I miss riding the bus. No I don't.

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One day last fall I found myself riding the CTA from our old house downtown and I thought, "Oh, I miss this." I missed the private world of the bus, where you can observe so much more than when you drive but lock yourself in with some music or a book. I missed feeling more public than I do when I drive, of having more of a reason to look a little bit nicer first thing in the morning because you never know if you're going to see a natty man or a well-put-together lady who'll make you wish a little bit more like you'd put some care into the way you look. In the car, nobody cares. Riding the bus was so great, especially when I got on just a block outside my house and the downtown my downtown stop was just outside my office. "The bus is so great," I thought.

But then I checked myself. First, I was riding the bus at 10 AM, after rush hour, so I had a set to myself plus an empty seat next to me. The bus was quiet, so I wasn't fighting my way around a bunch of idiots clogging the front or middle of the bus for no reason, or sitting next to someone who felt no shame about having a very loud conversation on their cell phone amidst a bunch of strangers.

Secondly, I was riding a relatively "fancy" line that took people from one kind of nice neighborhood straight downtown and back again. There are other bus lines where you can pretty much guarantee something bad will happen: I've removed myself from being in between two fighting bus riders, left my seat when a crazy person was yelling into my ear and coughing purposefully on my head, moved when I was sitting next to someone whose odor was so bad it was making me sick.

And finally, it was autumn. I was wearing a light jacket. In the winter, everyone is six inches to a foot wider thanks to their puffy winter coats (which are a necessity). Frequently, no matter how tired you are, one decides not to sit down in an open seat because really, the open part is only eight inches wide and once you sandwich yourself in between your seatmates, you feel bad about moving your arms at all because you're pinned between them. Plus, I'm not that much of a germophobe, but in the winter the windows are fogged with the breath of dozens of strangers, and knowing that just makes me want to stop breathing so as not to contribute to the fog.

I'm not even mentioning the buses that inexplicably go express (or abort unexpectedly for no reason), the parents who don't fold up their strollers (you're making the rest of us look bad!), and the huge clots of buses that arrive and blow past after an interminable wait time.

So maybe my car isn't so bad. It's not as exciting, but maybe excitement isn't what we need in our commutes.