I am afraid that there is some tragic story behind this – burns, or a skin problem, perhaps extreme light sensitivity or something… who knows? The other passengers don’t really acknowledge him, but they are not uncomfortable despite the silent presence of this mysterious person.

I like to think that this person has discovered the true secret of invisibility. On days when he feels like being invisible, he dons his balaclava and goggles and gets on the bus, riding silently to his destination. On other days when he is feeling like being part of the world, he wears a jacket and stocking cap just like the rest of us shlubs on the bus, but we have no idea that he is the man behind the mask because we’ve never seen him take off the layers.

I hope that’s the case and that he’s laughing his ass off at all of us for not figuring this out.

Cross posted at snakshak.blogspot.com

With both vehicles and all of my bikes on a barge somewhere in the Pacific Ocean for the next several weeks, I was forced to be car-free after the move, and determined to make it work. I bought a bus pass and researched my options. I concluded (incorrectly, it turns out) that my best option would be to take the Route 42 bus from the corner of 46th Street and Bloomington Ave. to the light rail station and get downtown on the train (stupidly inefficient, I now know). On Sunday night, I studied my bus schedule one last time, I loaded my backpack with my pass, bus schedule and a magazine to read on the bus. I was so ready.

Like Christmas day, I woke up a little too early on Monday morning, not wanting to be late for my bus. Because she is a kind and caring person (and patient with me), my wife got up, too, and walked with me to the bus stop (in retrospect, this was a lot like Mom walking her kid down to the school bus stop on the first day of Kindergarten). 

Now, my spouse is not a “morning person”. She was kind of groggy and not all that pleased to be out and about at 6:45 AM, but she is a sweet and good-natured bear and took the whole event in stride despite the hour.  Our walk led us to the corner of 46th Street and Bloomington Ave., where we commenced to wait.

As we stood on the corner, she decided that a cup of coffee sounded pretty good, so she told me that she was going to go across the street to a local coffee shop, and asked if I wanted anything. 

“Yes. An espresso. Get me an espresso. Get me an espresso because I don’t have much time – my bus is coming!” I told her.
She looked at me for a long moment, nodded once, then set off across the street and disappeared into the coffee shop.

Alone on the corner at dawn, I evaluated my state of preparedness. 

• Magazine: check! 
• Bus pass: check! 
• Bus schedule: check! 
• Cell phone: check! 

I was so ready.

Within a minute, a bus pulled up to the stop. I quickly looked at the coffee shop – no sign of my wife!! I knew she would know that if I was not at the intersection when she returned with my espresso that I had boarded my bus and was bound for work, so I got on swiped my bus pass and turned to sit, noticing immediately that I was the only passenger on the bus. As we pulled away, I looked back at the coffee shop as we pulled away.

Instead of continuing down 46th Street towards the light rail station (the Route 46 M.O.), the bus driver gave the wheel a mighty yank as he pulled away from the stop and turned south on Bloomington Ave.

WHAT THE HELL! Damn! Damn! Damn! Where are we going? Am I being kidnapped? Why would anyone kidnap me? Where are we going? Maybe I am hostage! Why would the bus driver kidnap me? What am I going to do?

Calmly, I asked the driver, ”Ah – Where are we going?”

“Downtown!”, he said, not looking at me as we crossed Minnehaha Parkway.

Hmm…. Downtown – that was good, Minneapolis is small enough that I could walk just about anywhere if I had to. But wait – these are the TWIN cities! It’s a long damn walk from St. Paul…

“Um… which downtown?” I asked.

“(long pause) Minneapolis… do you want to get off?” He was now looking at me in the mirror.

Another long pause on my part. “No – I am going to go for it” I said.

The driver eyed me in the mirror again and kept going south on Bloomington and then west on 54th Street. The bus did a lap around South MPLS and added people as we snaked up Chicago Ave., then headed onto I-35W at 35th Street. From there we expressed it downtown.  I had lucked into an express bus that had totally escaped my radar during my research.

Sweet!

The bus stopped a few blocks from my office and I got up to leave.  As I did so, I noticed that the driver was eyeing me in the mirror again. As I got off, the driver looked at me. I told him “this worked out very well for me, thanks.” 

The bus experience has been good. It requires a little more planning around departure times, but I am enjoying being able to read, or just zone out, on the bus. You can’t do that driving (or at least you are not supposed to). I also like that it controls how late I work. I tend to get into something at the office and will stay later than I would like. Finally, I admit to feeling a little righteous about it as well.

I also find Minneapolis bus society to be interesting. I already have a “Bus Friend” that sits with me in the morning. I get on at one of the very first stops on the limited stop route, so I can grab a seat no problem.

Once all of the entirely empty seats are taken, the dynamic changes; people getting on the bus have only about 3 seconds or so size up everyone on the bus and decide who they are going to sit with. My Bus Friend gets on at this point in the route. Generally, she will glance around the bus and nonchalantly come over and sit with me, probably because I look like I bathe and probably won’t be too creepy.

I like my Bus Friend although I have no idea who she is, where she is going, what her name is or what she does. It’s a surprising rich non-relationship. Here are the general rules as I have come to understand them for building and maintaining a healthy Bus Friendship:

-Don’t really acknowledge them – this is a secret friendship. You can nod at them, but much more than that starts to get a little creepy.

-Try not to look at what they are reading, that starts to get a little creepy, too.

-Act like you could care less if they sit with you or not. Being eager to sit with you Bus Friend is a little creepy.

-Watch out for your bus friend; if their mittens fall on the disgusting floor let them know; don’t help them too much or it’s a little too creepy, though.

-Do not breathe through you mouth when sitting with your Bus Friend.

-Always sit in the same location if you want to keep your Bus Friend; moving from your usual spot says to your Bus Friend “Fuck you – I moved so you won’t be able to find me!”. Nobody needs that kind of rejection at 7:00 AM.

-If your Bus Friend does not show up one day, but is there the next day, it is permissible to raise your eye brows in acknowledgement when you see each other. Anything more gets a little creepy.

Essentially, I have concluded that to be good Bus Friends, you both need to make a (silent and mysterious) commitment to each to be friendly within a narrow spectrum, and avoid being weird or creepy. Bus Friends provide a valuable service to each other – it’s a little familiarity and also some insurance that weird or creepy people won’t come over and sit with you.

I find maintaining these carefully orchestrated non-relationship to be one of the more interesting aspects of my bus ride. Although, I have to admit that the fact that I have thought so much about Bus Friends is, in itself, probably a little creepy.