A few days ago I passed my two-year anniversary of commuting to Salt Lake on the bus. TWO YEARS. I can't believe it's been that long; in my wildest dreams I never imagined that I would become such a hard-core commuter. (Really, who would dream about that? It's not really something to strive for, after all.) I've learned to use the commuting time fairly well, I've made a lot of bus friends, and it's really not so bad most of the time. Definitely more pleasant in the summer, though, because a few inches of snow overnight can make the journey extremely long and harrowing.
At any rate, I've encountered just about every random situation possible throughout the last two years. My favorite was one day after work when I waited half an hour for the bus to show up. It didn't come, didn't come, didn't come, and finally a fellow passenger reached the UTA hotline to ask what the deal was. The operator looked up the bus in UTA's log and said, "Uh, all I know is that this says bus vs. car." Apparently the bus had gotten in an accident a few blocks before my stop. The bus won.
The driver's personality also makes a huge a difference in the quality of the ride. A few weeks ago all the UTA drivers switched routes, and my new one literally sings the names of the stops. It puts a little spice into the morning; I can gauge his mood by how flamboyantly he calls them out.
Last summer I had a driver who took her job way too seriously. Not only did she announce the stops, but every time we went over Point of the Mountain she would turn on the microphone and say, "Entering Salt Lake County." Announcing the county line? In the middle of my nap? Each morning she also gave us the same five-minute spiel as we merged onto the freeway, explaining the route and where to find the electric outlets and how to turn on the overhead lights and how long it would take to arrive in Salt Lake and how to access the Internet. All very useful information, until you remember that my bus is for commuters who ride the same bus every single day.
Ah, the memories. Even more unbelievable is that my stint with UTA will be a thing of the past in only seven or eight more weeks! I'm not sure how I'll cope. Maybe I'll start calling out the names of the intersections as Gibsmerelda and I cruise around town.
6 comments:
I will surely miss our morning race, Honda vs. Bus.
I guess we "win" when we catch it before it goes up the hill into Orem.
My bus drivers rarely even speak!
That's one way to teach Gibsmerelda a little geography. Her father will be so pround!!!
I could totally be a bus driver (well the driving would stink), but let's be honest I am definitely not short on charisma!! I think Mrs. Heers would also be a jolly bus driver, that woman has sass.
Just chuckling, just chuckling . . . love the vision of all of the above-described things, and also love Dave's comment. You know, thinking of things to say to a baby gets hard after a bit, so that's not a half-bad idea.
What a legacy of bus riding you have Sarah. I am impressed with your explanation of the details. Good luck with your last couple of months! I hope you are feeling great!
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