My Disposable Friend

When I get a ride to someplace, I'm with a friend and invariably have a delightful conversation. Want to or not, it seems only fair in the absence of a request for gas money. Usually I want to talk anyway. When I go someplace on public transportation, I am usually alone and expect to do nothing but read, listen to music or gawk at people. It really wrecks my plans if I end up talking to someone, but sometimes that is how it works out.

It's a fact that the people by whom you wind up ensnared in a conversation are not those from whom you would seek one. Sometimes it's a very unfortunate fact indeed. I can think of any number of people languishing on the margins of existence who have imposed a chat on me for want of anyone who knows them and would welcome one. What is there to do but listen to their vitriol or woe and pray for their stop to come soon?

Sometimes it's not so bad, and the unsolicited conversation could even be enjoyable if I were really open to it. A recent protracted wait for the bus left me commiserating at length with an older man about the weather and lateness of the bus. His wonderment at the advent of gps-enabled buses which may be followed via a smartphone or personal computer left me not so terribly sorry that I could not breach social protocol and turn back to my book. He was genuinely amiable.

Probably it is for the best that these things happen. The kind of big city living that involves walking places and using public transportation puts you in touch with people from very disparate walks of life, and I do believe that that's a good thing. One should never be sorry for having developed sympathy or even empathy for the downtrodden. It's a lot harder to exhort one's elected officials to stomp someone when you've shared a bus home with them. That's my experience anyway.