Bus vs. metro

argument – same meaning as in English
Yesterday evening I made a mental note not to take the bus home at rush hour again, at least not in summer. First of all the wait can take forever. There’s a little digital timer at the bus stop like you find on the subway tracks indicating how far away the bus is in minutes. The ones in the subway are far more accurate. There’s a number on top and a number on the bottom. The top number varied between one minute, then up to two minutes and even three minutes before going back to one minute. Aren’t the minutes supposed to get smaller not bigger? The bus finally arrived at the time indicated by the bottom timer that slowly counted down from 21 to one.

By then of course a line had formed, but because the French are incapable of properly forming a line the two of us who were there at the beginning now risked getting on last because of the way people placed themselves in front of us. This happens to be a personal pet peeve of mine. Back in New York, I would have a fit if someone cut in line, but it happened more rarely. I remember someone once saying to me, “You won’t get there any faster,” which clearly I’m aware of which is why I don’t feel the need to rush in front of people boarding a plane (well unless I’m terrified of having no overhead room left). But the point is on a plane, you have an assigned seat (well unless you’re flying a low cost airline). On a bus there are limited seats and especially on French buses so if you want to sit down, it helps to get on first.

I wasn’t able to get on the bus first, but I did manage to get in the bus first because while the person who cut in front of me was paying with his navigo card, I paid with a ticket therefore blocking his way. I found a nice seat at the front of the bus and despite the fact that they’re supposed to be reserved for people who really need them I sat down without guilt since the bus wasn’t that full.

The ride started well. There was no “circulation” or traffic and the bus was surprisingly cool despite the 90-degree weather. We picked up more passengers and then the young woman got on the bus. She just came right up to me and asked for my seat. “Je suis enceinte,” she said (I’m pregnant). She looked as pregnant as I do – I’m not. But of course, I got up and now that the bus had more people, I had nowhere else to sit. As I stood there glaring at her – yes, I glared at a pregnant woman – I thought of my response the next time someone says that to me and I came up with two. “Moi aussi.” (I am, too) and if I’m feeling particularly cheeky “Ca n’est pas ma faute.“ (It’s not my fault).

More people crowded on and the bus got hotter and hotter. I was able to secure another seat, but it was facing the opposite direction, something I don’t like since I have a tendency to get carsick. So I was relieved when it finally deposited my now sweaty, cranky self at home. It took twice as long as the subway would have and clearly only made me irritable so the next time I’m on the metro, I will try to channel that moment and appreciate it a bit more.