Everyone should have to take the bus sometimes

I had two experiences this past week that gave me further insight into the experience of being homeless.

On Sunday, due to poor, last minute planning, I found myself in downtown Edmonton, all my stuff in two plastic grocery bags, without any place to go for 6 hours. I passed the time in the same ways many people on the street do: I sunned myself on the stairs at Winston Churchill Square until the library opened, then read for a while, walked 14 blocks to where I would be spending the night, waited on the front stoop, had to walk 2 blocks to use the pay phone, layed on the grass in a park and looked at the sky, needed to use the bathroom but knew there was no place nearby that would let me, and took shelter from the rain under an awning while I waited for someone to come and unlock the door to my temporary home for the night.

Tuesday night I had the pleasure of taking an overnight Greyhound route for 8 1/2 hours. Uncomfortable seats that made me sneeze, two other passengers hacking and coughing, and no warm jacket made it difficult to sleep. I did, however, catch a few winks sprawled out across the seats at the Calgary bus depot between midnight and 1 am. It felt good to stretch out. I made a pillow of my bag of clothes, tucked my glasses in my purse, and tucked that under my arm, hoping that would dissuade anyone from trying to rummage through it. Everytime some baggage handlers walked past, my eyes opened halfway. My mind never let me fall all the way asleep. I thought about how those men in the dirty jumpsuits saw me. Did they think I was another transient, some young runaway? Could they tell I was on my way to a stable and loving home?

When I unlocked my own door at 4:30 am and entered my own life again, it felt like waking up from a dream.

I think everyone should have to ride the bus sometimes. It reminds us that there are other people around us, living their lives, thinking, feeling, having good days and bad days.

It has always surprised me how horrified people are when I suggest they ride the bus. I have come to the conclusion that it bothers them because it is too real. It's not like on TV, where everyone is beautiful, or the mall where everything is shiny and new. Public transit is full of old ladies, fat people, kids with snotty noses, young men with cerebral palsey, tired single moms and immigrants speaking other languages. They don't want to be reminded the world is not sanitized and sparkling clean. They feel much more comfortable safely behind the windows of their car, in their little bubble with the top 40 station drowning out all critical thought.

I suggest that if you ride the bus once in a while, it might reconnect you with the community you live in, maybe help you to stop looking at yourself against the backdrop of Old Navy Commercials and be content with what you have and who you are right now.