Friendships on the road

The expression of a typical person in morning rush hour. WARNING: Never talk to this specimen!

I am not the sort of person who makes friends easily, however I do feel that I can read people, (talk to them when I have to, but only when forced). I often feel like I know the people who take the same bus as me in the morning, simply because I see them everyday, probably at their worst. You know, with dark shadows under their eyes, their hair in a mess, and possibly in the worst mood they will have all day. I have never spoken to them (mainly because many of them look like they need another 10 hours in bed, but then so do I), and yet I feel that there is a sort of connection between us.

  The people I am about to write about are undoubtedly what I will miss most about when I finish uni next year (at least I get another year to watch them). I have never spoken to them, so maybe I should.

On the bus that I take to uni, there is a family. They take the same bus every morning as part of their school run. I noticed this at the beginning of my first year at uni. The two children are amazingly well behaved, something which struck me. On the same bus is also an elderly lady. I haven’t quite worked out why she takes the bus, as she is clearly above retirement age, but I’m determined to find out sooner or later. Anyway, I digress. It is these people that I blog about today, because over the course of the two years I have now taken this bus, the lady and the two children have formed a sort of bond. Every morning when the children get, she greets as though they were her own grandchildren. Before you ask, yes I am quite certain (well as certain as you can be with people you barely know) that she is in fact NOT their grandmother. 

Their interaction made me wonder how it is possible to forge such strong relationships with people that you only have one thing in common with, other than the fact that you have to take a crowded bus every morning. I also wondered how they were able to build such a relationship in the morning rush hour in London, where the most important rule is to ignore anyone that dares to look at you. And if someone so much as opened their mouth to talk to you, you must of course, whip out your phone and seem extremely busy.

All in all, I have decided to make at least one ‘bus friend’ as I shall refer to them from now on. Mind you, perhaps I should make sure that they aren’t serial killers (you never know, it’s the quiet ones you have to be careful of). How do you find out if someone is a serial killer, without knowing their name?