibe off him, though every morning as I step off the bus and toss a "thank you!" or "Bye!" over my shoulder, he always responds in kind.

After work I stand around outside, again in the cold, waiting for my bus. When I get one, there's always a grandpa there in the evenings, with two little girls. One is always curled into the seat next to him, her head in his lap, while the other always sits across the way. Both are silent and barely move. Almost nobody talks on the way home. People are tired from work, I guess. I am; I've had enough of saying I'm sorry, he's on another call right now. Would you like to leave him a voicemail? After all these years I've finally found a tone of voice that gets me a response of Yes, voicemail will be great. It has something to do with asking the question as if a wonderful idea has just dawned on me - one that Just! Might! Work! Plus I say it with a slight sex-phone operator voice. That may have something to do with it.

I come home from work a different way than I get there, and it's not just due to all the one-way streets in San Francisco. In the dark, I walk along an alley littered with broken glass. This little alley has all the commuters zipping by in their cars to get home. I cross a lot of commercial driveways - there's no difference between sidewalk and driveway, so the pavement I'm crossing is on a slant, and I think about sprained ankles as I walk. I cross the driveway of a parking garage where drivers can't see me coming until it's too late. Pedestrians have the right of way in California, but right doesn't keep you alive, so I'm careful, and I slow down and look first.

I miss my walks to and from work. I miss going home for lunch. But I'm closer to everything else aside from work, so I'll just deal.

For those of you with the song now stuck in your head...