I AM FREAKING DRIVING: Why I am happy to be leaving public transportation in the dust.

I neglected to mention that I got my licence several months ago.
I don't know how I neglected to mention it, as it has greatly improved my ability to travel, but I did.
By far the best thing about it is that I don't need to take the bus anymore.
By show of hands, who has taken public transportation? For those who haven't, or those who have and would like to read my thoughts on it, the following is a brief synopsis of the experience:

It starts when you wait by the bus stop. You cross the street, unwisely confident that the batty drivers aren't going to hit you. The bus comes at two, and it's two-ten right now. A few people are sitting on the bench in the small glass-and-plastic shelter, earphones obliterating the outside world. One of them may look up briefly, but will immediately go back to her phone. You don't talk to them anyway -- they look like they'd rather die than talk to you. Minutes pass, and others begin to walk down to the bus stop. The shelter becomes crowded, and many stand around, earbuds in their ears. It's two o'clock, and the weight of your backpack is beginning to hurt your back. A cold wind blows, causing you to shiver. You look down the road and see no sign of the bus. You look at your watch to make sure it actually is two, then decide the bus'll be here in another few minutes. It never comes on the dot.
Five minutes pass. No bus. The others stand there, stoic as statues. Some of them walk around a bit, but never move too much. Some of them take calls on their cell phones. Some see a friend and start talking. Most stay silent. Five more minutes pass. Nothing. You look down the road. No sign of it. Five more minutes. Still nothing.
Finally, you see a large dark-blue vehicle driving down the road. You walk to where you know it stops, with the knowledge that, if you don't get there first, you don't get a seat. You look back down the road, and realize that that's a huge truck, not the bus. The wind grows colder and you shiver, cursing the bus driver for making you stand here. Finally, you see something. You're certain that this is the bus. You take a look to make sure. Yep. The large front window, the screen above it with the bus number and "City Hall" projected in big yellow letters, the bike rack below it... this is the bus alright.
It begins to slow down, then comes to a stop five feet from where you are standing. Great. Now everyone else is in front of you. Fortunately, you manage to squeeze through to the entrance before all the seats are taken. The warmth of the bus's heating system welcomes you as you swipe your bus pass through the machine, then head for the closest seat. The seats come in pairs, so you put your backpack on one and sit on the other. A twenty-year-old woman is sitting in front of you with a cell phone glued to her ear. You can't help but overhear the conversation she's having.
"I F***ING TOLD THAT B**** NOT TO F*** WITH ME! AND YOU KNOW WHAT SHE DOES? SHE GOES AND ****S MY BOYFRIEND'S BROTHER! AND THEN SHE POSTS UP ON FACEBOOK ABOUT IT, LIKE, 'TAKE THAT, B****!' SO I TELL HER TO KNOCK THE S*** OFF AND SHE GOES AND UNFRIENDS ME! SO I TRY TO FRIEND HER BACK, SHE ACCEPTS, AND THEN I'M LIKE 'WHY THE F*** DID YOU DO THAT TO ME?' AND SHE'S ALL LIKE 'DID WHAT?' AND I'M LIKE, 'UM, YOU SHOULD KNOW, B****, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S ******* MY BOYFRIEND'S BROTHER!' AND SHE'S LIKE, 'I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!' BULL-S***! I SWEAR, I AM GOING TO F*** THAT B**** UP NEXT TIME I SEE HER, I'M GONNA SLAM HER IN THE F***ING FACE!.... THE F*** I AM! SHE'S JUST SUCH A M*********ING-"
"EXCUSE ME!" the bus driver interjects, "You either need to stop swearing like that or get off the bus!"
You know it has to be bad if the bus driver comments. You're glad he says something, because you're not particularly happy about having to hear this random woman's drama. She continues talking, quieter, using less profanity, but you can still hear it. Fortunately, she gets off at the next stop. Several others get on, and the bus becomes full. Out of common courtesy, you take your bag off of the seat next to you, and a rather large man, about thirty, sits down next to you. "Bus is crowded today," he says to you. You agree with him. Soon, you and he are conversing, and before you know it, he's telling you all of the darkest little details of his personal life. "I first remember my father's best friend molesting me when I was four years old, and I tried to tell him but he just wouldn't believe me, and...."
You want to tell him to shut up, that you really DO NOT want to know these things, but you're not sure how to respond. You finally settle on putting on a serious expression and nodding your head every once in a while.
The bus finally stops at city hall. The man has told you that he lives in a different section of town, so he'll be remaining on this bus. Thank God. You hurriedly say goodbye and vacate the bus. People in worn, tattered jackets walk to and fro, and you try not to make eye-contact with anyone. You plug in your own earphones and put on something, anything, as long as you won't have to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, that never works.
"'scuse me."
You turn towards the voice and see an obese woman with disheveled hair and a multitude of tatoos standing next to you. She's wearing brown pajama pants with cupcakes on them, and a spaghetti-strap tank top which looks more like an undergarment than an actual shirt. You can't tell whether there are shoes or slippers on her feet.
"Got a cigarette? Can I bum one off ya?"
You quickly explain that you don't smoke, and attempt to go back to your music.
