Bus Ãtha Cliath
Author:
(The Dublin Bus: Bus of the Ford of Hurdles)
Of all the popular myths you know about Ireland, it is unfortunate that the most irritating and banal of them all, is also the most true. It rains. It rains in a way that robs your sight of colour and mind of mirth. It’s raining right now, and so, instead of an enjoyable cycle through the crisp october air, I’m sitting in a bus, blinded by condensation, and wholeheartedly enjoying the anonymity and indifference of my fellow passengers.
Back when Ireland was a gloriously impoverished nation, ie. the 80s (yeah that’s right, while you were discovering gyms and the Walkman, we were emigrating… and then discovering the gym and Walkmans in other countries-perhaps the reasons weren’t purely economic…), before we were wealthy, the bus, like every other place where more than two people congregated, was a social amenity. People -strangers that is- talked on the bus. Being a child of the 90s, and young adult of (may the FSM forgive me for using this word),noughties (seriously WTF is the noughties?-what’s the acronym-00s? can’t we go even a decade without abbreviations?), this seems as distant a concept as hara-kiri. How does it come about? What do strangers have to talk about? Perhaps there were only a few set topics of conversation in less materialistic times- perhaps we’re all just that bit more sophisticated. I mean we have divorce in this country now, and high paid, high commitment, high technology jobs . Surely, this not talking with hitherto unknown people can’t be a retrograde step?
And then immediately to my right, a man starts talking to his friend about law; which is my subject/major in university. He’s a student, which means that he probably goes to the same college as me. We have the same lecturers, the same classes, and both of us think what we’re doing is pretty interesting. But naturally(or unnaturally as the case may be) I’m too scared of making an ass of myself to strike up a conversation, I just keep typing, writing for people I may never see, to make a connection half a world away, a connection that could be just a metre to my right… And now they get off the bus.
I do talk to strangers, but only in situations where it’s acceptable, where it happens all the time, like in college, in societies, at gigs. How in this space of ten or twenty years did the bus become unacceptable ? It’s not like the physical space between us has been increased, quite the opposite, modern buses provide about as much leg room as the glove box of a Mini Cooper, and considerably less air. So why do I not have the wherewithal to turn to whatever individual has been jammed into me in a vaguely intimate and entirely embarrassing way and say “Buses kind of suck, don’t they?†But i have come to my stop, just in time to miss half my first lecture, and my musings end here.
My impromptu verdict: I blame society, because otherwise I would have to blame myself.
PROPER?
I arrived on this planet>watching & soon talking-I am told.
The “art” of conversation may have eluded me for a while…However…..People intersect at THE point where they seem to have need of spilling their guts >to me as a wee child ?
Thus I became a reseptecle>of Secrets…before I knew what that was about. At times I managed to keep quiet-even when spoken to…which passed for “wise” beyond my years. HA!
I graduated into the relm of Fearless Fool.
Babbeler if you will.
A sigh or comment May elicit a torrent of someone elses internals.
I watched: elevator/bus/Etiquitte. The maw of silent code.
NO ONE wants to “appear” the dreaded butt of rejections?
An internal Beast one must toss out to reach across the few inches…to an Unknown Friend of the passing moment?
Eyes that dart or look away?
Met with a smile?
Till the brain can form a kind observation as simple as: How Blue the sky/how heavy the fog/How crisp the air>is today? Oldtimers were masters of the inane. As openings in case more is to follow.
Fearless may not be the Tiger in the jungle.
Fearless may be the brief Offering> of yourself to one who has need to Express>Theirself.
There was a time when the prospect of talking to strangers brought a pain so deep that the excruciating nature of rejection held any curiosity about those who surrounded me from place to place at bay. One day, after watching the interactions of those who had the courage to reach out, it hit me. Rejection is merely derived from the fear of worthiness. After much contemplation, I came to realize what needed to be done, or maybe it was due to a line in some obscure movie I had seen at some insignifigant moment in my past. I had to face my fears irreguardless of the anxieties these fears brought about.
My recent experience on public transportation. Out of the many I spoke to, one person other than myself initiated conversation. Most of the attendies during the 30 minute excursion through downtown managed to keep to themselves, but I throughly enjoyed the interactions I incurred. The conversations ranged from the necessity of work to how slow the bus system is and how to use the bike rack on the front of the bus.
It may seem infantile to put it so simply, but in all reality it comes down to just simply reaching out. Every conversation started with “Hello” and blossomed from there. The worst rejection one can muster for another saying “Hello” is nothing- no harm done when silence is answered with a smile and a nod.
My grandfather was a seventh son of a seventh son who immigrated to the USA long long ago during the famine. I know there is still a Cornelius Clan there still. I wish I could find my relatives in Ireland.
Alida Cornelius
I used to work for a building that housed a bank, many law firms, some nonprofit organizations, a fiduciary & some offices for huge companies that contributed to MFEMFEMFE’s growth in its infancy & since. When I first started, I was a cleaner. When I said, “hi” to the bankers, lawyers, etc., they acted as if they were above me & somehow I wasn’t worthy of them acknowledging my existence, much less returning a greeting. That didn’t stop me from saying the same the next time I saw them & every time after that. Later, I became the full-time lightbulb changer. This put me in a position where it could be uncomfortable silence or I had conversations with everybody. I’d be on my ladder above their desks to change their lightbulbs or I ran into them in an elevator lobby, bathrooms, stairwells or other nooks & crannies that needed more light. My coworkers called me the light wench, but after awhile when everybody said, “Let there be light” when I did my job, I told them I wasn’t God, but they could call me the light goddess. I answered to both. I kept saying hi to everybody & they all reciprocated. I think they depended on my smile as the years went on & I even had something to say on things other than the weather. One lawyer even said that I was probably the most important person that worked in the building because without me, they’d all be in the dark! I never thought I’d hear that, but it was because I refused to let their titles & degrees & income make me feel less important or unable to converse with them. It made my days better & I believe theirs were made better too…