I stand at the bus stop, en route to the city, waiting, looking up and down the street, where I have been, where I will go, remember the times before when I did the same thing, always when waiting, caught between the here and the now, and smile at another moment, a possible turning point in this life.
Bus stops are markers for our lives, three types, stations, timed stops, and hailing stops, the latter where you have to flag down the driver. Bus stations are the most significant, represent life’s milestones, birth, death, marriage, divorce, migration, returning home as the prodigal son. Timed stops are dots along the path, filled-in circles, chunky dots, where the drivers synchronise their route with a timetable, more frequent than stations, less important, showing times when you study, see girls, have relationships, illnesses, different jobs, holidays and any event with a possible use-by-date. Hailing stops are shorter, less marked, singular events, times that come and go, sometimes bypassing you because of a hold-up, a sleep-in, not waving loudly enough for the driver, so they...
Since my freshmen year of high school, I have met peers who rely on public transportation to get to school every day since the school bus system did not serve their neighborhood. They were students who were eager to come to school everyday, relying on MTS to transport them to school on time every day. Similarly, my mother relies on MTS to get her to work on time every morning and home every afternoon. Both students and adults alike have had little to no problems with the transportation system; when there were problems, MTS was able to adjust their schedules or routes to serve the community. A friend who just recently began to rely on public transportation to transport her to school has told me the interesting experiences she has encountered during the time she has used the public transportat...
Have you been late for the metro, on certain occasions, or has the metro had maintenance, casually most of the time, well I am here to discuss this problem and give my own personal opinions and experiences.
“The Short Bus: A Journey Beyond Normal” by Jonathan Mooney is the story of his journey around the U.S. in short bus nonetheless to meet with different children and their families who have faced challenges in school due to ADD, ADHD, Autism, and other learning disabilities. Jonathan Mooney himself faced the disability of Dyslexia and often had to deal with many challenges in school himself, but he appears to be one of the more fortunate ones, who was able to grow from his disability and ultimately get a degree in English. Needless to say, his book and journey lead the reader to question what really is “normal”, and how the views of this have caused the odds to be stacked against those who don’t fit the mold. Throughout, this story, for me personally however, this story gave several events that I found moving, and had the potential to influence my further work in education.
One night several weeks ago, I was riding the 72X back to campus from downtown. It was a Saturday night around six o’clock in the evening, and as a result the bus was packed with people, young and old, of all races and dress. The commuter crowd in Seattle is extremely diverse; a collection of white collar business people, students, homeless people, and other various characters utilizing public transit. The bus-goers behaved typically of Seattle transit users – heads down, headphones in, eyes closed or glazed over from staring into the
I had so many conspiracies of riding the bus, I thought perverted people ride buses and they were going to bother me, I thought it was going to be confusing because I have to ride two buses to get to Valencia which were identified with numbers. For instance, I ride bus 44 and get off and ride bus 37 the rest of the way. Not only was I opened to a more open view on people riding buses but I was no longer classifying what kind of people ride buses. I never thought I was going to ever ride the Lynx bus. But now I look at it as a school bus but not with kids but with grown people who are trying to get to where they are going because they simply just might not have enough money to buy a car at the time. Also I know how it feels to ride a lynx bus, to explain I would be riding in the car with my parents and see people getting on the lynx bus and be like I know what it’s like to ride that bus. So me looking at them made me realize when I grow up, I want a car and keep that car because I do not like riding the bus with a whole bunch of people. At the same time I thanked my parents for introducing me to riding the lynx bus just in case in the future if there ever comes a time and I say again if there ever comes a time I need to ride a bus because I can’t afford a car I wouldn’t be scared and would know how to ride the city bus to where ever I needed to
The Truth Behind the Bus There are many controversial issues concerning the bus service provided by Buena Vista University. BVU Rides, commonly known as the “Drunk Bus,” receives great reviews from the students using it at Buena Vista. However, members of the Storm Lake community are not as appreciative of this service. It is important, nonetheless, that people learn facts about BVU Rides in order to make an educated judgment. According to Behind the Arch, an essay compiled by students of Buena Vista University about the drinking issues within the university, citizens of Storm Lake feel that the “Drunk Bus” endorses drinking and drunkenness.
Whenever we are reminded of NYC, we think of Times Square or The Status of Liberty. However, we always forget what is right under our noses; the NYC subway system. I like to think of the subway system as a labyrinth because of it’s intricate network of passages that guides us to all over NYC. Just by looking at a map of the subway system overwhelms me because it is so hard to imagine how much work was put into making this beautiful yet complex structure. An average New Yorker may ignore the daily lives in the subway system but if you look closely you can see multiplicity of events taking place.
“The poor public transportation prevents many public-university students from taking full advantage of their education. They have long waits before boarding their buses and miss many of their morning classes and, occasionally, exams.”
Stradling, S., Carreno, M., Rye, T., & Noble, A. (2007). Passenger perceptions and the ideal urban bus journey experience. Transport Policy, 14(4), 283-292. doi:10.1016/j.tranpol.2007.02.003
My morning commute wasn’t long at all; 10 or 15 minutes of walking did me good. As I walked down the street, I looked around me, taking everything in. “Ah, New York. What a beautiful city,” I said. I took a deep and refreshing breath.
Like any Monday morning at Manhattan Hunter Science, I was sitting in Mr. Gershon’s classroom. My best friend on my left and a bright smart board staring back at me. Earlier that day, I woke around seven in the morning and about 7:35 I caught the train from E72nd street. I got off and took the M66 bus going crosstown I stopped like I always do on the corner of West 66 and Amsterdam to buy a bagel from Ahmed. I swiped my ID, walked up to the fifth floor, and immediately saw my friends. Days like that now seem like a figment of my imagination, but that was once my life.
...anticipation. There was an envelope beneath me, I noticed as I moved away from the spot I had been laying. One addressed with my name and my heart raced for the unexpected, for the hope that maybe my dreams would come true. I wanted it to be from him, I wanted to see his writing, I wanted to be able to imagine him, hunched over a small piece of paper, contrasting its ivory with the ink in his pen, finding and trying the words that world phrase his own desires perfectly. That calligraphy that decorated the front screamed at me to open, to know. To go out into the world today and be able to say whatever was enclosed in this beautifully handwritten letter. But I didn’t. I let it stay closed as I slipped it into my purse, finished my packing and left this city for the next, not remembering why I came in the first place, but knowing that something good came out of it.
When most people think about an eventful or memorable place, they almost certainly would not picture a bus. As we all know, buses are not exactly attractive. The design scheme is the same in almost every bus: rows and rows of brown seats, a thin black aisle down the middle of the bus, hundreds of hazy windows, and the big, lemon-yellow exterior. Not many people, I am sure, would consider buses to be an important part of their lives. However, if a person were to think about it, they would realize that they probably have had at least one memorable experience in their life that took place on a bus.
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.
As I was having my breakfast, suddenly the phone rang. It was my friend, Kelly. She asked me to go to shopping centre. Without any delay, I asked permission from my parents and promised to go and meet her in the bus stop nearby our house. After an hours, I reached the bus stop and I waited patiently for Kelly’s arrival. Time seemed to crawl. After what seemed like an eternity, Kelly walked briskly towards