Bus Rider

It's Not a Bus; It's the Community Limousine

For years and years, I plotted to avoid taking public transit. It’s not as if I suffered some traumatic encounter in childhood or anything, city buses just made my toes curl. It might be genetic: my two sisters share a similar reluctance to ride with strangers and have subsequently overcome that reluctance for one reason or another – though my younger sister confided that she continued to drive her car 100 kms every day for six months after receiving her transit pass through payroll deduction. Road rage was her downfall, though she’s never said whether it was hers or someone else’s.

I was lucky. Ter and I worked in the same office for a dozen years so we commuted together, and when I moved to my current job, the office fell within easy walking distance of home. It got sticky when we moved to the ’burbs in 2011. Ter’s office lay to the north and mine lay to the south … and she has free parking. It was time for Ru to face the transit demon.

When I was a kid, I never turned my back to the closet door at night. I figured that the monsters wouldn’t come for me if they saw I was ready for them. So the best way to beat the transit monster was to face it square-on. For a whole year, with clenched teeth and clammy palms, I rode the No. 24 to and from work. It took a while to get comfortable with ringing the bell for myself alone (I started by hopping off at the nearest stop to mine that someone else wanted; I couldn’t make myself interrupt the flow to let me off where I wanted – roll your eyes here), but after that, it became, well, less uncomfortable. Now that I’m living back in town, Ter drops me at work in the morning and the No. 3 gets me home. The best I can say is that, at this point in my life, I’ve adapted to riding “the community limo”. I’m pleased to add that I have even opted to use it on the occasional day off!

A few weeks ago, I was on the distribution list for an email joke titled “25 Reasons Not to Ride the Bus”. It was sent in good faith with absolutely no offensive intention, but before I automatically opened it, I stopped to consider what I was doing. I’m a recovering transitophobe. I need 25 Reasons To Ride the Bus, not 25 More Excuses to Avoid It at All Costs. Knowing my history and where I am in my recovery, and while I appreciated the harmless sentiment, I did what was best for me. I deleted the email, unread.

Fear is a bully. It’s best not to encourage it.