Ode to Public Transit

I'm sheeple. I came to that realization today. I'm just like everyone else in the daily grind, I'm a sheeple. Every day when I get to the ferry terminal I watch a herd of people running off of the ferry, bolt up the ramp and sprint as fast as they can to the waiting buses. I sit in a spot where I can watch the event, which I equate to a lower scale Running of the Bulls. Running of the Suits is what my twisted little brain has been calling it.

Today was different. I watched the Running of the Suits in my usual spot and smiled at the rush. Hey, it's amusing, you'd giggle too. I boarded the ferry as usual and sat in my usual spot. On the right, at the back, closest to the window so I can watch the Chemul get smaller as I get farther away and closer to home. I like watching it get smaller lately, the Chemul has definitely lost it's charm for me in the last couple of weeks. That's a whole other story though that we're just not touching it.

Anyway, as usual, I digress ... when my choppy, windy ride was done I started running for the bus. I became a player in the Running of the Suits. Only I'm running in pigtails, a toque and pink work boots. I'm a sheeple. A twisted one, but a sheeple nonetheless. All I could do was laugh at myself while I showed the driver my transfer slip and sit my chubby white ass at the back of the bus.

I watched a very young girl with a cane; listened to a conversation about the differences in Quebec versus France conversational French; saw a young couple display the fact that they are very much in love (blech); listen to art students discuss a new sculpture project and how they prefer photography and it's many avenues of creativity; and, was asked where I bought my eyelashes because they were great. Kind of fun to tell that poor overly made-up girl that they were mine with a little mascara, no fakies here. I sort of felt sad for her though, if you slapped the back of her head her face would fall off. Too much make-up is not a good thing.

So, today I discovered I'm just like everyone else. Only I'm the everyone else who sits and the back and watches the group, takes in the sights and sounds and behaviours of the other sheeple around me. Loves the older couple at the bus stop who hold hands while waiting for their bus that she passes every morning. Loves the driver who tell every single passenger to have a lovely day in her British accent when they get off the bus. Loves the gentleman who works at the ferry terminal who holds the door for me every afternoon. Loves the guy with the huge fro that stands about a foot off of his head and out passed his shoulders who listens to his iPod much too loudly while he waits for his ferry to Alderney Gate. Loves the chilly, salty air in the afternoon. Loves the city lights across the harbour. Loves the homeless man that smells like pee who asked me to marry him.

Loves the city.

I don't mind being the same as everyone else, they're all different just like me. All our own quirks and habits, experiences and lives. I don't want Alyson Metro Transit anymore, that would be one hell of a lonely ride.