Somewhere between 2nd year @ UBC and 2nd year @ Cedar Hill Middle School, I've become a transportation snob.
I remember happily cramming myself and my 40lb backpack (protruding from my back like some kind of horizontal monolith) on the 99 B-Line bus to get to UBC every morning. Ah, the waves of motion sickness, the standing-room-only, the clonking face-first into someone's armpit as the bus lurches to a halt.
I did win a free t-shirt (advertising the B-Line) just for riding said bus; I gave it to my brother.
I think he might still wear it...
I have my suspicions that bus drivers are paid to scare motorists. You know, all that stopping 2 inches behind your bumper and pulling out beside you, forcing you into oncoming traffic. Yep, they're trying to scare drivers INTO TAKING THE BUS!!!
Anyhow, I figure that transportation is like intimacy - as you progress further into the relationship, there's no going back.
It starts with "mom the taxi" and the good ol' bus. The big stepping stone comes when that friend of yours who turned 16 in January ( who suddenly surges up, up, up through the ranks of teenage popularity) gets their license. Ah, those years when driving was a fresh and exciting experience - using any excuse to give people rides (providing they chip in for gas money.)
Then comes your turn to borrow "mom the taxi's" taxi (never often enough, or for as long as you would like, mind you.)
Finally, you get that little beast of your own.
I loved my first little blue car. At one point in time, I could fit all my earthly possessions in it. I moved 3 times with that car.
Blue car #2 was a step up, simply because of the T-tops (cue Beach Boys music.) I owe many red, peeling hair-part burns to that vehicle.
Now it's Fastbaby all the way. I know she ranks in the "compact car" category, but to me it's a Ferarri and Jaguar rolled into one. For those who have never owned a new car, it's a phenomenal experience. Everything works. It does what you want it to. There are no strange noises - I'll admit, it's almost eerie, but I LIKE it!
Let's return to our sheep*, shall we? Peter has stolen my** car. He took it to Vancouver with him for some sort of conference that can't possibly be as important as me running errands this weekend.
That leaves me. And the bus.
I bare my canines. Its hackles spike up.
We do not get along anymore.
I am, however, resigned to sitting beside strange-smelling people and taking 4 times as long to get everywhere for one weekend. It keeps me humble and makes me want to kiss the low-profile tires that Fastbaby rolls on, the moment she pulls into the driveway.
No such smooches for Peter, though.
*"Retournons a nos moutons" a great French expression that I'm trying to Anglicize. Let's get back on track.
** Technically true. It was my turn to pick out a car, since Peter already had his Jetta for a couple of years. He just happens to have the same taste in cars that I do.