STANDING ROOM ONLY

Christmas shopping almost made me late for work, but I still managed to catch the bus and get to work on time. I admit I considered driving, but between my commitment to keep my car parked and the thought of driving home in the snow convinced me not to drive.

I went into a meeting at ten o'clock and there was nothing on the ground. When I came out at eleven, the snow was coming down hard and the parking lot was covered. It snowed steadily the rest of the day, and when I signed-out at five o'clock, I was glad I left my boots under the desk last Monday.

Again, the worst part of the whole trip home was walking up the campus ramp in the dark, this time, slippery and snow-covered.

I waited a half hour for the 12 to come down Washington. According to the alerts on CDTA.org, all the routes were running about a half hour behind, so I really didn't have to wait that long.

Whereas the buses usually have ample seating, the 12 was standing room only. I held onto the bar just behind the driver for the first half of the ride downtown, and moved, for the first time ever, into the Rosa Parks memorial seat when one woman got off around Albany High.

I usually take the 12, get off halfway downtown, and walk the few remaining blocks south to my apartment. It was hard to walk in the snow, though, and I wanted to stop at the corner store near my place, so I rode all the way down to Washington and Lark and waited for the 13 to come around, figuring I'd ride the rest of the way and get off right in front of the store.

Two 13s were stopped on Lark street going the other way when I first got there. I thought about running over to see if they were going toward New Scotland or in the other direction, but the driver was occupied pushing a man in a wheelchair. He pushed the chair through the bank left by the plows and I heard him say, "Here ya go. Ya got it?"

The man in the wheelchair waved back up at him, pushed the wheels, and went nowhere. The bus driver pushed him further into the road, but the man still couldn't wheel himself across the intersection. Another man took the chair from the bus driver, who turned to get back on his bus. They had to wait through the next light, but then he pushed the man through the intersection, past the bus stop, and down the hill on Lark. It didn't seem like the men knew each other, but from where I was standing, it looked like he was going to wheel him all the way home. He would have had to if he didn't to send the man in the chair to an early death. As it was, they were sliding down the hill at a swift runner's pace.

When the 55 stopped, three-quarters of the people waiting for the bus lined up at the curve. There was standing room only on the 55, too. The bus driver shouted for people on the bus to move in and make room for the other to get on. She still only allowed about half the crowd on the bus and announced to the rest of the people waiting that another bus was coming in ten minutes.

Their prayers were answered five minutes later; two 55s came up the hill, and five minutes after that, another 55, like CDTA was producing 55s out of thin air.

Not long after that, I ran into my friend, Ronnie. He told me his Asian housemate was stuck in their driveway at home. She called him at work to tell him. He said he had to keep from laughing because she was so flustered, she sounded like Margaret Cho's mother.

I was surprised to see him since he lives in a rural town too far outside Albany to take the bus. He explained that there's so little affordable parking downtown, so he parks uptown and rides to work.

While we were talking, a woman in a coat caught our attention and shouted, "The buses are coming up the hill!" We looked around the corner. Two buses were coming up the hill on Lark. I looked to make sure the man in the wheelchair wasn't stuck under one of the buses, but he and his traffic aide were long gone. I didn't exactly know why it was a big deal the buses were coming up the hill, but the people around me, who actually knew what was going on (this is a common theme in my life) chattered to each other about the buses not being able to make it up "that hill" (Washington), and wondered if they needed to get on the other side of the road.

Ronnie pointed out that the second bus was sliding, and when I looked, the bus was horizontal across both lanes in the road. He righted himself only to slide the other way until finally he got up the hill by driving on the wrong side of the road. That seemed to work until the other light turned green and a woman in a sedan turned down Lark and got in his way. She lifted up her hands in the universal "What are you doing?" gesture and sat there in a fierce face-off with the bus.

The people at the bus stop yelled at her to back up. She could not be deterred.

A man ran to her window. She put her car in reverse and got stuck, and the man pushed her back as far as he could until the driver got back into the right lane and turned the corner. When the bus passed, she held up her hands to the driver again.

I turned to Ronnie. "I should have been a better Samaritan."

Someone overheard me and said, "I don't get paid to direct traffic." I laughed. On one hand, he had a point. I probably would have just gotten in the way. As it was, drivers waiting to go through the light honked and yelled at the man who pushed the car back up the hill, and when it was over, he yelled back, even at a cop, unrewarded, out of breath, red-faced.

On the other hand, with everyone all stuck in the snow trying to get out of the intersection, I witnessed more cooperation among strangers than I generally witness on easier travel days; and the people that received the help looked, overall, happy to get it.

The 13 finally came, but I was on the wrong side of the street. Luckily the bus stopped for a few minutes on Lark and I was able to get across the street and onto the bus that would finally take me home. Overall, I think I spent almost an hour waiting at Washington and Lark, entertaining myself watching the cars fight to get through intersection.