A sixtysomething woman stands near the front door looking for her fare. Her purse-digging delays the driver long enough that a forty-ish man running at full speed is able to make it to the stop before the bus pulls away. He walks past the woman on his way to his seat, breathing hard but still looking sharp in a black Kangol and blue silk shirt.
The woman raises her eyebrows.
“You didn’t have to do all that.” she mutters. “You look too good for all that running.”
Earlier in the week, Bus Nerd hipped me to this Slate piece about subway psychology. It didn’t turn out to be as interesting as it sounds, but it did contain one useful (and fascinating) tidbit: Apparently, parking yourself in the seat closest to the door* “offer[s] the best opportunities for falling in love with the proper stranger.”
Talk about a revelation! If only I’d known this back when Nerd was a “proper stranger,” it might not have taken us so long to meet.
Unfortunately, the article does not propose any theories about what seat choice has to do with bus mack success rate. Anyone got ideas?
*On the subway, anyway. No word as to whether this works on the bus.
P.S. – For those not familiar with bus luh: a definition.
A man sitting directly behind me is chatting up the woman next to him.
Man: “Oh, you hurt your finger! Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Woman: “Huh?”
Man: “You know, like when you were little, and you hurt yourself, and your mom would kiss it to make it better?”
Woman: “No. Mom wasn’t around. My grandma always said, ‘quit your whining and keep moving.'”
Would-be bus (stop) mackers in the ID will have to start getting more creative (but not too creative!) with their opening lines. The time, you see, is available to everyone (everyone who can read roman numerals and tell time, that is), now that the clock at King Street Station is once again functional.
As if I wanted to know the exact number of minutes late my post-TAC 14 is.
My friend Monique, although hardly a minor, is a BCiT in her own right. In March, she moved from transit-unfriendly Houston to Boston to accept a year-long contract position that advanced her career and satisfied her taste for adventure. Since it’s not a permanent job, and since she owns a home in Houston, she’s subletting a cool apartment in South Boston and getting around by bus, train, foot, and, very occasionally, Zipcar. (Boston, as some of you might know, is the home of Zipcar.)
Transit-based living agrees with Monique. She loves her walkable neighborhood and the freedom and financial benefits of getting around without a car. (She does, however, admit that she might not be as enthusiastic had she made the move in January.)
Unlike most transit types, who swear by faster, more reliable trains, Monique actually prefers the street-level option. (Would that we Seattleites had the choice!) Says Moni, “I prefer the bus to the subway because it allows me to learn and see the city and connect how all the neighborhoods relate to each other.” Apparently so. She is already amazing Boston natives with her impressive knowledge of the city.
Even with all the looking around, Monique still finds time to read on her rides. She’s finished several books that have been on her “list” for years, including one of my all-time favorites, White Teeth. (Wonder if any Boston librarians are keeping track?)
Those of you who read my Real Change column might remember Monique from her advice for avoiding unwanted bus macks. Her advice hasn’t served her well so far, as she’s been the recipient of more than her share, including several of the far more rare bus driver macks. One driver, who finishes his shift at around the same time she leaves her office, has taken such a fancy to her that he provides door-to-door service, dropping her off in front of her building on his way back to base.
Two months as a bus chick and she’s chartering buses? The woman could teach me a thing or two.
Last night, on the way to her first Transportation Choices Coalition meeting, Chicklet took her first ride on the 27. The ride was definitely more thrilling for mother (whose favorite bus happens to be the 27) than it was for daughter, who slept through the ride. During her nap, Chicklet missed the chance to witness her first bus mack, one of the relatively rare driver-on-passenger variety.
At the meeting, my little chicklet received her second award in a week (the first being the November Golden Transfer): a lifetime membership in TCC. Check it:
She was less than grateful, fussing for most of the meeting and generally leaving a bad impression on the other transit types who attended. At least she was quiet on the 27 ride home.
The PI’s Singled Out blog has a recent post about meeting people/finding dates on the bus.
In the hunt for my next job, “only a bus ride away” will be mandatory criteria in my list of wants. “Why?” you might ask. Well, besides the obvious environmental and traffic-relieving reasons, I want to ride the bus because I think that:
The bus is an untapped gold mine of potential dates with Seattle’s singles.
Told you (many times, in fact) buses were sexy.
Lately, I’ve noticed a marked increase in a certain kind of driver-passenger interaction. It started on a Saturday in December, on the 48 ride home from an open house (in Ballard, of course) for my friend Rachel’s jewelry business. An attractive, middle-aged woman (well, maybe not middle aged, but far too old to be as drunk as she was at 3:00 in the afternoon) got on a couple of stops after me–near the beginning of the route. The driver, who had been distinctly sullen to the rest of us, perked up when she chose the seat closest to him, and immediately started chatting her up. From what I could tell, he didn’t get the digits, but before we’d reached her stop (somewhere around 85th & Greenwood), she’d told him most of her life story, and they’d set a date to meet up at the Drift on Inn for dancing and conversation the following Thursday night. (Not bad. The bus chick pick-up artist could take a lesson.)
Since then, I’ve witnessed three blatant driver-on-passenger bus macks: one on the 55, one of the 4, and one on another 48. In two of the cases, the passengers seemed receptive, but no actual dates were set. In all three cases, the drivers were men and the passengers were women.
I got hit on by a 48 driver (What’s the deal with the 48?) a few years ago–the man actually left his seat to come talk to me–but I didn’t think it was common until now. Anyone else witnessed or participated in a driver-passenger (or passenger-driver) mack situation?
