I love public transport. Not for the predictable lefty environmental reasons, though those are valid as well. The trip to and from work each day affords me an opportunity to warm up for and cool down from the day without the stress generated by fighting rush hour traffic in a car. Even better, however, is the opportunity for people watching. I’m a virtual voyeur on a city bus, observing my fellow passengers and eavesdropping on snippets of conversation. I like to make up stories about the people that I watch. Based on  a stolen conversation, characteristic body language or just fashion choices, I can weave an elaborate fiction about a person in my head. I’m sure most of these are just the random ravings of a bored stranger. But every now and again one of them becomes so poignant to me that it feels real.

On the T721 bus on the way home from work the other day, a man sat down next to me. Slightly older than me, a bit more gray on top, glasses, rumpled work clothes – slacks, a dress shirt and a tie loosened against the dry summer heat of South Australia. Unremarkable in almost every way, quite a bit like your underwhelming correspondent in fact. One of the thousands of office workers who flee the city center as afternoon crawls into evening every day. I turned up my iPod and prepared to tune out the forty minute ride into the bowels of the southern suburbs.

But then my fellow traveler started dialing his phone. Usually mobiles on the bus annoy me, particularly in the hands of teenage girls and young women who seem to have no sense of  courtesy. Or volume. I tend to turn up the music so I don’t have to hear inane conversations about which mall they’re going to or what he did this time. But for some reason, this day, I turned down the volume on my iPod and listened:

“Hey Bub, how’s your day?”

“I thought maybe we could go to Normey Harvan and check out that game?”

(Slightly disappointed) “Oh, right, no worries then.”

“No, it’s OK. Just thought. Normey Harvan.”

“See you in a bit then.”

A completely unremarkable one-sided phone call. But that half conversation sent me spiraling into both the past and future. This guy had clearly called his boy to offer a father-son outing. The cutesy modification of the Australian electronics retailer an homage to a former childish mispronunciation, hearkening back to a simpler time. And he’d gotten shot down, his son too busy with homework or a date with friends or a new video game to join his Dad for a shopping trip. And I took a long look at that guy as he cradled his phone in his hands, and the expression on his face struck me to the core.

When I was a young boy, I loved to spend time with my Dad. He used to go away reasonably often for business, so when he was at home, I jumped at opportunities to go for rides in the car with him. If asked “Do you want to go to hardware store?”, my answer was always an excited “yes”.

My Dad doesn’t just go to the store. If he asks you if you want to join him on a trip to Lowe’s, it’s at least a two hour journey. It starts at Lowe’s but then it may be cheaper at Home Depot. And while we’re out we may as well stop at the grocery store. And did I ever show you this cool tree I found on the other side of town?

I don’t remember how old I was the first time I said ‘no’ when my Dad asked me to join him on some little trip. At some point, probably in my early teens, my life just became too busy to spend a couple of hours driving around with my Dad. Busy doing what, I couldn’t tell you, but busy nonetheless. I don’t know how my Dad felt the first time I refused one of these expeditions. My Dad loves driving and, in my adulthood I’ve learned that he tends to be at his most intimate on these rambling rides. For him, these are chances to spend quality time with his passenger. Since I became a father myself, I’ve started saying ‘yes’ again. But for twenty years or so, I said ‘no’ more often than not.

Sometimes I get annoyed that Boy Z clings on to me. He’ll grab my legs while I’m trying to get ready for work in the morning and not let go. It’s frustrating when you have to get out the door at 6:53 to catch an express bus. But there’s going to be a day when he doesn’t grab me around the legs anymore. There’s going to be a day when he says ‘no’ to time with Dad. I don’t know how my Dad felt the first time I said ‘no’, but based on the expression on the face of that random guy on the bus I now have a pretty good idea.

Image credits:

Adelaide bus

Businessman on phone

Eavesdropping

Bishop Allen’s “The Broken String” is available from Bishop Allen - The Broken String.

 
icon for podpress  Bishop Allen - "The Chinatown Bus" [3:19m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 34% [?]