Upon my exiting the street-side stairwell that I reside against on the third floor, an athletically dressed girl hauling a backpack walks by and raises her voice to a cell phone, “That’s what I was thinking!” Fifty feet later at the bus stop, a male with a large messenger bag immediately grabs The Daily Texan from the newspaper box and sits on the opposite side of the bench from me. A thick pole blocks the visual space between us. Another male passes us, stops while peering at the ground, and quickly backtracks to grab the same paper before continuing along the sidewalk. A female student walks by staring at her phone while tapping at the keypad. As the bus approaches in a timely few minutes, the two people waiting stand in anticipation and leave a small space for riders to exit the doors. While looking down, a girl steps off the bus and uses the mini trash bag inconveniently tied by the driver to a bar at the exit. For a few seconds, she holds up the line.
Despite a cramped bus with many standing, two seats remain open in front. I fight my way to one, next to a girl reading The Austin Chronicle and two people standing and speaking Chinese to each other. A boy sitting perpendicular to myself holds a textbook face down and covers it thoroughly with his hands. The Chronicle reader stops reading in anticipation of the next stop. As the bus slowly empties out with each stop, a girl sitting in the middle front with her iPod and headphones on sends and receives texts consistently with her phone. Textbook boy lets go of the back cover, cracking his knuckles and still eyeing the floor. Two read newspapers and one holds his with crossed arms. Three are wearing sunglasses despite the dark clouds in the sky, and the two of them who are females sit beside one another in skinny jeans, looking forward with stiff faces.
As a female thanks the bus driver, he responds enthusiastically with “looking forward to your next ride!” Another enters staring at her phone and sits in front of a rider staring intently out the window to her left. With seven people left on the bus, textbook boy finally looks up, rubbing and picking at his jeans. Then, he shuffles the papers needlessly in the book and plays with his hands. Entering campus territory, a female with glasses boards with her eyes and both hands glued to Richard Wright’s Native Son. The driver makes a loud, frustrated and unintelligible outburst at a fellow bus driver for blocking the intersection he tries to cross. A student greets him at the next stop while the male who had entered with myself finishes reading comic strips and exits. “Looking forward to your next ride!” The boy doesn’t appear to have heard or care. For an extended time, the bus remains stopped as the driver fiddles around in his black backpack. One girl enters with a drink and spreads out over three seats in her own section by placing her backpack and book on either side of her. Once the bus driver closes the doors, a student outside runs towards it with waving arms; he allows her on while complimenting a bright smile. Everyone sits with at least one empty seat between him or her. At the art building, I exit the front door while another person uses the middle door. I thank the bus driver and apparently he didn’t hear me, or does not look forward to my next ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment