The City Bus is Swimming Past...

I’m happy just because. I found out I am really no one.

Hello creeps! Welcome to another week. I have a bad case of the Mondays. I also have a dead car, a crusty computer and soup in my shoe.

As you know, last week I was stalwartly avoiding conversations about politics and pregnancy. Tuesday, while taking a lunchtime nap in my car I noticed my fuse box making menacing clicking noises. That night leaving work there was a delay when I tried to start the Biscuit. But obvs since it started nothing could possibly be wrong. Then my stereo started shorting out. Mostly this was troubling because I was trying to enjoy my first birthday present of the year: the original soundtrack for “Once More with Feeling”. Every time we hit a climactic musical peak the stereo cut out, ruining Anya’s bunny-ranting momentum.

[Note: “Once More with Feeling” is the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I would appreciate if you watched it immediately so our friendship can resume. Please and thank you]

I’ve had alternator issues before, so I know the slow fade and fizzle of a car. I also know the excruciating agony of limping said car home at dusk with a police escort while the headlights get dimmer and dimmer. Fact: the Biscuit is the first car I’ve owned that’s younger than I am. Trust me, I’ve had a junker or two

This issue was not that issue.

Listen. I have zero car sense. This March I had to ask the fella at O’Reilly’s how to put oil in my engine. So instead of addressing the fact that my car was having issues, I did what I usually do with problems I can’t solve and completely ignored it. The Biscuit got progressively harder to start. By Wednesday I had to turn on my dome light, crank the engine twice, toggle the battery on and crank a third time for the car to start. By Thursday morning my battery light was on and my gauges surged on and off every other minute. 6pm Thursday, Biscuit wouldn’t start without a jump.

This is about when I started admitting something might be wrong.

Luckily I have amazing roommates willing to schlep me to and from work despite whiskey hangovers, terrible weather and rush hour traffic. I resolved to troubleshoot my car troubles Saturday. I even recruited a gaggle of knowledgeable queers to peer under the hood and diagnose my issue. You guys, you’re not living until you’ve stood in the street in your slippers while five lesbians look at your car. After some battery terminal scraping Biscuit started without a problem, and everything seemed ok.

Until this morning. Luckily, I left the house early planning write before work. Unluckily, Biscuit tapped out after the first attempt to start him. Thus begins my first hellish experience with commuting. I’m going to share some valuable life lessons I learned today.

Commuting 101:

1. Don’t spill soup in your backpack, especially if the soup happens to be precariously perched atop your work clothes and laptop. While in panic-mode you may decide that shoving a Tupperware of soup into your backpack is a good idea. It’s not. Carrying a container of soup is preferable to wearing a container of soup.

2. If you disregard the advice from #1, you’ll be forced to make a terrible decision: salvage what’s left of your lunch, or leave the half-full soup container at the bus stop? I sacrificed a quality Tupperware today. I’m still not sure it was the right decision.

3. Don’t miss your bus, or you will most likely be late for work. Also, you’ll have to stand outside longer, covered in soup and probably freezing your ass off because you underdressed.

4. Don’t make eye contact with the probable heroin junkie sitting across from you at 8 o’clock in the morning. Or do. I’m torn on this one, because I think she probably had some good stories to tell.

Somehow I made it to work almost on time, despite my complete lack of public transportation know-how. God bless you, google maps.

Once I got in the building, my coworkers swamped me with kindness. You guys, I’m blown away by how great everybody was. They helped me mop bits of potato out of my backpack and get it in the washer. They helped me daub soup out of my computer speakers, and called me too skinny and shared their lunches. They even kicked me out early so I could catch the 6pm bus, instead of the 6:12. You guys, despite the aspects of my job that make me want to punch myself in the face, I think I’ve found a community of people that genuinely care about me and each other. Yes they bicker like siblings, but that commitment to rivalry is impressive in its own right.

Riding the bus home I let myself bask in the novelty. Even while it was happening I realized that soon commuting will just be another thing I do, just another part of my day. But today it was new; today it got to be fantastically chaotic. I saw two kids sprawl across the seat using their dad as a pillow, all three sleeping while mom watched for their stop. There were people getting off of work or going to work, going to parties, going home with their groceries… Just people, everybody out there living their separate lives existing momentarily in the same space. We were all just people with places to go, and in that moment the act of simply moving forward was enough.

So I’m officially a commuter, at least for now. Tomorrow I’ll pack a more sensible lunch, leave the house 10 minutes earlier and actually know how to get where I’m going. Today started hellishly, but it also showed me I’m not as alone as I feel sometimes. None of us are, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

All my love, you weirdos.

-b

P.S. After a week of success, I broke my sugar fast on Sunday. But you guys, pumpkin pie waffles! I’m back on the wagon, with no regrets. YOLO, bitches.