That's How I Roll

Sometimes I wonder if I snore when I fall asleep on the bus. I'll awaken with a start to find my mouth slightly open. Well, sometimes more than slightly. Did I wake myself up because I was snoring? There are mornings I get paranoid and think that no one is taking the seat next to me because I am known to everyone, except to myself of course, as "The Snoring Lady." I wouldn't put it past the others for naming me that. I have been known to occasionally make up names for other commuters, since many of us hang out together for months, even years, without properly introducing ourselves. In my commuter world, "Disheveled Guy" always looks like he's running late and hasn't had a chance to put on his tie or comb his hair. "Kindle Man" busies himself with his reading device every morning. I try to keep the nicknaming to a minimum since that time I ran into "Indian Doctor Guy" at the movie theater, got all excited, and almost called out to him, "Hey, Indian Doctor Guy! What are you doing here?"

I wouldn't worry so much about the snoring thing if I were riding the train instead of the bus. The train is different. The lights are bright, the people are chatty, the guy across the way is typically eating something pungent. No matter what time of day it is, there is inevitably some drunk guy in my car. Even if I could fall asleep, I doubt that anyone would notice if I were snoring.

But the bus? The bus has an unwritten code of conduct. It's kind of like the ten commandments of bus commuting:

Thou shalt not cut the line.
Thou shalt only take up one seat. 
Thou shalt keep thy seat in a fully or almost fully upright position, even though it COULD go back further.
Thou shalt not eat on the bus.
Thou shalt not talk to thy neighbor, except in a whisper.
Thou shalt not talk on thy cell phone, except in a whisper.
Thou shalt stow large luggage under the bus and not by thy feet.
Thou shalt not leave trash on the seat or floor.
Thou shalt exit the bus from front to back, by alternating rows, beginning on the right.
Thou shalt thank the bus driver.

Not everyone follows these rules, but most riders do. On Wednesday, though, some of the commandments get broken. On Wednesday, there is at least one bridge club outing for lunch and a matinee. The calling of husbands for bus stop pick-up alone typically breaks at least two commandments.

The train does not have commandments. It's a freakin' free-for-all. I have been there when people cram onto the platforms and push through the doors, racing for seats, knocking down old ladies and small children and . . . well, maybe I'm exaggerating slightly here, but there is often more than a bit of cramming and racing and pushing. It can be stressful. I don't mean to dis train people. I've been a train person. Some of my best friends are train people. It's just the way I see it. I take the bus. That's how I roll.

After Hurricane Sandy, the trains didn't run for a month. I'd like to say that we all had a kumbaya moment, the train people and the bus people. The lines were long, the parking lots were full, traffic was terrible, and the Commandments flew out the window. Tempers were short. And, like the rest of the aftermath of Sandy, it wasn't pretty. Once the trains were up and running again, most of the train people were happy to go back. And I'll admit that I wasn't sorry to see them go. But I have noticed that a few of them stayed. I guess they don't mind my snoring.