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Final Memoir

Final Memoir

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Published by nicholas_mccagg

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Published by: nicholas_mccagg on Jun 27, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/12/2014

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As an overweight college student, I find that I take the bus more often than I should,depriving myself of what little exercise I would have. The “Freshman Fifteen” hit and it hit hard.As one can imagine, though, I am far from the only student that takes the bus. Time and timeagain, I see the huddled masses through the windows as I pass by, there being no bus to take me back to my dorm. I suppose it’s okay, as I should get some physical activity each day, but a one-way bus is more convenient than a no-way bus.Because I’m not the only one who takes the bus, of course there are the people that mayalso be at the bus stop. I find that there’s almost a sub-culture of bus riders among those thatfrequent Towson’s “Gold Route.” It’s an unnecessary label, to be sure, as what other route isthere on campus? The one man who I see on a regular basis I believe is named Jim, but I could be horribly wrong. He always gets off the number 8 at the stop on York and Aigburth atapproximately 7:13 every Tuesday and Thursday. He’s a middle-aged man with a dark complexion, his hair gray with more exhaustion than age, his mustache draped over his upper liplike a caterpillar. I can only assume that he drives a bus. I realize that I should probably qualifythat statement by explaining that he always chats it up with the morning driver of the “GoldRoute” bus, who I also believe is named Jim, but, once again, I could be horribly wrong.He usually says something like: “Jim, how’s it going?”Which Jim answers from behind his sunglasses with: “Pretty good. You were running alittle late today.”“Well, you know, dat bus driver that I usually got, he’s pretty good about all-a dem stopson time. In fact, he usually get me here a couple minutes early. But dis one woman driver, shedone go real slow outta each stop, and get me here barely in time to catch your bus.”This exchange of what I can only assume are menial complaints of everyday lifecontinues until both he and I exit when the bus reaches the Union. Both Jims say their goodbyes,and I am standing in the cold, trudging towards the CFA, knowing that my day won’t be over for another 12 hours.• • •Equally interesting are those people that you can base stereotypes around who are on the bus on a regular basis. Namely, the Jersey girls who are disinterested in anything but themselves,their phones, and their music. Never without earbuds in blasting some hit song of the pastdecade, they huddle in their North Face jackets like cocoons, moving only to answer that
ding 
(towhich I become so accustomed to over the course of the ride) which signifies what I must believe to be a text message. Their Uggs fit snugly over their tights, which I must call pants inthis setting, as a garment which would usually function as pants is not present.• • •What really puzzles me, though, is the lack of restraint on topics of conversation when people are on the bus. One day, I got on the bus and there was only one person besides the busdriver on it. I like to think that, since she was talking to the bus driver, she was somehowacquainted with him. However, I’ve been around enough to suspect whether or not this actuallywas the case.Of all the topics to choose to talk about on a bus, this day made religion, politics, andmoney fair game.• • •

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