Columnist Susan Snyder: Another one rides the bus

Monday, Sept. 19, 2005 | 8:09 a.m.

Results of a recent Newsweek poll show a $3 gallon of gasoline does get the American public's attention.

Of those asked about rising gasoline prices, 71 percent said they had cut back on driving in some manner because of the cost, and 31 percent said they had started using carpools or mass transit.

Although not polled, I slipped into both of those groups pretty willingly after the Hurricane Katrina gasoline hike. The Friday after the storm, it cost about $40 to fill the tank of my small sport utility vehicle with gasoline at $2.99 a gallon.

I was determined to stretch every last drop. After all, $3 for a cup of coffee is reasonable. But $3 for a gallon of gasoline? Well, it's un-American.

Two weeks later, I still had enough to drive my 42-mile roundtrip work commute once before having to fill 'er up. But how, praytell, did I make one tank of gas last two weeks? I drove less and biked and bused to work more.

For me, the best part about riding the bus is what some consider the worst part -- other people.

But it's interesting how the bus is similar in some ways to going to the grocery store or fidgeting in church.

For example, there are riders who, despite their years of transit use, always seem surprised that they have to pay. It's like getting in line behind that person who waits until the last pea pod is bagged before he makes a move to find his wallet.

The last rider to board the bus at (I think) Tropicana Avenue and Maryland Parkway didn't start looking for fare money until the driver had closed the door (that part is certain). She wanted a $5 day pass and evidently planned to pay for it with change. A lot of change.

The driver finally told her to take a seat, and she clutched a couple of bills in one hand while still counting out coins with the other. She finally was ready to pay when we hit the next stop.

There, we waited again while a very tiny woman with a very large handbag dug around for the $1.25 fare. Her arm disappeared nearly to her shoulder. Sorta made you wonder what else she kept in there.

Or, maybe not.

Of course, sharing your ride with other people is like a box of chocolates. And what I got at Las Vegas Boulevard was Ms. Amplebum on my left and a guy big enough to tryout for the NBA on my right. He sat down with such force that I and the person seated on the other side of him actually jumped a little.

And there I was, wedged between them like a miniature, middle-age action figure in silly bicycle pants and a sillier helmet. The guy seated across from us snorted back a giggle.

Making eye contact with him only made it worse. Like a kid trying to stifle her mirth in church, I bit the inside of my lip, coughed, held my breath.

To no avail.

I burst into giggles, either wearied by holding them in or because the right side of my body had disappeared behind the man's forearm.

I looked like an idiot, of course. We're not supposed to laugh in public for no reason. But when I disembarked at Decatur it occurred to me that when commuting alone by car, making eye contact with a fellow traveler rarely resulted in giggles.

It's amazing how much perspective $1.25 can buy. It's more than I ever got for $3 a gallon.