Bus Tales

I calculated that I spend more than 400 minutes on a bus each week. In these hundreds of minutes, I observe an etiquette I was never taught. An atmosphere of uptight bodies and secluded minds. A rushing world I barely encountered in the States. 

Children are taught to never sit down on public buses. The custom remains that if anyone older than you is standing, you surrender your seat. Something about this custom of standing up, saying "Proszę," (please) pointing to your seat, and the person replying “Dziękuję." (thank you) with a smile makes my day. The good deed has been engraved in the youth of Poland, but not in me. This new act of kindness, while most don’t think much of it, reassures me. 

Elderly people appear happier here. Or at least, the elderly women appear happier. When sitting or even stand on the buses, they talk with a smile. Multiple times I will stand inside the door, seconds before the bus departs, and I see an elderly woman walking or hopping as fast as she can to make the bus. She needs just two more steps, but the bus flies away. I watch her from the window speeding away from the woman catching her breath. It all depends on the bus driver if you make it onto the bus or not. How they look in their mirrors, how much sympathy they feel on particular day.

Once, three stop on my way home, a woman on the sidewalk started yelling to the bus driver. Everyone turned, confused and unimpressed with the disruptive noise on the quiet Thursday afternoon, including the driver himself. But then, the driver jumped from his seat and quickly unfolded a ramp hidden beneath the doors of the bus. Instantly, the yelling woman became silent and pushed a man, most likely her husband, in a wheel chair onto the bus. 

Any type of person can take a bus here. Blind, deaf, crippled, old, you can move around the city. There’s braille, automated announcements and ramps. Life is livable. 

One stop after my bus change in the morning, a little girl with long, blonde french braids enters with only her rolling purple backpack. She wears a turquoise fleece everyday to protect herself from the morning chills of September. I have never witnessed her sit even when it is only me, her and one other woman on the bus. She always rests a safe distance away from the door and gazes out the window. One of her friends, with big glasses and multiple stylish hats, gets on two stops after and they talk until they reach their elementary school. 

Another particular morning, I stood next to two young woman with my chemistry book in hand reviewing for a first period quiz, when one of them tapped me on the shoulder. Of course, when they started talking to me, it sounded like nothing but gibberish. I replied smiling, “Przepraszam, nie rozumiem po Polsku” (I’m sorry, I don’t understand Polish). 

She responded, “ah,” as she understood “I will help you.” I stood still, confused as she approached my back. Suddenly I realized a tag must’ve been sticking out of my top. Sure enough, she ripped it off and gave it to me. I thanked her and she continued chatting with her friend and I went back to studying. 

People look out for each other here. Even strangers. There is not a sense of a paralyzing engulfment in one’s own self interest and nothing else. I don’t think I’d tell a stranger that the tag of her dress was sticking out. Maybe that’s out of my own shyness, but I doubt anyone I know at home, besides my mother, would engage in such a considerate act. 

Particularly on Monday’s, the bus is filled with people. Everyone is condensed together as if we are trapped in a can like sardines. When someone needs to get out, there is a commotion of pushing and shoving to the door. Once, the man I was smushed against on this crowded Monday, didn’t take off his backpack. It looked like a little girl’s pink backpack for school. It puzzled me why an old, alone man would possess a child’s backpack. 

I always keep my own backpack between my feet so people can inch by me, but he did not. A younger looking man, with gray stubble and gray hairs on his head, aggressively tried to advance through the mass of people. He stood in the worst possible place: the middle. The middle is a black hole on Monday’s, you are trapped. It takes an absurd amount of murmuring “przepraszam” (Excuse me) and awkward shoving to get out. This man, though, with his hostile nature, seemed to move rather quickly through the swarm until he reached the backpack’ed man. The backpack’ed man refused to move. I wondered if he didn’t speak the language like me, or if he just found pleasure in ignoring the hostile man’s offensive murmurs. The hostile man attempted time after time to move past the backpack'ed man so he could get out, but all ended unsuccessfully with only missing his stop and drawing the attention of the whole bus. The fiery man gritted his teeth, muttering, most likely offensive, unappreciative words. Finally, the backpack’ed man fought back. He responded just as nastily, it seemed. I wish I could comprehend all the silly syllables and expressions of Polish to fully hear those two men’s argument. 

With my obliviousness to the Polish language, I find my imagination growing. Flourishing. I ponder what people could possibly be conversing about depending on their body language, facial expression, speed of speaking, etc. On this day, there was no doubt that explicit language was tossed back and forth between the men as everyone’s heads turned and people scrunched their eyebrows in disgust and disapproval.

People are rushing and swearing everywhere. I admit that when I think I will be later school, I am not willing to help or be cheerful for someone. But when someone shoots a dirty look to a little girl who accidentally stepped on their shiny shoes because of the bus’ sudden speed, for what cost is the aggravation for? 

The world was created with mountains, oceans and deserts. Our world was created for people to willingly unfolding ramps and rip off tags for you. Next time you set foot in a public transport, notice the uptight nature. See if you can sooth it with your presence. And who knows, maybe you will become a person who willingly instructs someone to the nearest bathroom, and help a woman take the tag of her dress off.