An hour at the bus stop

Riding the bus is a big deal for me.

The first time I took a bus here in Utah, I didn't realize that I was on the wrong bus until, two hours later, the bus driver asked me if it was the first time I had ridden a bus. So when Chad asked me to take the bus up to Sandy to go and hang out with his family, I was nervous. Chelsea and J.C. dropped me off at the bus stop and I stood there for a good long while until I realized that I had already missed the bus. I had another hour to kill until the next bus came around, so I stood, somewhat stranded, and waited. Meanwhile, I sat in the bus stop booth and watched.

I felt protected in my glass booth, leaving me somewhat removed in my human observatory. I watched all the people who passed by me, either on foot or on wheels. There was the happy couple who biked past me, laughing and joking as they passed. I don't know how they had managed to bike this whole time without crashing - they were gazing steadily into each others' eyes and mouthing I-love-yous that made me, who was inconspicuously watching, feel like I was intruding. There was really some Hollywood material right there.

I noticed the joggers, some more red-faced than the others, and wondered how they could find time to do all they had to and still make it to their daily jogs. Then I realized that I was the one who just planned on sitting at a bus stop for an hour, studying people.

Of course, there were the cars whizzing past. I liked looking at the people in the cars. Why is his music so loud? Are those two people dating? She is huge - when is she due? One honked at me and laughed. I felt a little indignant - I wasn't in his way. They all seemed to be in such a hurry.

But my favorite was the homeless man who shuffled past me. He was one of the stereotypical ones who stuffed his trolley with plastic bags full of stuff. I was tempted to start talking to him and ask him what he was carrying around all day long. I watched him for a long time. He peered into the garbage bin and gingerly picked up a disposed drink. He must not have liked the flavor (it was apple beer, I heard the man who threw it away tell his girlfriend) because he chucked it almost as soon as he sipped at the straw. Readjusting his hat, he continued onwards, seemingly oblivious to my obvious fascination in him. As I timed how often he heaved his giant backpack (on average, once every eight seconds!), I wondered where he was going. Did he know what his destination was? Did he even care? With the backdrop of cars whizzing past me, all determined to reach a set destination, I couldn't help but think about him when he disappeared around the corner.

Finally, the bus came. I boarded and picked a seat next to the window. After a couple of minutes, I saw the same trolley and giant backpack, this time abandoned on the side of the road. I craned my neck, concerned. I couldn't help smiling when I caught a quick glance of him sitting in Panda Express, enjoying his Chinese.

I guess he did know where he was going after all.