Bus Tales

There are certain points of Brooklyn that you can't get to by subway, and so you have to take the bus (like Red Hook, where I work, or Canarsie, where my cousin works). Ah, the bus. It's like a microcosm of New York City--the good, the bad, the funny, the nutty, it's all there, and it's all contained. I like it because I can look around outside. I don't like it because I can't read on it without getting sick. Also, I fell over the first time I took the bus, but have sorted myself out. Well, kind of.

So, a lot of bus riding has occurred of late, and some great stuff has happened. Here are the highlights.

B61 to downtown Brooklyn
Ahead of me boarding are two men with Fairway Market shirts on.
Guy 1: I'm sure you got the job.
Guy 2: I don't know man, I'm not very qualified, I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high..I could really use the money though.
They back away to find seats.
I swipe my card.
The busdriver, over the loudspeaker: Hey! I don't need that type of negativity on my bus! I'm sure you got the job, brother.
Guy 2 (who is now in the middle of the bus and has to yell): Well, maybe, but I don't want to get too excited about it.
Busdriver: Positive thinking, man. It works.
Guy 2: And I have a job now, so at least my family won't starve.
Busdriver: Good, that's what I like to hear.
Guy 2: Hey, maybe I want your job.
Busdriver: Brother, you do not want this job. They're cutting us all over the place.
[note: this is true. The MTA just cut a LOT of bus routes and jobs, effective at the end of June. It's miserable. And some of the bus drivers have started announcing some stops like, "Union St, transfer to the B71, FOR NOW, before somebody cuts it." Not a great climate with the MTA right now.]

10 minutes go by, and the bus has filled up a lot by then. People are standing a bit too close to the rear door, so the busdriver picks up the loudspeaker again.
Busdriver [in a deep and scary voice]: Please step away from the back door. The last man who stood that close is no. longer. with. us. Poor Tom. May he rest in peace.
[Pause]
Busdriver: That means YOU, gentleman in the blue jacket!
Blue jacket gentleman is either zoned out or does not understand English, because he does not move. The man next to me reached over and gently tapped him on the shoulder and moved him away from the door.

B65 to downtown Brooklyn
Quiet Saturday morning. I'm sitting next to a woman who has two daughters with her, probably about ages 3 and 6. They are adorable. There is a fashionable looking woman and her partner across the aisle from us.
Fashionable woman: I just wanted to let you know that your daughters are beautiful.
Mom: Oh, thank you. I had to stop telling them that because I didn't want it to go to their heads!
Fashionable woman (to the girls): just always know that you are beautiful and no one can ever, ever take that away from you.
Partner, squeezing her hand: No, they can't.
Older girl: Ok.

B65 to Crown Heights
Woman 1: did you ever have that moment when you were reading a book as a kid? And you were sitting under a tree on a blanket and thinking that you were suddenly in another world, and there was no where else you would rather be? Mine was The Secret Garden. That's when I realized what reading could do.
Woman 2: Mine was Little House on the Prairie. I felt like I was Laura. I never forgot that.
Me (in my head, not out loud): Mine was Walk Two Moons.

B65 to downtown Brooklyn
Early morning, and 3 girls get on for school; I presume they are sisters. The youngest is very young, probably 5, and the oldest is maybe 12, and the middle around 8. The 12 year old is in charge of them. She sits next to me, and they sit in the seats behind us.
5 year old: I don't like the way the brakes sound. They go squeeeeeeak.
8 year old: Me either. Hey, did you press the secret accelerator?
5 year old: No! Ready...NOW!! [they simultaneously kick the back of our seats]
12 year old: KNOCK IT OFF. Please don't embarrass me.
8 year old: Warp speed! We need the emergency break.
5 year old [poking her sister in the head]: We're going into space!! WE'RE GOING INTO OUTER SPACE!!!
12 year old: Oh, please stop yelling.
5 year old: BLAST OFF!!!!!
Me: [bursts out laughing]

B65 to Crown Heights
We are stopped at a red light and see a cab cut off a biker. It didn't seem like that big a deal to me--the cab wasn't anywhere close to hitting him--but the bike driver freaks out and punches the fender of the cab, while screaming. I can't hear anything through the glass. I think I'm the only one even looking at this scene. The cab stops. The bus driver whips out his bike lock and is waving it at the cab as if to go for the window. The light turns green and we go on.

