“Little Piece of Heaven” Trumps Public Transportation

It was never my forte to begin with … taking public transportation. I would like to say that I did it because it was good for the environment and cost-effective. This would be a lie. I did it because I lived and worked in Seattle, and had few other options that didn’t cost me the equivalent of a month’s wages.

Our Seattle office of, oh, 275 or so employees had approximately 17 spaces crammed into the teeniest of spaces between multiple cement beams in the dungeons under the building. Parking was given to those with more seniority than I had at the time. My name was permanently on the parking-spot waiting list, in the hopes that one of the lucky parking spot owners would have a business trip or take a vacation day and I could use their space.

My other option was public parking in the downtown Seattle garages. The cost was somewhat staggering, but I always felt it was worth it when I did it. I used it way too often. Please don’t judge. Let me explain. Truly, it wasn’t just because I got to sleep a bit longer. And, it also wasn’t because I considered my dear automobile (which was quite fuel-efficient and considered low-emission, by the way) to be my ‘little piece of heaven’, which I did.

Let me give you just one example of my typical bus ride from West Seattle into downtown, and maybe you’ll understand where I’m coming from.

My bus route originated in the – ahem – rougher part of a little town that bordered West Seattle. My lovely little apartment complex sat on the side of a hill on the east side of West Seattle in a sort-of-okay neighborhood. In the fall and winter, I would walk up the hill from my apartment to my bus stop, darkness surrounding me in the early morning hours, hoping no one was going to jump out of the bushes. My plan of attack, if that did occur, was to use my high heels as weapons.

My stop was one of the very last before crossing the bridge and heading into downtown, thus the bus was often quite full. One piece of advice I’d been given by a seasoned bus-riding co-worker was to never, ever sit in an empty seat if you had the option of sitting next to someone who looked like they might make a decent bus-traveling companion. Better you choose who you’re sitting next to, rather than someone choose for you! Wouldn’t have thought of that myself.

One morning, I climbed onto the bus to find it completely packed, save one seat next to a lady. Perfect. I smiled at her as I quickly sat down, noticing that she looked like she had had a rough night.

I could feel her stealing quick glances at me, most likely calculating my friendliness-level and debating whether she should ask me what she wanted to ask.

“Um … excuse me,” she started, “how does my make-up look?”

I turned my head to look at her. Oh dear. What to say … what to say.

“Well,” I said, making the motion of a finger-sweep under my own eye, “you’ve got something here … and here.” Technically, her eye-liner and mascara were smudged beyond repair under and to the sides of her eyes. I gently attempted to guide her as she rubbed it off her face.

“I’ve been up all night,” she offered, “I had to work late, and close, and then this guy wouldn’t leave …”

“Oh, I know,” I nodded understandably, “that’s so hard. Well, don’t worry, you look fine. I think you got everything rubbed off.”

I thought we were done.

“My hair is a mess,” she continued.

“I wouldn’t worry about it … it looks fine,” I continued to encourage, noticing that it was a bit matted in areas.

“Do you know how to French braid?” she asked.

Are you kidding me?

It was at this point that I had a serious debate in my head. I didn’t want to lie, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to braid her hair even more. Would she know I was lying? I mean … here she was, sitting next to a girl with long hair. What girl with long hair doesn’t know how to French braid? Well, technically, I never did learn to French braid very well … so, in principle, it wouldn’t be lying to just say I didn’t know how.

“No, sorry … I never did learn how to do that,” I responded. “I always wanted to though.”

I’m not exactly sure why I felt the need to add that last comment. Thankfully, it didn’t open up an offer from her to practice my French-braiding skills on her hair during our bus ride that morning, and the remainder of the commute was travelled peacefully.

So, there … just one of my many Seattle bus stories. And one of the reasons my ‘little piece of heaven’ trumped public transportation.