Squeezing in a quick trip to CVS, you casually walk to the Robsham bus stop after a delicious meal at Corcoran Commons. And then you see it: the enormous, bulky, maroon-and-white bus slowly turning off of Commonwealth Ave. Your stomach lurches as you realize you either catch this bus or you wait for 20 minutes for the next one. It’s now or never. You break into a run, fully aware of the gawking people around you. You don’t care. They’ve been in your position before. They understand.
Out of breath, you see the magnificent bus doors open, ready for your arrival. You clamber up and find the seat with the least amount of crumbs. As the bus pulls away, you sigh in relief: you made it.
The bus chugs along all the way to Conte, where at least 15 people are anxiously waiting. As it comes to a slow stop, the driver unbuckles.
“No,” you think. “This can’t be.”
He dismounts the bus and walks down the sidewalk, turning the corner and disappearing for 15 minutes for his break.
A grueling 30 minutes later, you stumble out of the bus at the Reservoir stop.
The Commonwealth Ave. bus is a great invention in theory. Otherwise, there would be no other way to get to essential locations like CVS or luxuries like Starbucks without a one- or two-mile walk. Granted, this doesn’t seem too painful, but in the New England winter, it’s a death sentence. After waiting for half an hour in the harsh chill, there is a certain comfort to clambering onto the warm bus.
If you’re lucky, the bus isn’t too crowded. Seats are easy to come by and everyone gives each other space.
But if it’s a popular bussing time, that’s when things go terribly wrong.
The bus is so packed that in order to survive you must become the smallest person you can possibly be. You must suck in, elbows tucked, and clutch onto the nearest metal pole for dear life. No matter how hard you avoid it, you will be jostled. A personal favorite of mine is the hairy armpit in my face—direct line of vision, direct line of smell. Or that one person who decides the bus ride is an ideal time to eat very pungent foods.
Even though the distance to Cleveland Circle from campus poses a definite inconvenience in day-to-day life, there’s something special about taking the bus when you have all the time in the world. For example, when there are about 50 people packed into the bus on a Saturday night and that one drunk guy starts belting out “Proud To Be an American.” Despite several eye rolls, everyone starts singing along. As silly as it may seem, there’s something really remarkable about this sense of brief unity between strangers.
In fact, I owe the Commonwealth Ave. bus one of the best friendships I’ve made at college. Freshman year I was nervously waiting at the Reservoir bus stop after one of the first (of many) Starbucks excursions. Staring at the Transloc app on my phone, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hi, sorry, when does the bus come?” a quiet voice said. “My phone died.”
After a brief conversation primarily composed of complaining about the way Transloc drains our phone batteries, and always incorrectly reads “Out of Service” for the Commonwealth Ave. bus, the bus itself pulled up. We ended up sitting next to each other to continue our conversation, and today she’s one of my roommates and dearest friends.
By meeting strangers and cutting down travel time by more than half, the bus is an excellent innovation. It serves as a time you can simply sit and collect your thoughts. There’s no running to the next class or paying attention to a professor. Bus rides can ground us by forcing us to simply sit and rest.
So as inconvenient as having to take the Commonwealth Ave bus can be, it serves as an opportunity. You and a certain amount of strangers are all headed off campus, and you’re all in the same boat (or bus, rather).
Public transportation will always be a pain. It’s just one of those things that we have to grit our teeth over and push onward. Ultimately, at the end of the day, you’ll have your Chipotle or your Starbucks or your shampoo from CVS. And while on the bus, we should take a minute or two to look around and smile at a stranger. After all, you’re all bound by the same struggle.
Featured Image by Drew Hoo / Heights Editor
