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People form social groups on the bus. Crammed in a tiny space at the same time with the same people every day, frequent patrons can’t help but feel some small sense of camaraderie with the other riders. I imagine this is due to the shared misery of the experience and the understanding the everyone is in it together, all forced to endure the crowded, smelly, tedium of the early morning commute. It’s a sort of communal bonding experience, a mildly grueling trial by fire to bring the team together and break down the social barriers between complete strangers.
Eventually, some critical threshold of familiarity is passed. Small talk is initiated, a friendly gesture is made, and the person who was formerly “the fat guy with the briefcase who gets on two stops after me� becomes Jerry, who works in human resources and has a dog and a teenage son and sometimes watches American Idol even though he really doesn’t care who wins. Jerry may in fact be rather unremarkable, and you may know nothing about him, but the nature of the daily bussing routine provides no end to scintillating possible conversation topics, including but not limited to the weather today, the weather yesterday, how the weather yesterday varied from what the weatherman predicted, what the weather will be like tomorrow (although you can never know because you can’t trust that damn weatherman!), how late the bus was, how the bus is always late, how late the bus was compared to yesterday, how bad the traffic is today, and how wet you got while waiting in the rain.
[Note that this should not be interpreted as a condemnation of small talk. I have nothing but respect for those who are skilled in the art of small talk. It is a skill that seems like it should be easy but continually eludes me, similar to dribbling a basketball or opening a sealed bag of potato chips without chips exploding everywhere. Small talk strikes me as an useful ability to have, and I have often wished for the natural talent for the effortless, meaningless conversation. Sadly, it is a mystery to me.]
It seems, though, that after some point, discussing the weather becomes unnecessary and the commuters begin to share the more intimate details of their lives – or, in the case of one cheerful, middle-aged woman who rides the 144, the more intimate details of her cat’s life. Through the course of two semesters of riding home every day, I have learned that her cat has many exacting standards about its food and personal care, that it has a close personal relationship with its owner that allows it to somehow communicate emotionally complex, nuanced ideas, and that it has learned how to turn on the hot water in the tub by itself. Moreover, it has its own Myspace page, through which it exchanges typo-ridden messages with its many adorable kitty and doggy friends, sends cat birthday greetings, and flirts with its cat girlfriend. There is evidently plenty of drama in the world of kitty Myspace, and gossip flies fast and furiously in the cat community.
These facts are all related by the cat’s owner to a large, serene looking man with an impressive moustache, who listens placidly and interjects the occasional “I see,� “uh-huh,� or if he is particularly engaged, an amazed chuckle and a “is that so?� He does not have a cat, but he is a ready listener and sympathizer to the many difficulties of the modern cat lifestyle.
I enjoy watching these exchanges, and for unexplainable some reason they make me happy on a basic, primal level. I like the fact that the back half of the bus can overhear every word spoken and the fact that this woman’s cat now has an audience. But I particularly like the fact that two strangers united only by the nine to five grind are sharing thoughts in what could be a disconnected and anonymous environment. Lasting relationships seem to stem from these interactions; in time, these groups of long-time riders, associated only by their daily commute, apparently plan events and dinners, forming friendships and keeping in touch with former riders. I do not claim to understand what synaptic leap occurs to make these people go from idly talking about cats on the daily 25 minute bus ride to planning off-the-bus get-togethers with other riders. In fact, the thought of personally attending one of these get-togethers fills me with horror; I do not imagine these are events for the small talk inhibited. However, I am appreciative of (if also mystified by) this effort taken by these people to form communities and connections in the most unlikely of places.