It's the middle of September and the weather is beautiful. Fresh out of class, I walked out the east doors of the Truax campus into the blazing sun and noticed the crowd by the bus stop across the street. The bus will be here in a few minutes. Seeing a friend over in the smoker's station, I paused and walked over to the basketball court. We squinted through the sun as we chatted and I watch as the buses come and pick up the 20 or so passengers waiting to take off down Wright Street. The conversation changes from homework woes to why I didn't get on the bus. Yes, I am now a proud owner of a car, and not just any car, a Cadillac. My friend laughs and remarks I'll be sorry because of how parking is at the campus. I laughed and agreed as we parted and begin my journey to the overflow parking back by the tennis courts. Yes, walking to and from there isn't desirable (I refuse to park in the regular student parking in fear of being stuck in the way back) but it isn't all that bad. Ironically this was my main argument for students to ride the bus; they let you off right in front of the school. However, leaving the house 20 minutes later sounds better and it doesn't take more than 10 minutes to walk to class, five if I really hurry. Not to mention on days like this the scenery is beautiful. I hate to think of what it will be like in winter though. For now, my only problem is being able to afford the gas to put in my car to get to class. Which got me to thinking, as I walked across the sun dappled bridge, what if the students at MATC started a car pool group? Yeah, I thought as I made my way to the back of the parking lot, it could work! Start a profile or group on Facebook to communicate and draw straws on who parks. Yes, feel free to steal my idea! In my car I begin to rethink that idea. It may not have that new car smell, but it's clean and not everyone believes in cleaning their car regularly. Then my mind returns to thoughts of the bus and the squishy grocery bag that sat on the seat in the back all day last spring semester, or the times when standing on the bus was hazardous because my feet were wet, slushy and numb from the cold and snow. I know we get bus passes as a part of our tuition but how could I have been so foolish as to persuade people to get on a bus that smells like rotten feet and pee?
I pull out of the lot and head down Wright Street to East Washington chuckling to myself. The bus takes too long, smells bad and the bus drivers can be rude; so as I turn right onto East Wash into the sun's glare I have answered my own question.
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