Bipolar Bus Drivers, The Meaning Of Life And How To Stare At Old People.

Have you ever noticed how happy bus drivers get when they drive past each other? It’s quite endearing to watch them wave. At least that’s the case in my city.

I got onto the bus today and the driver seemed pretty cheerful. Said “Hi!” and “Thanks” when I showed him my University Bus-Pass. As I went and settled all the way at the back I realized what an amazing amount of influence that man had over hundreds of people everyday. Two syllables per person and he could set the ball rolling for the quality of day his passengers had. That’s pretty awesome. I had to take multiple busses to work every night for four months and one of the drivers didn’t even look at you when you showed the pass. He just looked straight ahead. How can something you’re doing make it so awkward for me? At least have the decency to ignore me by pretending to text or something.

I bet happy bus-drivers are crazy happy in regular life. I mean driving a bus has got to drain you emotionally, especially on these fixed routes. So if you manage to be genuinely pleased with the events of life while driving a bus, its probably what’s left from being way way happier before setting off to work. Every bus has it’s share of interesting passengers. Most noticeably the ‘Yellers’.

There are an array of yellers to experience, ‘The Pissed-Off Bros’, ‘The Valley Girls’, ‘The I-CAN’T-HEAR-YOU-WHAAT?? Phone Call’ and the rare solo performance by the ‘Cat Lady’. I do what everyone else does and stay between my headphones but the worst bit is when people yell to each other in your native language. I never realized how hard it was to not eavesdrop until that happened. They might not think so but I believe their conversation is none of my business. But those voices, all native and recognizable, they might as well take a pop quiz at the end and evaluate the fruits of my remarkable attendance to their lectures.

Towards the end of my ride a young dad got in with his baby. A very elderly lady who had sat beside them since the last stop got up slowly and began her trip to the exit door. As the baby stared at her I couldn’t believe what I was watching. (You see where this is going) The Baby that had just come in, the Old Lady making her way out, while I made my journey sitting with strangers? Birth, Death and Journey? Pardon my sappiness but I think that’s a damn good metaphor for life.

SO MUCH WIN!!

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The Bucket and The Wall.

There’s two questions I’ve always pondered over as far back as I can remember.

1. What happens when you die?

2. What is at the end of the universe?

It’s sad that I’ll probably only find out the answer to one of those questions. I can’t even begin to imagine what is beyond the ‘wall’ of the universe. Or what the wall is. And I probably won’t ever find out. However, when I was a kid, and I was a happy one, I’d fantasize about my death. Not because I wanted to die or because I’m fixated with death. It was just MY death, and a painless one, just because sometimes I couldn’t wait to know what happens next.

We’re going to die. Eventually. But it fascinates me that we have access to this big, red ‘Abort’ button that is suicide, which could potentially shut down my entire universe, with its billions of years of history, the billions of people who have shared this universe with me spanning back to millions of years of things that have happened right here on this blue planet, things said and done and seen and heard and felt by everything and everyone, all gone – in an instant. And I could know the answer to the first question.