Who ordered the scrambled brains?

I’m sitting on the Big Blue Bus line 12, heading “outbound” as they call it, from UCLA to Palms. Recently I adopted a new criteria for choosing where to sit on the bus: 2nd or 3rd row, driver’s side of the aisle. I chose this because in the morning, I take the bus north and in the evening I take the bus south, making the passenger side of the bus interminably sunny. As far as the sunniness goes, what can I say but that I’m a hot-blooded guy? I break into a sweat just moving my fingers across this keyboard. I prefer the 2nd or 3rd row because I prefer quieter, cleaner company, and upon entering the bus, the rowdy hooligans of society, the true dirt of the land, prefer to settle in the back of the bus. (I’m only half serious of course.) Mike’s Morsel: When riding the Big Blue Bus line 12, if you can’t stand the heat, sit on the driver’s side; and take the front while your at it, for comfort added.

This morning I settled in for the typically long wait for the bus across the street from my apartment building by peeling a delicious, nutritious, fresh, ripe, potassium-packed banana. One bite later, the Super 12 comes rollicking up the street on it’s sturdy 1956 suspension. (Note 1: The Super 12 is an UCLA express route of the line 12; Note 2: since the line 12 services the less affluent area of Santa Monica, the reserve the oldest buses in the fleet for it; Note 3: as a highly-student ridden line, the Super 12 line gets the oldest of the line 12 buses) I hid the banana under my jacket, lest I arouse the suspicions of the ever-vigilant driver. Only after taking my seat (3rd row, driver’s side) could I continue my morning repast. When I took my last bite, the world revealed to me it’s next challenge: what do I do with the peel? Eating it was out of the question, though I respect those that would do so. The only trash can (more of a tall plastic tub) was located at the foot of the driver. Rats! “When a solution does not present itself, wait for conditions to change.” I just made that quote up, but it sums up my thinking at the time. I’d wait till I got to UCLA, grab the peel and run out the back door where I was sure to find a way to dispose of it properly. But no sooner than I forgot about this plan, did I arrive at school, never to think about that banana peel again. Or so I thought.

At 5:15pm I boarded a number 12 for the ride home. I was amped with pride at finishing my most recent cramee. I mosied into the 3rd row, passenger side and no sooner did the sun break the window, did I remember my new seat-choosing criteria. (Oh yeah, I just used that rhetorical device. It’s like no sooner did I use that rhetorical device, did I use it again.) “Gotta move,” I told myself. “But where to? Bad grammar, Mike. ‘But to where?’ you mean.” As I looked up, nothing could have prepared my soul with what I was about to see. There, on the floor of an empty bus, between the second and third rows of the driver’s side, lay poetically, and somehow pathetically, the slightly aged peel of a delicious, nutritious, fresh, ripe, potassium-packed banana. Could it be? Yes, it must be. After another adventurous day in the academic jungle of UCLA, I found myself sitting on the bus, in the sweltering heat, face to face with my past.

That’s the real reason I wanted to talk about the Big Blue Bus: to mention how impeccable the drivers are at cleaning these magnificent rides. UCLA marks a terminal for the bus, and once there, the drivers usually get out and take a break. I estimate this break to be approximately 15 minutes in length. Many times, I’ve seen driver’s combing the rows for trash during these breaks. And how!

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