Posted by katie ett on December 7, 2011 – 12:00 pm
I was going to start a new series today about beautiful things I see from my bus window on my way to and from work. Taking the subway shaves as much as twenty minutes off of my commute time, but riding the bus is an opportunity for me to see every neighborhood from Murray Hill to Battery Park each morning and afternoon.
I was going to tell you about the little boy on my bus who pointed to the St. Vartan Armenian Cathedral and said, “Taj Mahal!” and whose mother tried to tell him where Armenia was and that moment when she realized she had no idea. Or the very tallest guy walking the very smallest and fluffiest puppy. Or the girl in the camel hair skirt with the matching cape.
But instead I’ll tell you yet another story to illustrate how New Yorkers are absolutely the most detestable people in the world.
Read the rest here! (I know I’m annoying, but I get paid per click, so I have to make you go over there to read the story.)
Posted by katie ett on November 10, 2011 – 12:00 pm
Kamran and I were in Hell’s Kitchen Sunday night, having traveled to the exact opposite side of the island to pour our months of collected pocket change in one of those machines that exchanges it for gift certificates. We were waiting at a bus stop with our riches in hand, staring longingly at the side-by-side 99-cent pizza and Gray’s Papaya, when a man approached with a large instrument in a case strapped to his back. We were standing just to the left of the bus shelter, leaving enough room for someone to slip past us in line if he wanted to be a jerk. But he stood behind us instead, avoiding the waist-high pile of garbage bags on our other side.
We stayed in that configuration until the bus arrived some minutes later, when the man with the instrument came out of nowhere to stand in front of me in the line of people waiting to get on the bus. I couldn’t even help myself when my blood took a sudden surge; I simply had to march around him and insert myself back into the line where I rightfully belonged. The fact that he had waited until the last second to make his move made me so much angrier than if he had just done it from the moment he came to the stop. At least then he could’ve pretended to be looking for a seat or a place to rest his instrument in the shelter.
Read the rest here!
Posted by katie ett on September 15, 2011 – 12:00 pm
Here’s the thing: there’s not much I really mind the MTA forcing me to do, but if you’re going to force me to do something, just make sure I can actually do it. I’ve been one of the biggest champions of the Select Bus Service that runs up 1st Avenue and down 2nd Avenue since it was implemented. It shaves more than 30 minutes off my ride to work versus the local bus. Being able to enter through all three doors means so many fewer people cutting me in line. When it runs on schedule, I almost always get a seat. (And I haven’t even minded that it doesn’t run on schedule about half the time.) I have fought little old ladies to the death for insinuating that it’s anything but revolutionary.
I love that I pay my fare before boarding the bus via a machine that then dispenses me a receipt, but here’s my complaint: the machines don’t always work.
Read the rest here!
One of the greatest things about getting on the bus at an early stop after work is that I get a seat exactly always. And one of the greatest things about getting a seat exactly always is having a hand in deciding who gets it once I get off. Last night, there were probably four times as many people at my stop as usual, so it was clear a bus hadn’t come by in a while. If my stop is crowded, every other stop is likely to be crowded, so I steeled myself for thirty minutes of feeling awkward about sitting while so many people are standing yet being lazy enough to not want to give up my seat.
Our driver was apparently a fledgling stand-up comedian, because she was making comments at every stop over the bus’s loudspeaker, telling us to “step up, move in, get to know your neighbor” and calling out to the screaming baby in front, “You tell ‘em, girl!” I especially appreciated it when a woman at the South Street Seaport stop made a big deal about how crowded the bus was, and the driver said, “Oh, here, let me ask some of these people to get off so you can be more comfortable,” and then left the woman standing on the curb with her mouth open.
Read the rest here!
Earlier this week, I told you about the advantages of the single seat behind the driver on the MTA’s fleet of new buses. Now let me tell you what happens when everyone realizes those advantages.
For a while, I really thought I was the only one who even noticed the seat. Most people board the bus through the middle or rear door–to avoid having to say hello to the driver, I assume–so it makes sense that they wouldn’t even be aware of the hidden seat all the way in the front of the bus. Obviously I like sitting there, but I’m also young and healthy and svelte enough to be able to fit comfortably in the too-small seats the rest of the bus boasts, so I tend to leave it for someone who could use the extra room, storage space, and privacy. (That may change as the summer months approach and body odor season is upon us, but as a daily-showerer and deodorant-wearer, my sense of entitlement will be deserved.)
So the other day, I was standing at the bus stop near the marker sign where the driver usually halts. I was playing it cool, standing a couple of feet back from the edge of the sidewalk so I didn’t look too eager, but I had an armful of bags with me that day and secretly planned to nab the single seat. Only when the bus began to pull up, this wild-looking woman came from behind me, where she’d been casually sitting on a bench, hiding her ninja-like seat-stealing skills.
Read about the fight! that ensued here.
