Notes on the commute
I'm riding BART again these days, and it is interesting transitioning back to a commute of people-watching, rather than car-cursing.
The fares were raised as of January, so I estimate that this commute ticket I pay $48 for will only last two weeks: the fare is now 5.90 round trip.
There were a bunch of cops out last week in the stations: when I got out, I understood why. bin Laden had issued another threat via tape.
Waiting at the bus stop in Emeryville, a fellow rider noticed an abandoned purse. She asked if it was one of ours. Nope. We checked inside for ID, but there was nothing, no cash, no contents, no indication of what it was or why it was there. one woman, who had hung back and not examined the purse, said: "you never know, these days, if there might not be a bomb or something in a bag like that." Unbelieveable. The bus was pulling up, so as I got on, I turned towards her and said, "A bomb on this corner? Not likely. Maybe that other corner." pointing at the Starbucks.
-/-
The same guy sat next to me twice last week on BART on the way home. Asian guy, in a dress shirt, and no tie.
Both days he had a Wall Street Journal in his lap. But he was reading CS Lewis' A Horse and his Boy. It's been years since I read this book. I was delighted to be reminded of the name of The Boy--Shasta.
"I do think," said Shasta, "that I must be the most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the whole world. Everything goes right for everyone except me. Those narnian lords and ladies got safe away from Tashbaan; I was left begind. aravis and Bree and Hwin are all as snug as anything with that old Hermit: of course I was the one who was sent on. King Lune and his people must have got safely into the castle and shut the gates long before Rabadash arrived, but I get left out."
And being very tired and aving nothing inside him, he felt so sorry for himself that the tears rolled down his cheeks.
What put a stop to all this was a sudden fright. Shasta discovered that someone or somebody was walking beside him. It was pitch dark and he could see nothing. And the Thing (or Person) was going so quietly that he could hardly hear any footfalls. What he could hear was breathing. His invisible companion seemed to breathe on a very large scale, and Shasta got the impression that it was a very large creature. and he had come to notice this breathing so gradully that he had really no idea how ling it had ben there. It was a horrible shock.
-/-
This morning, a group of Japanese businessmen rode the Richmond train out to Berkeley. So interesting to watch them. Some slept, one was buried in a map, some had their cameras out taking snapshots of each other and the view out the windows. The car was empty, so they all had their own seats. For the most part they all observed the code of silence so common in Japanese trains.
The youngest, several years younger, possibly a freshman employee, sat uncomfortably in his suit and gazed from the map to the doors and back again.
The two with cameras ignored the others and chatted happily a they took photos of each other, and the train. I got the feeling that they were friends, and both very excited to be on a train, in America. They would carefully sound out the name of each station as the train stopped, and wonder aloud how many more stops they had (they were going to Berkeley).
It was great to feel the excitement they had in riding a new train for the very first time. It made my daily commute seem less ordinary, less mundane. ndeed, these two--not their sleepy coworkers--these two, and I were off on an incredible adventure.
Or at least ther were. The doors to the train slid open, and I had to leave them behind.
And headed to work.
