I’ve used public transportation as my sole means of transportation for almost three years now. The only reason I’m even able to do this is because public transportation is decent up here. I wouldn’t call it great. I would call it pretty good. I would say that it could be better but, over all, not all that bad. But something has happened over the course of time that I’ve used the Metro, that I’ve used the bus. It’s a habit, a thing created because I do it every day. It’s just like how you form a habit when you drive a car. Sit in the seat, put the key in the ignition, crank it, pull your seat belt, check your mirrors, go. You do it without even knowing. For city people, we do the grab, look, check, grab. It’s simple. You GRAB your bag (because everyone carries bags here. Everyone), you LOOK and see if you left something in the seat you were sitting in, you CHECK and make sure you have your keys or your phone in your front pocket and you GRAB your ass, to make sure your wallet is there. It takes about three seconds to do this, and you do it in such a quick, fast, and discrete ways as to not call attention to yourself. You don’t want anyone to notice that you are doing this, but you do it, you do it quick and you do it every time. Why? Because the idea of losing my wallet or leaving my bag on a bus or on the metro scares the shit out of me.
What’s in my bag? Ok. Either my Macbook Pro or my iPad, depending on what I have to do. Heavy work means I bring Propro. Light work, I bring the iPad. A book, sometimes two. My case for my glasses, a microfiber cloth to clean my glasses and everything else, a back-up battery for my Blackberry, toothpicks, uh, pens. I think that’s it. Oh, yeah! Mints or chewy gum. Because I’m weird. People, men and women, carry a bag because, usually, when you leave the house in the morning, you’re gone the entire day. You car people do it, too. You just toss your crap in the back seat of the car. We carry our backseats on our backs, roaming the city like the migrant workers we are, slaving for enough money to pay rent and, maybe, just maybe, a happy hour drink. But now isn’t the time to talk about happy hours….