Ever since turning 21, well 17 really, I’ve come to the bitter realization that adulthood comes with its fair share of hardships. There’s the seemingly endless stream of financial obligations, rummaging through the week for enough time to pursue your passions, and don’t even get me started on tirelessly navigating through the arduous minefield of friendships, relationships, and situationships.

But for me, someone who’s recently returning from the back-burner of employment, I have the “pleasure” of taking the jitney to work. Two jitneys in fact. And albeit a reliable means of getting me to my destination in the morning, it does provide several annoyances on a given weekday…

After spending way too much time in the shower pretending to perform live at Coachella, I manage to get ready in a timely manner and hit the road. And by “hit the road”, I mean walk around the corner from my house to catch the first bus of the day.

It’s a #21. For me it’s the quickest route to Downtown and tends to be less crowded than a #19. Usually, this first ride goes over smoothly. However, like today (when I’m trying to write) there a bunch of sun-dried monkeys ‘ow-ow-ahing’ in the front of the bus. Translation: primary school students. Bahamian, primary school students.

Their loud, squeaky voices were laced with optimism and sent buzzes of irritation throughout the entire bus. Who told them they deserved to have so much hope? Don’t they know that this world is nothing more than a relentless, female canine? “Just wait until adulthood breaks you in like the last virgin”, I sinisterly jested.

And at first I thought I was being overly critical toward them. Until the lady behind me commented in a shared sense of aggravation, “Boy these chern could talk now! They don’t have no home training!” Chuckling in agreement, I continued on writing in the midst of all the raucous.

And despite making some serious progress, I couldn’t help reflecting on my own childhood days of taking the bus to school. I was never this loud! I was never shouting over anyone to get my point across, hitting anyone with my bag, or spelling curse words aloud for that matter. “Oooooooh! I hear you say F-U-C-K!”, said the sassy lass who was arguably the loudest of the pack. Ugh, kids.

“I hope she can spell other words too! That’s what!”, another female passenger snappishly retorted. Soon realizing I’m not the only one dismayed by the decorum of this country’s youth, I paid close attention to the driver’s next set of words.

He looks behind him at the cluster of sound pollution and queries impatiently, “Where y’all getting off?”. The bus goes silent as if we were all waiting to hear the final verdict of a grand jury, or yinno when we’re waiting to see who Ru tells to ‘shantay, you stay’ and ‘sashay away’.

Seconds later, the children state their nearby stop and the entire middle section of the bus begins glistening with anticipation. Soon equilibrium will be re-establish and us adults could peacefully return to looking at the world through a critical lens. Interesting enough, adulthood has made me notice that coming together to openly criticize someone or something (on a micro-level) is a recurring theme in Bahamian society.

Also, I’ve come to understand that setting doesn’t really make a difference in this phenomenon. The collective criticism remains the same, whether you’re in the bank and the rate of RBC’s line is sloven, or you’ve waited DAYS on the McDonald’s drive-thru, just to be told they’re out of syrup for the hotcakes and want you to literally choke, keel over, and die. Or more relevant to today – adults coming together to comment on the vulgar innocence of a couple of kids on their way to school.

Personally, I find this conditional sense of unity beautiful. It shows that we as a society actually have the innate ability to put aside our petty differences, analyze, and engage in agreement. Now if only this kind harmony was culminated regularly (outside the bounds of trivial criticisms).

If only this type of passion was channeled into supporting the positive, creative, entrepreneurial endeavors of other Bahamians, into fighting against the corrupt policies of a failing colonial system, thus creating actual, meaningful change.

(But anyway, I’m getting too socially conscious. BACK TO THE PLOT!) 

As their imminent stop arrived and they departed one-by-one, the entire bus rejoices! “Praise God!” screamed one. “Amen! God is real!”, crowed another. And me being the facetious bastard I am chimed-in, speaking in supernatural tongues “Shattah-Ro-bo-bo!”. Surely without a doubt, mirth had fully consumed us all.

Merily arriving Downtown, I prepare myself to transition from one bus to the next. A #12 was next on the lineup. And lineup there was. You see, there’s usually a queue of #10’s and #12’s on Fredrick Street, taking their time to fill up on passengers before taking off. So there’s always this hope that the bus you want is at the front of the queue.

Making a logical guesstimate, I’d say each bus takes anywhere between 5-15 minutes just to reach maximum occupancy. It varies daily, sometimes you get lucky, other times you get stuck. This is particularly annoying if you’re already running late.

And unlike the #21 jitney, these buses heading in the Cable Beach area are always 10-times fuller. Much to the point of where taking out your bus fare becomes an intensely uncomfortable came of Twister.

Nonetheless, seeing the daily trail mix of bus patrons always keeps things interesting to say the least. Expatriates, tourists, locals – all journeying to their place of work or leisure. Absorbing everyone around you purposefully, oftentimes grudgingly heading to their destination day-in-and-day-out really captures the essence of adulthood.

In this game we are all fighters, fighters who continue to battle even when we don’t want to. Even when we’re feeling extremely drained. We keep moving to either maintain the calm pace we’re currently going or in hopes of pushing ahead into something greater. Something worth wild.

As my destination approaches, I close out my mental log and arrive safely to work. Ready to take on the list of assignments waiting patiently for me. I’m ready to continue my pursuits in adulthood. And although taking the bus provides many opportunities for reflection, this Negro cannot wait to have his own damn car! But until then, “BUS STOP!”.

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