I’m the last person someone sits next to on the bus

Commuting to and from work on the bus I’m often surprised and puzzled and, well yes, feel a tiny bit left out.  It’s like I’m always the last person people sit next to on the bus and I keep wondering why.  Do I look funny?  Scary?  Weird?  Maybe something is hanging from my nose or perhaps I drool and don’t realize it because I lack self-awareness.  Maybe it’s my breath?  I really don’t know what keeps people from taking the empty place next to me until there’s really no where else to sit.  Perhaps I talk to myself.

Me:  No!  It can’t be that.
Me:  Well, yes it could.  People are a little unnerved by seeing other people’s lips moving, making words, but there’s no one else around but the lip mover.
Me:  Really, I don’t think I do that.  Not much, at least.
Me:  Well maybe you do.  What about your lack of self-awareness I’ve been hearing discussed so much these days?
Me:  You have a point.
Me:  Yes I do.
Me:  Okay then.
Me: Okay.
Me:  Nice talking
Me:  Let’s chat again, soon.
Me:  Good idea.

Do I talk to myself?  No, wait, I just asked that.  Maybe people are nervous sitting next to people who repeat themselves. 

A few weeks ago some poor gent sat next to me.  I’m telling you, he stood for a second or two too long to be subtle about it, looking, searching in vain for somewhere else to sit besides next to me.  “There’s a place,” I heard him think, excitedly.  Then: “No, it’s just a small person sitting there, but wait, how about, no, that’s filled too.  Sigh.  O.K., I guess I’m going to have to sit next to this bozo.  Seems like I’m always stuck next to some clown on the bus.”  I wouldn’t have thought too much about his behavior except that at a stop he started to get up, misjudging the intent of a person (that lady is getting off the bus now!) sitting a row or two forward, thinking that a seat would be freed, but it wasn’t.  After half standing then realizing his mistake, he resignedly sat back down.

Part of me would like to believe it’s my aura, my noble carriage, my imposing gravitas, a guru-esque sort of semi-detached, air of wisdom-ish kind of appearance that hangs on me, impressively, like Spanish Moss from a great oak tree.  Like people worry I’ll turn to them and say something like, “You may sit next to me my child.  Do not fear.  I will not engage thee in a discussion of ultimate things unless thou wishest it.”

Ummm, no.  I don’t think that’s it, either.

A while back I ran across an interesting article by a person who talked about being the last person people sat next to on the train.  The author, a middle-aged black male, assumed none of the mostly white passengers sat next to him for racial reasons.  A few days later, the paper published letters to the editor in response to the article.  I especially appreciate the one from the self-described older white lady who is a “bit plump” as well as the one that mentions a study showing that people are drawn to other people who are like them.

Whatever the reason, I’ve decided not to worry about it much.  I know I don’t look or smell too bad, plus the only time (mostly!) I move my lips as if talking to myself is when I’m memorizing poetry (and I stop moving them as soon as I realize I am).  And frankly, I enjoy the extra space, the freedom to shift in the seat a bit or rummage in my satchel, or jot something in my journal.

Post Script

I was almost ready to click “Publish” and send this essay to the blog when it happened.  The other morning on the bus, with half a dozen or more seats still vacant, someone sat next to me!  Since I’ve already raised the issue of race, person-type, and like attracting like, I’ll say that the person who, by her own choice, sat next to me, was both a woman and black, neither my gender nor my race.  I practically laughed out loud, not only because the whole point of this essay had been challenged, but also because, in spite of what I said in the last paragraph, above, it felt kinda nice for another person to sit next to me when she didn’t have to.   Maybe I’m not quite that weird after all.

About literarylee

I sling words for a living. Always have, always will. Some have been interesting and fun; most not. These days, I write the fun words early in the morning before the adults are up and make me eat my Cream of Wheat.
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