As I drive through my neighborhood in the morning all the little kiddies tra-la-la-la-la onto the big yellow school bus. The school bus that I inevitably get stuck behind as it stops at each…and…every…single…house…on the block. What ever happened to a good old-fashioned bus stop? You know, the kind at the end of the street that you walk to. Is this unheard of anymore?
The only year I ever had to take the bus was when I was in the first grade. We lived in Japan at the time so my sister S and I had to commute to an American school on the island. I remember stepping into the bus to find kids swinging like Kerri Strug from the parallel handlebars that spanned the center isle. Our poor, unfortunate school bus driver, who did not speak a lick of English, would get so angry when kids would pull the windows down past the safety line and stick their heads outside the bus. He would yell. We would laugh at the jibberish noises he made. We would eventually calm down long enough to draw butt cheeks on the fogged up windows before resuming our swing-half-turns on the high bar. Eventually the school rallied up some volunteer parents to sit on the bus with us during the morning and afternoon commutes. There weren’t, however, enough parents to ride with us every day. Poor school bus driver, he never knew from one day to the next if it was going to be a good day on the job or a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. (If you got that reference, you’ve earned yourself some pie!)
I got a little off track with that story… my point; I made some absolutely fabulous friends at that bus stop. We would compare what our mom’s made us for lunch. I automatically envied those who got to eat a hot lunch that day while I carried around my Barbie and the Rocker’s lunch box with matching thermos. (Although, I mist admit, my mom made some pretty kick ass cold lunches.) I often traded my oatmeal cream pie for a baggie of apple slices. Cream filling is just not my thing.
These kids that get picked up at the end of their driveways are missing out on an amazing bus stop experience.
My morning commute continues down a major thoroughfare with nothing of interest to speak of until I turn off onto a route that very few know about. I keep this knowledge to myself in order to keep traffic to a minimum. From this point it’s actually a very picturesque drive. I make my way through a very hoity-toity neighborhood that has their very own clubhouse, golf course, and park. During morning drive times, the fuzz will hang out behind large gates and shrubbery in order to catch you going anything over the allotted 25 miles per hour. I’ve got them outwitted though. I know all of their hiding spots. Red Betty (I named my car after Betty Boop) and I are too smart for the likes of them! Ha ha!
Before I make my way into downtown Springfield, the last of the scenery is a park. It’s just like any old park; trails, swing sets, and dog poop. However, this park has one thing that not many others can lay claim to. About once a month there is a group of women that meet in an open area of the park to spin thread on their (a little fanfare, please) spinning wheels! Real life, honest-to-goodness, Sleeping Beauty, 16th birthday, spinning wheels! Is this a common hobby? I never thought of this as something many people do on their own time let alone an entire group of people in the same community who share this bizarre interest. Where do you even go to purchase a spinning wheel? When and how does one become interested in spinning thread on a wheel? This discovery was so mind-blowing to me the first time I caught a glimpse of their unusual get-together. I stared them down in passing until I realized I had switched lanes and was driving down the wrong side of the street. Sometimes, as I am on my way back to work from lunch I will see the small collection of spinning artisans and think to myself, "I would rather be playing on a spinning wheel than going back to work." What would I spin on that wheel? I can do it, how hard could it be?
As I make my way into downtown traffic gets thicker, the red lights get longer, and the homeless people run amuck. Springfield has major issues with the homeless population. Twice I’ve had run-ins with those in need but so far I’m 0 for 2. The first time, I was running an errand for work. I had to walk about two blocks down the street to drop off some proofs and right outside my office building there was a man. He asked me for anything I could offer. I had nothing on me other than the manila envelope containing the samples. I didn’t think sample pieces of a brochure would be of any use to him so I had to tell him that I had nothing to give. He and I walked in opposite directions and I was wracked with guilt. He probably thought I just didn’t want to give him anything. He probably thinks I’m a bitchy, rich person who is not willing to part with a solitary dime.
This directly leads into my second run-in with a woman who was over-heated, parched, and needed a phone number. Because of my last experience, I was more than willing to help. Bridge Man and I were downtown taking in the sights when she came up to us. She began talking about her car that had just run out of gas. Her kids were with the car and she needed the number for a local women’s shelter because she had to get away from her abusive man. I told her that I would buy her a drink from a nearby ice cream shop where we could also ask to use their phone book. She then proceeded to tell me that she wasn’t comfortable going into that shop and that we should follow her to a bar that was just around the corner. We followed. Bridge Man expressed his concerns. He didn’t think following a stranger to an unknown place was a good idea. We went inside the bar with her. She decided instead of water she wanted a coke. We walked outside where we were suddenly surrounded by people. They all knew her name and she started talking to a few of them. One of them came up to Bridge Man and me and asked if we had any money to give him. This is where I began to feel uncomfortable. The woman then asked if I had any money to give her so she could put some gas in her car. Bridge Man intervened. He said that we had no money and that we were leaving. He grabbed my arm and we were outta there.
Once again, I was unable to help. I know that the situation wasn’t the best but what if her kids were really somewhere with her abandoned car? What if her man really was abusive to her and her kids? I did nothing to help. Strike two.
...
Well, I just reread this entire post. Made changes. Then almost deleted the entire thing. I basically just rambled on for days and days, made no point, came to no conclusion. But after all that work and my nagging bloggers block, I couldn't get myself to hit delete. So, here is my conclusion. I think bus stops should be reinvented. I would like to learn to use a spinning wheel. And I don’t have good people skills with the homeless. I’m done.
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