For a few months, now, I’ve been taking the bus to work. I’ve not become King of the Bus People, but I have been adapting to bus culture pretty well. I’m not sure I want to become King of the Bus of the People, though. I don’t want that kind of responsibility. I’m just happy to read books or play with my iPad while the bus drivers do their thing.
The bus has actually been quite a boon for me. The drive times are about double what it would take in a car, but it’s saving me quite a bit in gas money. My work gave me the bus pass, so I’m not even paying for that.
The long drive time has been good for school, too. During the drive, I can study, so it’s really not wasted time. Only one of my textbooks is of the super-heavy think hardback variety. The rest are light paperbacks or ebooks so, I don’t often have to weigh my backpack down very often.
Riding the bus in winter has some unforeseen downsides, though. The cold is the most obvious. I’ve adapted by wearing heavy clothing, a heavy coat with hood, and gloves. Not so obvious is a side affect of wearing heavy clothing. Like everything else, they are subject to the laws of gravity and try to find the lowest point possible. Having greater mass than lighter clothing, they have an easier time of it. My coat, shirt and gloves have no problem, though. They rest on my shoulders and hands quite nicely, thank you. My boots are secure around my feet and ankles. My pants and underwear? Not so much.
Having a good belt helps with my pants, but the waistband in some of my undies has seen better days. They’re feeling their age as much as I am. After the long bus ride, they decided they were tired of hanging around my sorry butt and started to migrate towards my feet. My Id, sensing this betrayal on the part of my underclothes, started raising all kinds of alarms. “Ahhhgghh! Your pants are falling down! You’re going commando! Someone will see your butt!”
My Ego, trying to calm the Id, said, “No, no, the pants are still on. It’s just your underpants that are going south. Your butt is not visible.”
I tried recovering my underpants by grabbing them through my jeans, but they were having none of it. They just kept up the steady southward migration.
My Id went into full panic mode. “Ahhhh! Naked butt! Naked butt!” After thinking about it for a moment, my Id, being what it is, started thinking, “Maybe it would be fun to flash these people. They might want to have sex with me. I’ll pull my pants down, too!”
Thankfully, my Superego intervened. “No, no. That would cause great embarrassment and result in jail time. You must not pull your pants down.”
“You’re such a killjoy.” Id complained. My Ego was not quite relieved.
Eventually, my underwear cleared the bottom of my butt cheeks. My pants, ever defending my honor, caught them at crotch level and stopped them from having a conversation with my knees and ankles. I’d hate to think what would have happened if I was wearing a dress. Not that I’ve done that. My Id has a mind of its own, though, so I still think of things like that.
As I entered the building, my underwear at half-mast and my backside getting acquainted with backside of my jeans, I struggled to control my brain and act like nothing was wrong. I just needed to get to the bathroom near my desk without raising suspicions that I had become and accidental commando. The fact that my desk is on the opposite side of the building wasn’t helping.
In the end, I got my end covered back up without further mishap. Praise goes to my denim jeans for not joining my undies in their southern migratory pattern. As I sat back at my desk I could only think of one thing: I really need to buy new underwear.