The Woman On The Bus

I don’t really want to be here. I’m not a huge fan of the atmosphere on public buses. People are constantly trying to sneak glances at those around him, passing judgments and fitting their fellow travellers into basic stereotypes. On a bus, everyone feels and acts like they are better than each other, more important, more popular, more successful.

It doesn’t matter who you are or what you “do”. You could be a brain surgeon, you could be unemployed and homeless, but at this very moment in time, sitting in the same uncomfortable seats on the same bus, everyone is on a level playing field.

I boarded this reality check on wheels at Margaret River, my final destination being Perth. Usually this would be a three-hour journey, but in the spirit of public transport the bus takes the longest possible route, stopping everywhere possible, resulting in a five-hour travel time. I am not complaining. I paid my $35.70 completely aware of what I was getting myself into.

This brings me tell you about “the woman on the bus”. For the purpose of this discussion, I will call her Mary. According to the graffiti riddled sign, the seating capacity of the vehicle is 57 people. We had made our way through Cowaramup, Yallingup and Dunsborough, picking up a few people along the way, bringing the total number of passengers to 15 including myself. That means there are 32 spare seats, including at least 8 window seats on either side of the bus. We pull up at Busselton and Mary boards the bus. Mary had prepaid her ticket online and had been allocated a seat number, the same way you would with an airline ticket.

I love to observe the movements and actions of people, and I was especially focussed on Mary because she was wearing dark sunglasses despite the fact it was a dull and rainy day. The next thing that drew my attention was her perfume. It must have been industrial strength. I could smell her coming up the aisle from the back of the bus. She was wearing a purple top accentuated by shiny silver stitching and her large leopard skin handbag was overflowing with a wide assortment of unusual objects. Mary certainly looked to be in a hurry. Her eyes were darting rapidly between her bus ticket and the seat numbers. She was on a mission and I was getting more entertainment than I had anticipated. Mid way up the bus Mary found her destination, it was window seat 39 and there was a young girl asleep in it. All around Mary was empty window seats, but she had to wake up this innocent young girl because she was sleeping in her seat.

I could not believe my eyes. The bus was virtually empty, yet Mary was so important, so caught up in her own world to make a change to mission and sit in one of the 32 empty seats around her.

The reality here is, we are all riding the same bus. We may get on and off at different stops, but when we step into the confines of public transport, lets try to be civil.

No one wants to be on a bus. Why make the experience more unpleasant than it already is?