Ah, the joys of public transportation. Me, I like the unpredictability of it all, never knowing what I'm going to encounter each day as I approach the bus stop. Often my fellow wayfarers are Spanish-speaking women; I lower the volume on my not-an-iPod and try to follow the conversation. Eavesdropping, you might call it. I prefer to think of it as practicing a foreign language. There's usually a homeless person or two along for the ride, some obviously mentally ill, some not. They always seem to disembark at random locations. They don't seem to solicit donations from me as often as when I'm in a car; perhaps they figure that if I'm on the bus too, I don't have much to offer them.

I occasionally encounter stranger characters, however, and it's often a challenge for me to decide how to behave. Last week, for instance, I found myself without an umbrella during a rainstorm as I left work. I hastened to the bus stop which, I gratefully remembered, had a shelter. However, as I approached, I noticed an elderly man slumped over in one corner of the shelter. He had a walker in front of him, 2 empty bottles of MD 20/20 beside him, and drool hanging from his agape mouth. And the entire shelter was filled with the distinct, pungent aroma of urine. What does one do in such a situation? I considered calling the police, then I thought maybe I should call METRO, but was ultimately unsure which course of action I should follow. Two women soon joined us in the shelter, and the three of us waited uncomfortably, desperate for the bus to arrive so we could escape the odor and the rain.

Of course, the bus was 30 minutes late, leaving me ample time to berate myself for my inaction, but apparently not enough time to build up the courage to do something about it.

Bus 1, Cereal 0