You've Come a Long Way, Baby - Now, Take a Few Steps Back!

I must admit, the commuter bus has its pluses: a nap to and from work. No worries about finding a parking spot or fighting traffic. No uncomfortable moments with carpool buddies, etc. But it's not all a bed of roses. You have to wait outside in the elements for a bus to arrive. Heat, rain, snow. And if you miss one by seconds, it's not going to stop as you run after it like Dwayne from What's Happenin'?! But, by far, the worst I've had to deal with is Virginia Slim. She seems like a nice lady, sure. She's got that no-nonsense short grey hair that says, "I'm not fighting it anymore. Who needs color when I have grey steel?" She carries her trade-association/convention totebag and of course, her ensemble would not be complete with out her pixy stix-length pack of cigarettes. Now, you'd think she'd just light up the moment she exited her office building. Women with those Cruella DeVille ciggies are hooked and need their fix as soon as they can sing the Jolene theme song. But she holds off, preferring to carry them like a Nextel walkie-talkie all the way to the bus stop. There's a formal procedure to it. An order. It's as if it's a Japanese tea ceremony for her. She shakes the pack and magically the baton-sized cigarette pops it's head up and says, "hey there sweet thing, care to dance?" Then, out comes the lighter, then the lovingly cupped hand to protect from the unkind breeze and finally the sensual suck, that first sex-filled inhalation of smokey goodness. She cuddles with her filtered friend until the bus arrives, escorting it all the way to the doors of the bus, then euthenizes it with a stomp just before she hops up the steps. It's a free country, though, and so far, we've managed to leave one last smoking area open for the citizens of Marlboro Country - the entire outdoor portion of the planet. How generous of us!

So what's a girl to do? The options are: (1) step out of line, or go to the end of the line. (2) Ask that she stop smoking in line. (3) Call the bus people and push it on them. (4) Make passive-agressive overatures.

(1)Well, if you step out of line, you risk losing a seat. And unlike other modes of transportation, they're all too happy to take your full fare and let you stand for 40 minutes. And frankly, it sucks.

(2)I guess I could ask her to stop smoking, but she doesn't have that mother-0f-the-earth-I-give-a-sh*t-about-you aura enveloping her. And, basically, I'm just too much of a coward to open my mouth. Thanks so much mom for instilling this dread of confrontation. (Mom's mantra - "Don't make waves, don't make waves. Just suffer - it's easier. Far more pleasant.")

(3)I emailed the bus people, and although they responded in record time, they're just as impotent as I am. There's no way to enforce a no smoking rule (even though there is one), since the city is outside of their jurisdiction and frankly, they can't station someone at each stop as a ciggie monitor. [I think Mike Lookinland (Bobby Brady) could probably revive his hall monitor gig, seeing as his career isn't as groovy as it once was. He was just so damn good at it. Someone should give him a ring and make him an offer.]

(4) I tried the passive-agressive stuff and pretty much she's one of the X Men - she's Carcino-Gina - able to ignore all hand waving, huffing and puffing and "Jesus, how can anyone smoke in this 115 degree heat?" faces.

So now I take the later bus. What a hero I am. Call up Norma Rae and tell her I'm taking over.