A Farewell to Bus

For the past two and a half weeks, I have been taking the bus to work. Ordinarily, this would be no big thing; public transportation in Australia is very good, and the Gold Coast has a great bus system. However, the distance between my job and our apartment (a drive of about 15 minutes) inexplicably takes almost an hour on the bus and involves not only a transfer but a fair bit of walking between the two bus stations. Also, it is timed inconveniently enough so that I often end up to running to catch one bus and waiting up to twenty minutes for the next one. To top it all off, I invariably arrive at work at least 25 minutes early, a phenomenon I am hoping my employers chalk up to dedication and not creepiness. In short I don’t think I could have picked a less desirable mode of transport had I tried, and buying a bike last weekend was a very exciting move towards emancipation from the bus.

Unfortunately, the day after we bought the bike, Jamie had to go back to Kingaroy (the peanut capitol of Australia, also a runner-up for the “Worst Place I Have Ever Been” prize) for four days to finish up some work up there and after that I have been sick (isn’t it SO. FUN. that I get to have TWO flu and cold seasons in ONE year?????) on and off, so the stars have not aligned and I have been forced to bus it day after day, my shiny new bike leaning forlornly against our couch. But, God willing, tomorrow will be the day and I will sail off to work, simultaneously reducing my carbon footprint and tightening my butt, reveling in my newfound freedom and the absolute lack of creepy bus drivers calling me “doll.”

But it is not without a tinge of sadness that I bid adieu to the bus. For one, I shall miss my Bus Friends, the people who travel with me, every morning and evening, day in and day out, stalwart companions on the road of life. Interactions with Bus Friends vary from simple greetings to prolonged conversations, but generally, buses are similar to fight clubs, in that you just. Don’t. Talk. Yet I will miss all of them in their own special ways. The toothless 70 year old man with the Phil Spector haircut who wears Shapeups, the woman who talks incessantly on her phone the whole ride, the man who gets on and off the bus at exactly the same stops as myself (including transfers) every day, yet has thus far refused any of my earnest attempts at conversation (actually, I won’t miss him, he seems like kind of a dick…), but to all my bus friends, I bid a fond adieu.

Wish me luck as I hurtle along the highways on my trusty metal steed, praying that the pedals don’t fall off (one did last weekend) and that I don’t sweat through my work clothes on the journey, alienating potential friends among my coworkers…