For the Love of Public Transportation.

You can learn a lot about someone for 25 cents.

I've always been a fan of public transit, not only because it is convenient but for the people factor. There is something relaxing and artistic about riding a bus or a light-rail train. You don't have to worry about stop signs or hooligans cutting you off in traffic. Instead you can quietly fold your hands, take a seat, and let your brain mull over your day.

I began to write strangers's stories when I was fourteen years old. With change rattling around in my pocket I would head to the MAX train. I carried a notebook and pencil, prepared for anything interesting and just overall good people watching. I would sit on those plastic chairs and watch the scenery go by as I looked and listened to my fellow transit goers. I would imagine that their name was _______ and what their life was like. At the time I thought maybe this was preparation for being a secret agent. That thought was short-lived, having a love for telling stories is not a good secret agent quality. Besides I would hate a life of sneaking around and secrecy. So I then used it more as an exercise of creative writing. By no means was I there to judge anyone, I was simply there to observe and let creativity flow from my pencil.

The best moments (and at times the most frightening) were when I actually got to hear someone's story, first hand. For one reason or another I'd end up chatting with another rider. Often times their stories far exceeded what I would have imagined. Then my stop, or perhaps theirs, would come and with a farewell that was it. Never again to take part in one another's life, save the blip of time spent on public transit.

Needless to say I have dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of stories from riding public transportation in Portland, Seattle, Boston, New York, Washington DC, and now Klamath Falls. As far as other cities go, those big city stories will have to wait, because I just exited the Northbound bus to OIT and this story is fresh in my brain.

Sean had a meeting at school this evening. Since I am back taking classes I have homework that needs tending to, which never seems to get done at home. So with Sean already at OIT I whipped up some potato soup, threw it in the thermos with two spoons and ran down to catch the bus. The bus was surprisingly on time. As we began to pull away from the station a woman came hurrying up to the door, paper bag and purse in hand. She greeted the bus driver with a warm raspy hello and fumbled for change. She was probably in her sixties. Her face was creased with that of a hard but full life. The bus driver kindly said she could have a seat while she looked for change. And so we were off. The lady was cackling and after a few minutes leaned over my way and asked if I had change for a dollar. She had two one dollar bills, the fare was $1.25. I smiled pulled out a quarter and handed it over. Her hands matched her face in that they were worn and withered. But make no mistake this was no timid woman, she was animated, gracious, and a talker.

After throwing in her fare she came right next to me and sat down.

"You know I had to sneak out and escape! My kids and honey won't let me go nowhere without someone else!"

I wasn't sure if I should have been scared.

My gut didn't give off any warning lurches so I proceeded to ask why she had escaped.

"Well this is my second bout with cancer, first time cervical, and now liver. They say I got five years. Well that was five and a half years ago, so I figure its in the Lord's hands when I'm supposed to go! And my boys and my ol' honey man are always thinkin I need to be with someone 24/7, it drives me crazy. So I just gone and fed them and sent them to bed and snuck out," She guffawed and commented on how my earrings must be heavier than hell. I proceeded to ask where she made her getaway to.

"To the liquor store of course, I just love that apricot brandy and now is my chance! If them boys of mine ask I'll just say I went for a walk." She chuckled again and then made a duck noise.

"Quack, quack, quack thats what them boy's do. Telling me no one makes a grilled cheese like their momma...Oh shit that is my stop! Sorry I don't mean to curse now, I should have said 'shoot'. Thanks for the quarter!" On her way out she tousled the hat on my head. "Something to remember me by, thanks girly!

And she was gone.

I straightened my hat and smiled. A quarter can open doors. You take that quarter and add it to a bus ride and you've got grand potential for some phenomenal stories. So although buses and max trains, the subway and so forth get a bad rep for being dirty, not on time, rickety, and uncomfortable, I like to look at them as opportunities.

Public transit is a vault of stories waiting to be shared. My one practical piece of advice: make sure you have a valid ticket that has not expired. If you don't you could get busted with a hundred dollar fine...not that I would know from personal experience...

*Pictures in order: Philadelphia, riding the MAX in Portland with my two best friends, and public transportation in Haiti (we are so fortunate).