"Hey, you look just like my cousin," she says. You are uncertain how to reply. You once again, attempt to go back to your music, but she decides that you are her conversation buddy for the day. She learns your name quickly and uses it as frequently as possible. You learn about her medical history, and the group home she lives in, even though you would never ever need or want to know either of these things. You look for a way to escape, but then, someone else overhears your (one sided) conversation and begins talking to her about his own medical history/group home. He becomes her new conversation buddy, and you quickly walk away. You look down the road to see if your next bus is here yet. It comes in fifteen minutes, you realize. Fortunately, this one's usually on time.
In the mean time, you'll just hide away in your little world of Evans Blue or Evanescence or whatever you decide to listen to. Quite by accident, you end up making eye contact with a tall man in a ratty faded blue coat, and he begins walking towards you. "Pardon me, man," he says, a serious expression on his face "do you speak English?" His eyes are intense in a rather dark sort of way.
"Yes..." you answer. You've met him before. What's he going to say this time?
Immediately, he takes your hand and shakes it. "Bless you man, God bless you, I'm a Christian, hey, I'm having an 'mergency. My mother, she's in the hospital, n' I need two dolla to take the bus to see her, I need two dolla, can you help me out? I'm a Christian. Can you help me-"
"You've told me this story three times this week," you answer, fed up with the scamming.
He mumbles "Oh, sorry," and then walks on to the another person nearby.
Over your shoulder you hear him starting again with "Pardon me sir, do you speak English?" but then you see your bus coming. You quickly walk to the stop. This time, you're the first one on. You swipe the bus pass through the machine. It rings an error. You swipe it again, then head to your seat. You sit towards the middle of the bus again. The bus fills up with people relatively quickly. Some strike up a conversation with the bus driver, a friendly Jamaican man in his thirties. Others sit and listen to their music. A dark-skinned man, twenty something, in a short brown overcoat and dirty blue jeans gets on the bus, mumbling to himself incoherently. His brown eyes bear a deep blackness with a piercing gleam of cold white shining from the very depths of it. It's like the sparkle of jollity you've seen in the eyes of some you know, but not nearly as benign. It scares you, and you avoid making any form of eye contact with him. He sits down across from you, still muttering incoherently to himself. You seem him reach deep into the pocket of his overcoat and pull out a small bottle of some kind of hard liquor -- whiskey it looks like. He puts it back and then continues to mutter, and an occasional profanity is heard. The bus starts the slow journey home. Traffic is always awful near the city hall area, and it's a matter of luck if the bus isn't stopped by every single traffic light on the way. Luck is on your side today, however, and the bus travels through the city at a much faster pace than usual. Soon enough, the scary-eyed man gets off. A few people comment about the annoyance of his muttering, and you wonder if they're blind. Something's obviously wrong with him. Oh well.
Soon enough, three high school girls get on, dressed finely in whatever the latest trending brands are. They talk to each other in their high, valley-girl-esque voices and text on their phones. Another man gets on and sits across from you, where scary-eyes had been sitting. His eyes are also rather off-putting, so you avoid talking to him. He tries to strike up a conversation with you, but you put on a generally unfriendly demeanor and he leaves you alone. The valley girls, on the other hand, do not, and thus, he starts talking to them.
"Hey, you know, you look just like my cousin."
You remember the girl who talked to you earlier, and realize that line as the starter of conversation is a sure sign of boundary issues.
One of the valley girls looks at him, an awkward smile on her face. "....Okay?"
"Yeah, you look just like her. It's really weird. Hey, I bet you never can guess how old I am. I look, what, thirty, right?"
"Um... yeah, I guess...."
"Well, I'm twenty one. Most people say I am as mature as a thirty-year-old, though."
You want to laugh out loud at that.
"On top of that, I have six associates degree's," he continues, "which also makes it seem like I'm thirty."
He then proceeds to tell the unfortunate valley girl about all six of his associate's degrees, what he likes and dislikes about them, and why he never went on to get any bachelor's degrees. All the while, the valley girl tries a number of times in vain to escape the conversation, and then finally looks at you. She smiles awkwardly at you makes a gesture at him, nonverbally saying "what's up with this guy?" You shrug, smiling awkwardly back. Finally, it's your stop. You pull the wire that signals the bus driver to stop. You stand up as the bus comes to a stop, attempting to keep your footing against the momentum. You say "Bye," to the valley girl, who replies to you in an overly loud voice, cutting the man off in an attempt to end the conversation. Not surprisingly, it fails, and he keeps talking. Oh well, better her than you. You say goodbye to the bus driver, and then walk off the bus, glad that this hellish trip is finally over.

Well, that's basically what it is. Some of these come directly from actual experience, some are paraphrased, all are cut and pasted onto one day. I'm sure you understand now why I hate the bus.

Anyway, I'm about to watch "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" with my dad.

I'll talk to you guys later,

T-WAC