As usual, a boarding passenger had failed to show the driver her pass, and was holding up the morning bus.  The driver, in his usual cranky fashion, refused to move, and was shouting over his shoulder after the culprit, "Ma'am! Ma'am!" As usual, I looked up to find the source of the commotion.  The very unusual thing was that people were staring at me.

I was "ma'am."

I blushed, showed the driver my pass, slumped in my seat, and spent the rest of my commute trying to figure out just when I had crossed over into ma'am-hood.  It's a little word that marks a big boundary, and I was furious that one grumpy stranger had decided to draw it for me.

Soon after we moved to the city, we realized owning a car was too impractical for the time being.  So now Z and I pay $45 per month  to ride one of  these babies.  Sure, the driver is a little surly, the interior a little sticky and the time table a little...theoretical, but you can't beat the live entertainment. 

The bus is a rolling reality show. Forget the book and the ipod, and just watch:

The Groomer: You can usually spot her on the morning bus, spackling her face with all sorts of pasty creams.  While the first coat is drying, she artfully draws her eyes, and you don't want to miss this.  As the driver alternately stomps on the gas and brake pedals, this girl smooths liquid liner onto her lids using a mirror the size of a quarter -- without once stabbing herself in the eye or skidding off into her hairline.   I don't know how she does it, but never once have I seen her miss.

We actually have two Groomers.  The other uses his looong pinky nail to dig in his ears, nose and teeth.  Sometimes in that order. It's hard to look, and even harder to look away.

Extreme Combover Guy: Everyone knows a guy determined to use his remaining wisps to cover his bare, freckled head. Most opt for the "ear to ear" style, however our guy has taken it further: his hair stretches from the nape of his neck all the way over to the front, plastered to his forehead in straight, neat "bangs."  Moe in front, barcode in back. 

Little Miss Two-Seats: I'm not sure what's in her tote bag, but perhaps it explodes if it touches a floor, or a human lap. It would explain why she's so fiercely protective when anyone tries to put their tushie where her tote sits.

Hippie Dog:  Always part pit bull, but there's no need for alarm, because those jaws have never gnawed anything bigger than a leftover french fry. It might be from living in the sunshine, or maybe it's the contact high, but nothing bothers a dog like this.  He might get stepped on or poked, or even snarled at by Purse Dog, but all a Hippie Dog ever does is flop his warm belly across your sandaled feet and gaze adoringly up at his malodorous master.  Who is, as it turns out, a genius with the ladies.  Conversations surrounding Hippie Dog usually come to this:  "Well, he doesn't have a name yet, 'cuz I just 'rescued' him from some guy... any suggestions? Say, how do you say 'dog' in your language?" and so forth.  Man's best friend is also his best wingman.

Those are just the regulars.  Add a cameo by Neon Boy, Skates-In-A-Thong or The Spelunking Pirate and you've got quite a cast.   A ride and  a show: $45 well spent.