In Transition

Taking the bus home on New Year’s Day was a nightmare filled with roller coaster emotions and an uncomfortable drive home next to a drunk man with a bloody nose. The bus driver was nice enough, but I suspected a hangover once she started driving. I can’t exactly lie, I was also experiencing the effects of the night before, but it seemed as though I was walking through a dusty desert with sunglass equipped skeletons on either side of me as I followed the other Advil-popping passengers filing their way through the bus aisle. I found a seat in the back next to a dirty window and smiled inwardly at the fact I had managed to find the only bench on the bus that remained empty. Placing my bag on the seat next to me, I held on to the railing beside me as the bus swerved and slid to a stop. Someone really needed to take over the wheel, but no one else seemed willing, or for that matter, in a better state of mind than that of the driver herself. After fumbling in his pockets for what seemed like an eternity, the man at the stop showed the driver lady his pass and stumbled his way onto the bus. With only falling on his ass once, he made his way past my bench in search of a spot to sit. I turned to face the rear of the bus and wondered if he was gonna be able to sit without passing out. Instead of snickering to myself at the thought, I quickly realized that the only remaining seat on the bus was the one beside me where I had set my bag. Sighing to myself, I lifted it from off the seat and set it on my lap, expecting that eventually, he would realize he would have to sit there. And he did, after slamming his face into the metal pole he was holding on to as the bus startled itself to a halt. I’m still not sure if he ever noticed the blood dripping from his hairy nostrils once he sat, but no one ever mustered up the courage to talk to the guy before he got off a few stops later. Unsurprisingly, his stop was only across the street from the nearest liquor store, which he, to no ones real surprise, stumbled off in the direction of. My stop was only 4 stops after his, so I left shortly after and thought about wether or not I was wrong to judge the man, as my stop was only a few meters away from a well known crack house. I came to the conclusion a few minutes later. No, I was not wrong… It is in our nature as humans to judge each other, but my habit of jumping to the worst conclusion, however plausible, was a direct result of how I saw my own reflection.