The Wheels on the Bus
Yesterday, I took the bus to my appointment with my psychiatrist—because nothing says “mental wellness” quite like voluntarily adding public transportation to the mix. It still makes me anxious to ride by myself. I’m not worried about my safety—I feel totally safe. No, the anxiety comes from other sources. First, I worry about being on time. My mom raised me to believe that being late is basically a moral failure (honestly, a solid life skill, but still). Second, I stress about catching the correct bus and making all the right connections. Third, there’s the small, delightful challenge of communicating in Spanish with the bus driver (ha… ha… ha… que?).
Mikey and I agreed we wouldn’t jump straight (okay, I will say it, Mikey and I don’t do anything straight) into buying a car. We want to cover all the necessities and get stable first. We may buy a car one day, and when that glorious day comes, I will declare it “Bring Your Daddy Day!”—or BYD Day, since that’s the brand I have my eye on. Until then, we rely on buses and Ubers to get around. Like everything in life, the more money you spend, the higher the level of convenience. If we had a car, yes, it would cost more (and let’s not forget, getting a loan here is about as easy as finding toilet paper in March 2020), but travel would be simpler. The bus is less expensive, but it requires planning, patience, and a willingness to accept that the universe may, in fact, hate you. Letting go of control? Not exactly my strongest personality trait.
We use an app called Move It. You plug in your destination, and it plans your route and tells you when the buses should arrive. It shows estimated time (in black) and actual time (in green). Easy enough, right? It should be. But no. There are times when we watch the countdown: five minutes away (green), four, three… and then—poof—it disappears. Suddenly, the next bus is in 32 minutes (black). WHAT. THE. FUCK. Mikey remains calm. I, on the other hand, am mentally flipping benches, shaking my fist at passing cars, and questioning every life decision that led me to this moment. So yes, the app is not always accurate. We’ve learned to adjust, sometimes “bet” on its accuracy, or just laugh at the situation. Most of our friends rely on buses too, so at least being late is a shared cultural experience.
Now, let’s talk about the buses themselves. We live on the far east side of Montevideo, and getting to the city center takes about 45–60 minutes. We usually take the 701 or 709 as our first bus, then transfer downtown. Sometimes, the bus feels like a nostalgic throwback to an old Greyhound—complete with adjustable curtains and a general sense of “this vehicle has seen things.” They’re old, a little rough, but they get the job done. Then there are the newer buses—the ones you’d expect in major U.S. cities. They’re electric, smooth, and quiet. Smooth like… well, I was going to say a dolphin’s belly, but I’ve never actually touched one, so let’s just agree it’s very smooth and move on. Some are even newer, with cushioned seats, handles on the back of seats for shorter riders (not my problem, but I support the cause), and charging ports for your devices. I’m personally waiting for the next upgrade: light refreshments and maybe a beverage cart. We’re moving on up.
I look forward to stepping onto the bus to see how the front of the inside is decorated. There is a large space above the front windshield. Bus drivers use this space to add their own flair. Some use logos from their favorite Urugauyan futball team. Some use decorations with flashing lights or pictures of their family. Sometimes there are rosary beds (reminds me of the fact that I still have my mom’s, dad’s, and my sets - they made the trip with us). I think one even showed a collection of small trophies. He hung several small key chains in this area. I told myself, those must be lost key chains he found left behind after their owners rose and left the bus. It’s also interesting to hear the music the driver chooses to listen to. It may be salsa, a radio broadcast of a futball game, or music from the States - 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, 00’s, you never know. I have heard Duran Duran and Cher several times. I go moving right along the road, singing inside my head. If I ever become a bus driver, I have decided my music will be C&W or Broadway. Think about the splash Phantom will make with the passengers.
The other day, I realized something. By taking the bus, we’re actually seeing more of the city than we would if we had a car. Mikey and I have talked about this before—once you settle into a place, you tend to stick to the same routes. Work, grocery store, appointments—same roads, over and over, because they’re familiar and efficient. Humans are creatures of habit. Take a moment and think about it: how much of your city or town have you not explored? I know we didn’t see all of Austin, Pensacola, Las Cruces, or Bristol while we lived there. But with different bus routes, we get glimpses of neighborhoods and places we might want to visit someday. Mikey likes to play Scrabble or practice Spanish on his phone. Me? I’m glued to the window, pointing things out like an over-caffeinated eight-year-old at the zoo. I’m sure he loves it. Truly. Sightseeing on public transit is a definite perk, and it’s helping me feel more connected to this city and the country we chose.
Another unexpected perk: the entertainment. People will hop on the bus and perform—magic tricks, guitar, singing. Sometimes it’s… a brave effort. Other times, it’s genuinely impressive. One day, a man got on with a guitar and started playing and singing. He was already good at guitar, but his voice? Incredible. I think he was singing a popular song because the woman next to me was quietly singing along. Regardless of the quality, I keep my inner Simon Cowell firmly in check and just sit there thinking, “Man, I wish I had that kind of courage.” And then, of course, I applauded like the supportive audience member I aspire to be.
Oh, and yes—the wheels on the bus do, in fact, go round and round. Continuously. No matter how emotionally unstable the app makes me.
Thank you for sticking with me. Remember: be kind to yourself—and be kind to others.
