Sometimes I write lists to cope with things. If I’m feeling kind of anal, To Do lists are handy. If I’m facing a particularly dreadful trip to the grocery store, it’s nice to have a shopping list. And if I’m trapped on a bus for 11 hours, pretending not to hear the British lady beside me fight with the Mexican guy a few seats over, it’s easy to curl into a small ball, write a bunch of lists, and hope no one notices me. These next few short lists are the direct result of one of those scenarios.
My car and I recently had a falling out. Her name is Ruby, we’ve been together since I was two, and I’ve told several of my ex-boyfriends that I’ll always love her more than them. Unfortunately, Ruby and I spend a lot of time fighting. I am of the opinion that even if there is snow on the ground, and even if there’s the tiniest slope, it is a car’s duty to get from Point A to Point B with minimal cursing on the driver’s part. Ruby is Swedish, and must be from a particularly balmy, flat area of the country, because she is of a different school of thought. That’s how what should have been a four-hour trip between school and my house turned into an 11-hour journey involving the state patrol, two tow trucks, a bag of cat litter, and a surprising amount of blood coming out of my nose.
It’s also why, when I had to make the trip again a few weeks later, I decided to leave Ruby at school and ride the bus home. I am by no means an expert bus rider, but after several trips, I feel like I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way. I’d like to share that knowledge with you now, because in my experience, people walk off of buses changed. I want you to have the advice I never received.