B63 to Atlantic Avenue
The seats are mostly full, but the bus is not super crowded. An older woman gets on with a 2 year old, who toddles on while her grandma/aunt/babysitter hunts for her card. The girl is about half way to the back on the bus when the busdriver starts to pull away from the curb, and I'm not kidding when I say that every person within a 6 foot radius, myself included, lunged out to make sure she didn't fall. People stuck out legs, arms, canes, and one man held on to her until her grandmother could get back to her.

B6 to East New York, courtesy of my cousin:
A lady gets on, sits down for 3 seconds, and proclaims loudly in an amazing Caribbean accent: "Jesus is coming, people." She then continues on a rant about the state of the world. This happens on a daily basis. Finally, one day...
Lady: "Jesus is coming, people."
Random guy: "WHEN IS HE COMING? You've been saying this every day and he's not here yet."

And a bonus boat story:
I am eating lunch outside on the docks, and am walking to throw out my trash. I'm holding a bottle of seltzer in one hand. A wizened, shirtless man standing on his boat (which is called "My Lady") yells over to me, "Hey doll! Hope it's vodka in that bottle." I responded with, "oh, I wish it were," and then we waved and went our separate ways.

Hop on the Bus, Gus

I just got home (it is 12:30 am) from work and took a cab. I say this with a slight sense of personal disappointment, because now that I've finally figured out the buses, I try and take them because it feels like a distinction between a REAL NYer and a tourist. Real NYers take the bus, or in my case, two buses, home when they work late. They are tough and hardy, and I did it last night, but the cards were stacked against it tonight: it was raining (I am a baby when it comes to standing ankle deep in water, and am willing to pay more money not to do so) and the bus was half an hour late!! Which has actually never happened to me before, but my co-worker J and I waited and waited and finally gave up and she called us cabs. When my cab pulled up and I got in, J banged on the cabbies window (J is about 5 feet no inches tall, and has an impressive array of berets which she always wears over her short dreadlocks. "Don't be charging her more than $10!" she yelled at him. Then, to me, "if he charges you more than $10, you can tell him where to stick it." He charged me $10. And I was home in 10 minutes, as opposed to my usual 50.

To anyone who is parentally or grandparentally related to me and is concerned about buses in the middle of the night, all I can say is: don't be. There have been a few weekend nights when I felt not super-comfortable, so I took a cab then, too. Probably the most different thing about all of this, apart from the fact that I have no experience with public transport, is that I am usually the only white person on the bus. As someone who grew up in the vast majority, it's an interesting feeling. It makes you think about the tiny population of African-Americans where I went to college, and the 5 Asian kids in my high school. I knew I stuck out last night when waiting for my second bus with two off-duty security guards, one who was Haitian and one who was Venezuelan. (I know this because they talked the entire time we were waiting. I could tell you how many siblings they have, what kind of hair products they use, and what kind of earrings they think look dumb. I'm not even kidding.) At one point, one said, "well, you know, I'm not prejudiced at all. My sister married a guy who was as white as her." (the "her" being me.) I looked up and they were both looking at me, so I did an awkward wave (I'm a master of the awkward wave) and they laughed and then I was included in their conversation by unspoken agreement. (they also know what hair products I use.) This sense of difference was particularly striking coming back from the opera, when I went from being the only white person on the subway wearing turquoise tights to being the only white person, period. (it says something about perceived social class and certain cultural activities--the exact same thing happened when I went to the ballet--but I'm not going into that now.)

But I've gotten used to the maps and one-way streets. The downside to this is I've almost ended up missing my street because I was falling asleep, or texting and not paying attention, whereas before I'd be too hyped up and staring out the window, so I would prematurely signal a stop and get off a few blocks early. At any rate, I'm home, I'm going to bed, and I have tomorrow off. Whooo!