Virginity is a breeding ground for anxiety, nervousness, fear, insecurity and a handful of other vulnerable emotions; cashing in that first ride can be a gamble. In the past week I discovered that the common fear of attachment or dependency is in fact right on target.
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Food for thought (and p.s. turns out, you really shouldn’t eat on the bus):
1 – Keep tabs on that Tap Card. If you lose it, it is five bucks to replace, and that means standing in a long line at Brotman Hall once again. FYI: If you lost your entire wallet like some spazzy LBT dependents have done in the past, be warned that replacing your Tap Card will be tricky because you need a photo I.D. to do so.
2 – Parking on Palo Verde never gets any less epic; if you manage to squeeze into a spot along the street that runs along the east side of campus, hold onto it with all you got. These coveted, free-to-park-in spots are the prize for the ambitious few who pull up with headlights still on because the sun is still sleeping. Some of these cars hold health-motivated students and community members who are headed toward their early morning workout; some of these cars hold students who are too stubborn to pay for daily or semester parking passes, and who resume Zzzzzz-ing once they find a spot until class. I saw one such hardhead Wednesday morning, reclined in the driver’s seat and in full snooze mode at 6:09 a.m.
3 – Last week there was some debate about eating on the bus … this week, there is no debate about the stupidity of trying to drink coffee, apply eyeliner and drive to Downtown Long Beach all at the same time. Chances are your coffee will spill, your eyeliner will stab you in the eye and your gas tank will empty before you find your wallet again.
4 – Love is a powerful word. Dependence has a pathetic connotation. Simply explain your need for LBT as a matter of convenience. It’s way less humiliating to say. “Hey’ this is a convenient life choice, rather than oh my God I need this in my life and I can’t make it through the day without it.” Be cool.
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At the start of September, I took the risk and went all in with Long Beach Transit. I have been as prepared as I could possibly be with my California State University, Long Beach-provided Tap Card on hand at all times, the routes/schedules page of the LBT website loaded in an open browser on my phone and my bag packed precisely and double checked long before I climb on to be certain that I haven’t forgotten anything.
My need for punctuality drove me overboard with the LBT; in a matter of weeks, the bus has become all I could think about. Before sleep, I check phone one last time to verify the schedule for tomorrow—when will I see my reliable 93 again? When I wake up, I fall into the trap of checking my phone one more time, just in case anything has changed from a few hours ago.
I have lost chunks of my days riding the bus—people-watching, reading, talking on the phone (jury is still out on the social acceptability of this!), sipping coffee … and all of a sudden it’s been a little more than a half an hour and I need to get to work or class.
This pattern … girl loses virginity, girl enjoys new experience, girl becomes excited by venturing out of comfort zone, girl becomes dependent, girl becomes attached … it’s so cliché, but here I am. Last week, my newfound love for LBT (is it too soon to use the L-word?) hit me like a ton of bricks (like I said, I’m a walking cliché these days).
I realized how far gone I was when I lost my wallet, and in it my trusty Tap Card! When it came time for me to catch the bus, I was at a loss for what to do because I wasn’t prepared, and I learned that replacing a Tap Card is no minor task. Stubbornly, I declared (like a true feminist), “I can take care of myself; I don’t need to rely on anyone but myself,” which a less embarrassing way to say I carpooled like a chump for a few days and missed the comforts of LBT with every car ride.
Then came the days of borrowing a car, driving to campus for morning class, driving downtown for work and then returning to campus for a night class. Boy oh boy did I underestimate the stress of that hell bent Thursday last week. Somewhere in the middle of finding parking, trekking across campus to and from class and then returning and diving into the search for decent, free parking for a second time that day I realized how dependent on LBT I had come, how far I had fallen.
I needed it back in my life or my semester would be ruined.
Wednesday I boarded the bus for the first time in about a week. Sigh. Taking it all in—the bumpiness of the road, the frequent stops, the middle-aged man with the football jersey on—was like coming home after a vacation.
It’s true what they say about first-timers and attachment; I can’t fight it, and I don’t.