Rolling with the Bus

Even in Santa Barbara, riding the city bus is an adventure every single time. It can also be a real exercise in patience and letting go of the elusive control factor, because you never know what you're going to get:

It's almost always late.
Once inside, it's you can count on it being either really cold or really, really, really hot.
It's often smelly (old lady perfume, sweat stink, bad breath, you name it).
It's full of injustice (people not offering seats to elderly/handicapped, the $1.25 fare).
It can be a jerky, harrowing passenger experience, depending on the driver.

You have the chance to encounter a cornucopia of your fellow citizens:

A crazy lady.
A homeless man.
A happy, go-lucky type.
A woman in crisis, shout-sharing her misery with the entire bus.
A drug dealer dropping not so subtle hints.
Grandparents - both well off and otherwise.
Teenagers - generally shouting at each other or into their, like, cell phones.
A herd of six-year olds accompanied by a neighbor lady on their way to school.
And me - with my nose in a book and my eye on everyone else.

No matter the specifics of the day, you can count on the bus eventually showing up and getting you to your destination, more or less in tact.