The Scene staff
The alarm clock sounds, beginning a new day. After my morning ritual, I put on headphones and leave the house in a jolly mood.
I arrive at the Metro bus stop as if I haven’t a care in the world, letting my music set the tone. A guy standing nearby starts moving his lips, hoping to lure me into a mind-twisting conversation.
Not yet buddy, I’m still waking up.
My chariot arrives, and I’m suddenly reminded of what I’m about to encounter: A commute to college on public transportation.
I jump back a little to avoid being struck by the anxious bus driver. Giant tires splash a wave of slush onto the sidewalk, falling just short of my feet.
The door swings open, and I see a crowd of standing people herding toward the center of the bus. Time to climb those steps.
No matter how friendly I speak to Metro drivers, they never seem happy. Why? They’re not uncomfortable. They’ve got the best seat on the bus.
I, on the other hand, have no seat. The only place with room to stand is next to the middle-aged, overweight guy who’s taking up half the aisle.
Luckily, my headphones are blasting rock music through my brain. They easily drown out the crying babies, alcoholics babbling incomplete sentences and the teenage girl who thinks everyone wants to hear her phone conversation.
I continue my adventure clutching onto a strap, swaying to and fro with each start and stop of the clumsy bus.
Oh look, more people and a wheelchair have joined the party! Confusion and then resignation strike the faces of those who must get up from their seats to make room for the wheelchair.
It always amazes me how the people sitting down want to be first off the bus. I mean, we all have to squeeze out of those two doors at one of eight stops. Be patient.
On this day, it appears I’m not the only bus rider catching the westbound MetroLink and continuing his commute. As the train roars down the track, a stampede rushes the stairwell in a frenzy.
Whoa, that was a nasty little tumble, lady. Sorry about hurdling over you in haste to secure a good spot.
I dash down the first flight of stairs like an athlete, only to be stopped in my tracks by an elderly gentleman walking down the middle of the staircase, sipping coffee. I fail to get around him in time.
I’m going to miss this train.
“Stand clear, doors are closing,” the speaker announces. Oh well.
I have 10 to 15 minutes to wait for the next train, so I continue onto the platform, stepping to the beat of the music in my ears, Oh, that’s my song!
Uh-oh. Looks like someone didn’t purchase a ticket this morning. I brush past Metro officers cornering the man with no shoestrings and flash my bus pass to the security attendant.
I head to the far end of the platform to wait, staying warm by moving around to the music.
“The next westbound train will arrive in 30 seconds,” a robotic voice blares from a mounted megaphone.
I don’t worry about finding a seat on the train. I enjoy standing, and the next stop’s mine anyway.
The doors peel open, and it’s another mad dash to another bus stop. I’m one ride away from my final destination: St. Louis Community College at Forest Park.
I maneuver through a maze that leads to the Central West End station. Familiar faces emerge in the crowd heading the same direction as me.
To avoid any mood-distracting dialogue, I go deeper into the music, hoping to bounce my way to the front of the line without being noticed.
“Hey Link!” I hear the voice, but pretend not to at first. Then I respond to the fellow commuter with a head nod before digging back into tunes.
This time, I’m able to snatch a seat on the bus. I finally settle into my comfort mode for the day. Next stop: School.