Bring it

I get to work pretty darn early. My bus picks me up just before 6:30 a.m., and I stumble into work right at 7. Today I had some extra stuff to tackle, so I made my coffee in advance, swayed sleepily in the bathroom as I shaved and dressed, kissed my snoozing wife goodbye on the cheek and was waiting at the bus stop at 6 a.m.

My normal traveling companions on the #42 route are a quiet bunch. One guy who boards a few stops after me sits near the front, across from where I sit, in the long benches normally reserved for the handicapped, and chats with the bus driver, a normally reticent woman whom I've only recently trained to respond with a curt "hi" when I say good morning. The portly woman who sits in that same spot when I get on the bus, and who leaves before talky guy gets on, likes to sit sideways on the bench with her feet propped up, slumping with a dour expression on her face. Those are my liveliest co-riders.

So I was surprised at the jovial spirit of the riders on the 6 a.m. route. They all seemed to know each other, and they were ready to talk to sports. The Stars had lost another thriller, complete with an almost-score that didn't quite cross the goal line, so there was that to debate. And, of course, there was the argument over whether the Mavericks were right to sit their starters in a game against a probable playoff opponent, which naturally transitioned into talk over who would be the easiest team to smack down in the first round. (The answer is the Lakers, but the top seed in the NBA shouldn't have a problem with any of them, even if the Warriors swept the regular season games. Fluke.) I was happy to see these guys getting worked up about their teams, filling each other in on the details most had missed because they all have to go to sleep so early.

Beep beep

I was reminded today of a couple of the advantages of a public transit commute. As I strolled home from a stop on Jefferson Boulevard, enjoying the mild sun and the moderate breeze, walking past storefronts and watching people mill about, the stress of the workday evaporated. Walking is therapeutic -- even three-fifths of a mile of it.

Earlier, on the #76 bus, I was perusing a magazine when a sudden blast of the horn startled me. The bus had stopped on the curb to pick up a passenger at an intersection, and a car had tried to wheel around it on the left, cut in front of it, and turn right just as the bus driver was pulling away from the stop. Nobody hit anybody, but it was close.

On Monday I had to drive to work for an extra-early day, starting at 6:30 a.m. People who drive at that time of the morning are, as a rule, extremely aggressive. I figure they're mad they have to be up that early. I wasn't happy about it. I was the recipient of angry honking twice, both times when I attempted to change lanes to maneuver around parked cars but almost didn't see motorists in my blind spot. My fault, totally. I wasn't really in danger of hitting anyone, just made that slight movement toward the next lane and got an earful for it. Driving can be fun, but it can also be a real drag as part of the daily routine, and I'm happy to let the bus driver deal with the anxiety while I read.