Tuesday, 02 March 2004 | Bus ride

His first experience taking the bus was bad. We were way out in the heart of Brooklyn—past the heart of Brooklyn, even—and I (foolishly) thought it might be a good idea to take the bus all the way to the northwest corner of Brooklyn, because that way we would get to see buildings and people and busy sidewalks, rather than the lights and concrete and bathroom tiles that the subway offered. We weren't in a hurry, and we could make out the approaching bus lights in the distance. Anyway, sometimes going a new way is pleasant exactly because it's new, right?

It was crowded. We were sitting on the back row on top of a heat source of some sort, and the air smelled of ketchup and diesel. The bus seemed to stop every five seconds, squeeling to a halt and expelling a pack of bodies, only to absorb more of them and lurch to a slow start. We rode it for an hour before giving up and transferring to the train. Lesson one: don't take the bus long distances, especially when it's crowded and it smells like ketchup.

He didn't take the bus again until I suggested that he give it another chance, months later. We unfolded the bus map, traced the route with a finger, and waited a total of five minutes before we saw the bus lumbering up the road toward us. It was nearly empty, and it smelled like nothing. "See? The bus can be good," I told him.

It whisked past the stops one by one, behaving more like a cab than a bus, taking us almost directly to our destination. It hugged the park on the left, and, at the end of the park, it was supposed to turn right and circle back around, bringing us a block from where we wanted to be.

By this point we were the only people on the bus, and we were seated behind the driver. Perhaps he didn't see us? He never made the anticipated right-turn; in fact, the first turn he made was in the wrong direction, which was after he'd plowed straight ahead for several minutes. Our unfamiliarity of the bus route kept us doubtful and quiet for too long.

I approached the driver. "Excuse me, aren't we supposed to be going back the other way?" "Oh! I'm just goin on my break! Sorry bout that! ... If you just wanna wait, I'm gonna go back in that direction, after I'm done with my break. Should only be about 20 minutes, and you’re welcome to stay on the bus while you wait!" He advertised it as if it were a bonus.

We climbed down the stairs, and spent the next 30 minutes walking in the path of the bus, back the way we’d just come. Lesson two: if you're the only people on the bus, make sure you sit where the driver can see you.

On Sunday we tried a third time. The wait was again five minutes, during which we were entertained by a throng of little girls jumping rope, double-dutch style, at the base of a collection of high-rise projects.

It was quick and efficient, and the driver stayed on-route. And, barring the smell of vomit that hovered like a cloud on the bus, it happened: his first positive bus experience.