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On the Bus to Concord

1) There are just enough people waiting for the bus to get to that uncomfortable "do I have to sit with a stranger?" place. I manage to keep a seat to myself after the first rush, but as time passes the succession of straggling passengers becomes ever more ridiculous: a woman with three plastic bags and leg braces,* a man with a violin case, a flower in his lapel, and one of those McDonald's shopping bags you only get when you order for the whole office usually, a man who drops off an eight-foot...thing...wrapped in floral sheets and tied with a pink bow, then gets in a testy exchange with the bus driver and runs off to return with a wife, two suitcases and a cooler. Somehow I escape a companion anyway. What's different? Usually I'm a seatmate magnet. Must wear this outfit next time.

2) We spend some nervous time jockeying next to a truck driver navigating his eighteen-wheeler with one hand while concentrating feverishly on the keypad of his cell phone.

3) We spend some incredulous time jockeying next to a truck driver navigating his eighteen wheeler with his feet.

*It's sad but I have to admit to myself: "Despite the fact that you are on your way to visit your wheelchair-bound father, you astonishing jackass, you still have a flash of hoping she doesn't sit next to you, with the management of the braces and the bags and everything, because oh my gosh her struggling with her devices might momentarily intrude on your consciousness, which surely compares to the day-to-day giant hassle of just getting around. Unbelievable."