Notes And Observations From The Bus - one minutes there's non, then two pop up!
“On every bus, there’s one strange passenger. If you can’t spot them, the likelihood is that weirdo is you.”
Okay, so this is going to be a quick one, and more of an observation as opposed to my usual nuanced, introspective explosion. It references a note I made on my phone while traveling on the bus earlier this week. And unlike most notes that simply add to the backlog of “unwritten” posts, this one has been niggling at the back of my mind.
The note in question reads as follows: “Three on bus in Penwortham — use of local dialect, warm embrace — reminiscent of old soaps on TV.” This was followed by a secondary note that reads, “Why do dogs always attract conversation about dogs… ladies on bus.” Even with rectified spelling mistakes, I highly doubt my cryptic musings would make sense to any sane individual and often take a little thinking for me to decipher into sentences.
Let’s pick up that last note first (not to be confusing): “Dogs always attract conversation about dogs.” It’s a bold statement, but to any dog owners out there, you can only agree that owning a dog increases the chances of a complete stranger sparking conversation. In fact, at the time of writing this, I have embarked on numerous dog walks, held various conversations with people, and become familiarized simply by the dog’s name. For example, I double-checked with a guy this evening when he was trying to clarify the dog’s name, as I was walking an obscure breed, and he piped up, “What’s that called?” Three minutes in, I know this guy is called Mark, his dog is Coby, and we’ve already discussed his latent skin condition (Coby’s, not Mark’s).
“Three on bus in Penwortham — use of local dialect, warm embrace — reminiscent of old soaps on TV.” It’s hard to see how this note would be the prequel to the above, and honestly, it’s starting to feel like I’m just some weird guy sitting on a bus, but I promise it will all make sense.
It will probably help to mention at this point that these notes were typed on the same day but separate journeys, one outbound and one inbound. It was the fact that my awareness had been focused on the scenario from my outbound journey, one that I’m about to lay out in these next paragraphs, that my observations from the inbound journey truly came to light.
I had arranged to meet up with a friend, and peer from my university group. It’s been a while since we broke up for the summer, and after some deliberation we decided to dust off the walking boots and get out in the hills. Due to a few unforeseen restraints, our adventure was limited to public transport as described above, so we located a local-ish walking spot and arranged to meet at the train station central to our place of study. As I live slightly out of town, my journey also included a bus ride, and it’s here I first felt compelled to scribble down my first note.
Normally, when opting to take the bus, my usual approach is to throw on the headphones, gaze out the window, and make every attempt to avoid eye contact with everyone, steering clear of the awkward smile. However, this ride differed. I wasn’t alone for this ride, this forcing me to adopt a different position. You see I had decided to bring one of the family dogs along for the trip — Heidi, a loopy Springer Spaniel with 100 mph energy. She is well-behaved in all fairness, but after reading the rules of K9 bus etiquette on the travel company website and remaining conscious of the other passengers, I had made the decision not to were the headphones.
One plus point of this approach is that, rather than losing myself to some form of digital distraction, I indulged in a little bit of people-watching. That sounds strange—I’m not a weirdo, I promise. There were the usual players you’d expect on the mid-morning intercity line: the young mum rocking the pram, the shift workers traveling to or from work, however it was the scene that played out next that really caught my eye.
It starts with the introduction of “Dave,” who I imagine to be 60+. His health looked to be failing, and his walk from driver to seat was labor-intensive. Two stops later, enter “Betty” (the fact I remembered their names highlights the volume of tier conversation), and another lady who, for the convenience of this, we’ll name “Sue.” What unfolds next is a plethora of conversation: a full mix of Dave’s medical history from the past 12 months, a listing of all births, deaths, marriages, graduations, and grandchildren galore. It was evident that this pair hadn’t spoken in a while, yet the obvious use of local dialect stressed they were from the same community, Sue reinforcing this with the familiar “aye” that I’ve heard used to back up the words of most local linguists.
As my note referenced, this was indeed not dissimilar to sitting and watching a great British soap drama — closer to Coronation Street, I guess, than the classic EastEnders due to our global positioning. However, in some parts, it did feel as if I was watching TV. In the same moment that I was experiencing this local display, I couldn’t help but think these are the last actors, sadly, and that the curtain is set to close.
This isn’t to say that I think the chance for these interactions is going to go away — more that our desire to explore them is.
I fear these three are the last of a dying breed, and sadly, these wonderful interactions, like the one I witnessed on that bus journey, are a thing of the past. I often use the bus when traveling to university, which normally requires me to travel at a different time, one that’s predominantly populated by, well, let’s just say a younger crowd. Not unlike myself, this lot tends to be tuned into a device, adorned with some form of headphones. There are still several loyal paperback readers who prefer a book or a magazine, but whatever the preference, our generation and below tend to have their attention captured by something. It drives me insane when I see groups of youths all sitting together, not one of them engaging, all lit up by independent devices — forwarding each other memes in a group chat, holding space but without conversation.
How does this lead to talking about dogs? Well, here comes the observation and, quite possibly, a little learning experience. My return journey was a long one — after our walk, it definitely felt longer. We had ended up walking a bit further than planed, this meaning we stayed out longer than expected. Tired and almost falling asleep on the way, Heidi was somewhat easier to handle, but I still maintained my previous approach.
About twenty minutes into the ride, my eyes were beginning to falter, this is when Heidi garnered the attention of two old dears seated adjacent to us. It was the usual barrage of “dog talk”: the common questions — how old? What’s her name? etc. Now, it’s not that I’m complaining; in fact, I welcome this interaction. It’s just that I can’t help but think this only happened because I had the dog.
Had I been sitting there on my own, would they have thought to say hello? Probably not. Would I have engaged in the conversation or simply sat with my headphones on while daydreaming? Probably the latter. With the introduction of this hyper-connected world, unlike Dave and Betty, who seemed to be sharing a real connection, are we in danger of becoming detached?
I understand that this current scenario somewhat invites a little more conversation — we’ve all seen the films; nothing screams safety more than a lone, bearded man on a bus. However, that’s the point I guess: Is that genuine sense of human connectedness slowly dying out? The worst thing is, I’m apparently part of the cause. My usual attitude of head down, eyes in, although it has inevitably kept me sheltered from the odd questionable interaction, has also distanced me from experiences like the ones recognized on this journey.
Will I change my approach to the bus in the future? Maybe, maybe not — who knows? It’s all relevant, and like I said from the start, this is simply an observation, one connected to my own experience. Moving forward, although my behaviors may not alter too much in comparison, I will opt to be more conscious of the fact. This is not something I can blame on the “rise of the smartphone” or indeed “the youth of today”; it becomes the responsibility of all of us, myself included.
There will be moments when the hood needs to be up, days when the headphones are in place, and for me, this is simply a boundary that I employ in certain circumstances. Consider it a self-preservation mechanism, a defense and not something that should take my primary position.
What do I take from it? Well, quite a lot really. I’m not saying it was a life-changing bus ride, but I’m also not saying I’ve ever focused on my outward projection while on public transport either. Do I feel that my persona could do with a little rewire? Maybe. I don’t think there’s any harm in recognizing the day when I feel safe enough to lower that guard and invite interaction — possibly lowering the headphones, putting the phone away, and throwing out a smile.
I also don’t think it’s a bad thing to recognize the moments when this feels vulnerable or uncomfortable, as this opens the door for reflection — in my eyes, one of the best learning opportunities.
For me, I guess there’s no right or wrong answer, and it’s all relevant to preference and overall experience, so end I’d like to leave you with this parting advice: “On every bus, there’s one strange passenger. If you can’t spot them, the likelihood is that weirdo is you.”