My Knight Rode in on a Shining White Mini-Van

“I give up,” I wailed to my friend after more than an hour of wrestling with every bus in Boulder—only to end up on Broadway and Baseline (less than a block from campus). “I take it you are in need of a rescue, then,” she asked, chuckling. “That would be wonderful!” I replied with defeat my two very heavy bags and I sunk down in the grass in front of Starbucks to wait.

Public Transit has posed my greatest academic challenge. I can handle double entry bookkeeping, standard deviations, and post-modernist philosophies about the role of comics in allowing people to feel, but time charts, rout maps, and transfers are beyond me. Maybe it is because I grew up without public transit, but seriously, why do the transportation gods have to make it so downright confusing? I have been in Boulder for nearly half a semester, and I have only successfully made a round trip on the bus (without help) once.

On the one hand, this is probably a good thing. I have no car, so my choices are bus, bike, or walk. Since I am hopeless on the bus, I tend to stray toward the latter two, which provides much needed exercise for someone condemned to eat seventeen meals a week in the dining halls. In fact, I think my inability to use the bus may be the sole reason I have dodged the freshman fifteen.

But, I hear that the bus can be faster than my current options (I wouldn’t know, it takes me at least forty-five minutes to get anywhere on those god-forsaken contraptions). Also, it has become a point of pride that the bus will not beat me. The Hop, the SKIP, the DASH, and the Bolt have turned from mere motorized vehicles into arch-villains of comic-book proportions. The sneaky devils are out to make a fool of me and foil me in my ends. But they will not win!

As I was sitting in the grass, glaring at the Dash, I realized that I was engaged in this epic battle of wits with the conniving creatures. I saw two plans of action—I could become the poltergeist of the Bus Station, sneaking in and slashing their unsuspecting tires, clogging their menacing tailpipes, and pouring Kool-Aid into their evil gas tanks, or, I could beat them at their own game, and humiliate them as they had done to me!

I suppressed a maniacal cackle as my rescue rode up in a white mini-van. It may not have been the prince on the white horse I had envisioned to accompany me in my quest, but at that moment I would take it! Lugging my bags into the car, I greeted my dinner party with profuse apologies, and the promise that I would get the hang of the buses eventually. My friends laughed, and spent the car ride back explaining that there were these things called bus schedules, and how they worked.

Armed with my new knowledge, I headed out to the bus the next day—only to wait forty-five minutes, realize that I had missed two busses I could have caught, and finally board the 203 half eaten alive with frustration. I wish I could say the ride went smoothly, but it was full of bumps and jostles (both literally and metaphorically). I did manage to get off at my destination (an hour after I left) when a very kind four-year-old showed me how the string to request a stop works.

I doubt that the bus and I will ever really get along. But, every few days I work up the courage to give it another try, and stumble through a trip or two before taking a break. The way I see it, so long as I master this bus thing before I become a college graduate, I can preserve a shred of my dignity. So, I will slowly, reluctantly continue to try, and hopefully I will eventually succeed by sheer persistence. Maybe that is what they will call me during the re-telling of my bus stop showdown—“That’s Persistent Girl,” they will whisper, “Watch out for her on a bus near you.”