There are some who believe public transportation is, somehow, beneath them. This is a very American way of thinking. The US has a long, well-documented car culture. The infrastructure is designed to necessitate owning a car. Therefore, owning a car is part of everyday life for most. The nicer the car, the higher the social status - at least that's how it's always been marketed. Most don't realize it's a con, but that's a story for another day.
We own two cars. Once upon a time, that would give the impression, to most people, that we are doing well. In reality, it's just necessity.
We live in a relatively quiet suburb of a medium-sized city, by American standards. And yes, we do have public transportation. By global standards, ours isn't great. It's overpriced and limited. Out where we live, I can catch a bus once an hour. The bus is usually relatively clean and there are rarely more than a handful of riders. Most of my neighbors probably feel they're too high class for the bus. I'm not.
I actually enjoy the bus, when convenient (which it rarely is).
If I have to go into the city, I'll usually take the bus. It's easier (and more cost-effective) than driving. I don't have to find a place to park and spend ridiculous amounts of money to do so. Riding the bus has other perks, at least for me.
I can relax, enjoy the scenery, and do a bit of people watching. You never know who you might run into on the bus.
When I lived in England, I often traveled by bus. It was normal there. I could just walk up to the main road, wait a few minutes, hop on a double-decker and be in the city in no time. It was cheaper than most transport too. Again, relaxed, scenery, and people watching. All sorts rode the bus. I remember having conversations with laborers, attorneys, students, professors, and even a few possibly crazy people. Like I said, always fun.
Their American counterparts are less diverse. Here, it's often mostly older folks like me, students, and those with lower-paying jobs. One really isn't likely to encounter someone in a nice suit and tie, or a high-class lady. To me, this is no great loss. Americans claim to have no class system - but anyone with eyes can tell you this isn't the case. No, the bus is the logistic choice of those who keep the place running, like it or not.
The social etiquette of public transportation is different here. Most people won't make a sound. There are some who feel perfectly at home, and who feel well-entitled to do as they please. For me, these are the most interesting riders.
Once upon a time, they would listen to music, loudly, on whatever portable device was fashionable at the time. I got to hear songs I might not have, otherwise. These folks will carry on full-volume conversations - oblivious to the other riders. Nowadays, they usually maintain these conversations of their mobile phones - at the same volume. I'm often dismayed if they use earphones. I prefer when they have the phone on speaker mode. I can't speak for anyone else, but I like to hear both sides of the story. It's often like a soap opera. If Tania's baby daddy is cheating on her with 'that bitch Shonda', I'm sorry - I need the whole story. While I can't condone cheating, there has to be more to the story. If part of the tale of woe is being publicly shared, I feel entitled to all of the information. I'll probably never meet these people but you never know. I might one day have business dealings with 'that bitch Shonda'. I need to know if she really is as untrustworthy as I'm being led to believe. Is Tania a victim of poor choices or is she really just a gullible dimwit? Enquiring minds want to know!
The bus stop is the perfect spot for people watching. Americans often believe they are invisible when in public, especially if they're waiting for their regular bus. It's easy to spot the regular riders versus the occasional rider. The latter often check the time, looking around like a prairie dog popping its head up. Is this their bus? Is it that one? Did they miss it? How long do they have to wait? The seasoned rider just knows. If the bus is running off schedule, they tend to be vocal about it - regardless of who's listening.
Then there are those who are so perfectly at ease with public life that waiting for the bus is merely part of their daily schedule. They know the bus is coming, and that it will come within a reasonable (to them) window of time. They have a routine. Ten minutes waiting for the express bus to their chosen destination gives them ample time for other bits of their daily routine. They might use the time to manage correspondence on their phone or read a book or magazine (both of these are usually done on their phone now as well, but not always). Or they might have this time set aside for a snack. These are my favorite people.
Snacking on a packet of chips or a candy bar seems so routine that it's almost unnoticeable. Occasionally, someone will enjoy a sandwich, burger, hoagie, or slice of pizza.
Late one sunny afternoon, while waiting for my bus home, I noticed a somewhat older lady who truly didn't care how the world saw her. Apparently aware that she had plenty of time before her bus was due to arrive, she opened her bag and began enjoying a meal.
First, she ate a tomato. Just pulled it out of the sack and bit into like one would an apple. She did not do this daintily or quietly. It was clear to the rest of us that it was indeed a juicy tomato, and of exceptional quality. I, for one, was thrilled that she enjoyed it. Others...not so much. The audible chomps, slurps, and gulps led some to move away from her. Perhaps they were just affording her privacy to enjoy her meal. I, on the other hand, was enthralled by this particular dinner theater.
Having finished her starter, she moved on to her main course. A large, loosely packed sandwich. The bread was cut thick, obviously not cheap store brand bread. The filling was clearly some sort of luncheon meat, cheese, lettuce, and onions. I know this because I watched her catch falling bits and shove them in her mouth. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy this delicacy, however ungracefully her manner. To be fair, she was dining in a standing position at a mildly crowded bus stop. Proper etiquette was in limited supply. I like to think she was en route to, maybe, a second or third job of the day.
She finished the sandwich, followed by multiple high-volume glugs from a bottle of something. It was a large water bottle, but the contents were clearly not agua. The others waiting at the stop had given her even more personal space, and for this bit of decency, I mentally applauded them.
Alas, I was glued to my spot. I was aware that my own bus would arrive shortly, and admittedly, I wanted to witness the conclusion of her enjoyment of her meal.
I was not disappointed.
I expected her to produce from her bag, an appropriate dessert course. Something easily transported throughout her long day. Again, I'm making assumptions. For all I know, she had just started her day. I'll never know.
The moment came and she pulled out a large something - wrapped in plastic. It was easily the size of a piece of cake. It evidently wasn't some small snack cake like a Twinkie. It was substantial in size and heft. I watched with growing anticipation; I couldn't wait to see what else she was about to enjoy. She slowly peeled back the layers of plastic. What would it be? Angel food? Pound cake? A hunk of homemade bread?
It was, in fact, a block of what appeared to be government cheese. It looked hard, waxy, and devoid of color. And she proceeded to gnaw on it.
It was like watching a rat in human form. I heard a few gasps and gags from my fellow bus stop patrons, or at least I thought I did. I was totally absorbed by this culinary performance.
I could see my bus coming. It was still on the bridge, a few car lengths back from the traffic light. I knew my time was limited. How much of this block O fromage was she going to eat?
One might be surprised to find that she ate at least half of the hunk of cheese before the bus pulled up. She was still gnawing on it as I got on the public transport. As we pulled away from the stop, I looked back at her. She stood there, still oblivious to the world, continuing to gnaw on her tasty brick. I hope she enjoyed every bite.
copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger
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