By Jean Lin
Every time I get off the bus I tell myself there’s no way I’m riding it again tomorrow. But day after day, month after month, year after year, I am still ascending and descending every morning and evening during rush hour. Buses have their share of charm and I guess they are somewhat addictive, because I can’t make up any more good excuses. The bus drivers have character. The old ladies have special seat-saving techniques. Me, I just sit back and watch the scene. Sometimes I wonder why certain bus drivers decide to become bus drivers. They might as well drive for Formula One or compete in those Monster Truck competitions. Once in a while I take the early morning bus when traffic is still light, and my bus driver races with a fellow rival from another bus company. They yell at each other from the windows, joking or swearing in Taiwanese. These are the fast drivers. There are others that tend to be slower on the road. Some drivers stop to buy breakfast, screaming out their orders for a sandwich and coffee from the window at the greasy breakfast vendor. They make me late for school. I forgive them because they are hungry and need to eat, but there are drivers who stop to buy betel nuts, and that is unforgivable. They waste my time talking to betel nut beauties and stink up the whole bus with their betel nut breath. Of course, not all bus drivers are bad. You can find nice and cheery ones that talk to you for the whole trip. They are really excellent conversationalists. That can be annoying when you’re not in the mood to chat, but I usually just give in and talk to them. There are always old people on the bus. Where do they go every day? I live by the mountains in Mucha, and the old people who take the bus from there tend to travel in packs. They prowl the bus and snatch any seat they can find, even if it means sitting in your lap. A little old lady sat in my lap once, because she assumed the seat was empty for some reason, even though I’m sure that I’m large enough to be seen. Some ladies use purse-throwing techniques which is a highly advanced move. They not only have to know how to throw with precision, but are also able to throw at great distances. They use their hawk-like arthritic eyes to scan for a seat. As soon as they find one, they throw their purses and bags at it. Be sure not to stand in the way of a flying bag. Other old people never take the bus without their ten bags of fruit and vegetables from the market half an hour away from where they live. I never understand why they don’t just go to a market nearby. When I see old people on the bus, I try to give them my seat, but sometimes it’s hard because my backpack tends to be weighty. But then, some of them stand and mutter under their breaths how disrespectful young people are, so sometimes I really don’t have a choice but to stand up. Buses normally stink. There are cockroaches. There is graffiti on the seats. Some buses are so old that the stuffing has come out of the seats, and some bus drivers play horrible music that reminds you of really low-budget KTV shows. But…buses are buses. You hate them yet you have to take them. I’ve really gotten used to just watching various people on the bus, wondering where they’re going, listening quietly to their conversations, sometimes learning from them, sometimes chuckling at the stupid things they say. I have a driver’s license, and I have a car. Yet, I cannot stop taking buses. Darn that addiction. #taiwan a
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The Taida Student Journal has been active since 1995 with an ever-changing roster of student journalists at NTU. Click the above link to read about the authors Archives
May 2024
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