The bus stop

I normally start my workday off when it is still slightly dark out, the sun is just coming up and the air has that feeling of dew still upon it. I have a large window that I can look out of while at my desk and normally, sometime around 10am, I look up and realize that the sun is shining and a brand new day has begun.

There is a bus stop across from where I sit, and try as I might to remain focused at work, often I am drawn towards the people who wait there and I can’t help but wonder, “What is their story?”

I have thought about creating a journal of made up stories about the “Bus Stop” and peoples lives, created merely by looking at their outward appearance. I think a lot can be said about a person by the way they wait for a bus. Its fun to see the guys in their dress clothes and brief cases, nervously looking for the bus and checking their watches, while the bum like characters some how find the mound of grass behind the stop to be a perfect resting place for a short nap while they wait. There is the girl who some how always seems to be cold, constantly pulling her sweater or jacket tighter around her body with her arms crossed the whole time, and then the big ladies who can’t seem to stand still and always have a drink or bagel in their hands.
Today’s favorite was some guy who must be mentally instable, extremely happy, or madly in love. The bus stop pole must have seemed more like a light post to him as he seemed to be reenacting the scene from “Singing in the Rain” when Gene Kelly is dancing around the street light. I couldn’t hear if he was singing, but his mouth was moving…so perhaps…just perhaps, he was. I couldn’t help but die laughing as he grabbed the pole and tried to swing himself around it. Then shoving his hands in his pockets, he kind of did a tap dance around it and then stood relatively still on the sidewalk swaying back and forth.

I love that silly bus stop. It offers more entertainment and mindless thought then I could ever hope to see out my work windowJ When I am sad or depressed I can usually wait for a few buses to come and go, and eventually, I get some crazy, goofy, silly, or happy person waiting at that stop who is able to bring a smile to my face. I wish I knew what their stories really are. I mean, what brought them to that bus stop to begin with? How come they don’t have a car? Or…how come they choose to not drive their car? And why is the man always late? The bum always tired? The girl always cold? And how come the fat lady never brings me anything to drink? I guess I will never know…