I recently came across an article, in the wonderfully free newspaper and L.A. Times underling, Brand X, touting the adventurous rides of a certain blogger (not me) on L.A.’s bus lines. Though I applaud the author for sniffing out and highlighting the oft erratic and tempestuous nature of metro’s particular clientele, the worst experiences of this girl amount to a small hill of beans. When it comes to strangers, I’ve got former porn star turned tweaked out judge and dirty Jesus; she’s got stares and inconvenience. We are obviously not on the same stranger train.
Wearing a neon Lululemon jacket, matching cap and sunglasses while carrying her to-go mug, we see our hero in action marching up the sidewalk to catch the morning’s ride. Though the article aims to present the eco-friendly purpose of public transit and the unexpected opportunities to help others out (when an old woman desperately cries out for change, the rider jumps to her aid) as well as providing a petri dish to mix with new people each day, by the end I’m left with the impression that though this chosen route often presents an occasion to observe severe juxtaposition of the city’s humanity – it’s older citizens with their life stories and shaky canes, foreigners trekking their way to Grauman’s Theatre and shopping on Melrose Avenue, Mom’s with kids and groceries, the homeless tied in sheets and mumbling, tired workers, hungry students – it all comes down to convenience. A car really would be better:
“Just to note, there are some pressing things about not having a car and riding the bus that I ponder at times. Like how long it takes me to get somewhere with the leaving the house early to walk the 15 minutes to the bus stop, to wait for the bus, to play stop-and-go down Wilshire. Or, when the bus is late. I mean, I know it happens but it really puts a kink in my schedule. Or, when you just want to listen to the radio and sing at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down”
Certainly, the freedom of a car is wished for after several months on the MTA. Though the article is truly about “one bloggers Journey through the multicolored world of the MTA” it’s a pretty tame ride, and more like ‘one bloggers journey through the primary colors’ instead of a rainbow. I think given my experiences, and the visceral nature of time spent inches away from people’s faces, flattened against strangers bodies, there could have been more meat on those bones.
NO SAINTS IN L.A. 
this is typical: 2 (presumably) white girls ranting about how horrible and inconvenient life is, when spent with those who are (presumably) less-fortunate, or well-dressed, or white, as said authors. spare us, please. or, get a friggin’ car.
Though my post may have been misdirected at first, comparing stories about the unfortunate life of a bus taker, I never said nor think that I am above my co-passengers in either wealth, dress or status – assuming that it might be rather blatant that my own situation mirrors theirs – only that said co-passengers can provide an interesting aside to life in L.A. and that often it’s a lot more interesting than the BrandX article made it (i.e. including quotes about wanting a car instead of taking the bus = duh, I wager everyone on the damn bus would rather have a convenient car), and that other issues, such as better commuting routes, better public sanitation or publishing the story of anyone other than a white girl-whose-parents-couldn’t-afford-to-pay-her-car-payment-so-she-had-to-ride-the-bus, should have been explored. However, she’s also part of the thousands of denizens that make up L.A., and she goes to the bus trying to help in anyway she can, not merely eyeing the other passengers in disgust. So please, stop ranting about white privilege.
ha. yes, of course.
silly me for pointing out how shallow and priviledged you are, when your own words obviously direct us otherwise:
I’m on the bus towards home. It stinks. It smells like sweat, fecal waste and curry.
It’s worse than I thought. There’s got to be a homeless man somewhere, I can smell the urine, but I can’t spot him.
I fantasize about every which way this situation could erupt further; several scenes involve guns. I look around at today’s passengers. What are the odds? I think I watch too much tv.
I’ve located the smell. There’s a man with matted hair and crusty white eyes nearby. He is carrying a satchel with god knows what inside. I plug my nose.”
i can only assume that this is what you are referring to when you talk about “better commuting routes”, “better public sanitation” or “the story of anyone other than a white-girl-whose-parents-couldn’t-afford-to-pay-her-car-payment-so-she-had-to-ride-the-bus”. clearly, you offer a much MUCH different perspective, i mean, since you’re wearing heels and all.
my mistake. i shouldn’t have confused this blog at all for yet another not-from-los-angeles-wannabe bemoaning her horrible treks through public transit. jesus, no! therefore, i withdraw my rantings about your white privilege, hun.
Your response seems to suppose that my post is about class and race. That’s your issue, not mine. Your focus on my wearing heels, on plausibly being better dressed and therefore less fortunate and seemingly unfit to complain explicitly that the environment I live in day to day is a little less than desired, is a misnomer, I’m putting forth my own experience, which is potentially unenlightened when it comes to the travails of those around me despite having grown up on food stamps and in a poor part of town; I wager everyone on this planet has some perspective that needs to open a bit wider. I’m not sure why you want to wag your finger at me, shame me and tell me what a bad person I am for saying that the homeless person “smells” or that the bus stinks (which it does no matter who sits next to me), or wearing those heels on the bus; I didn’t put anyone down in the process, except to criticize another white person. I’m sorry you were thus offended. We all have opinions, and choices, and one of yours is not to read my posts.