Please Share My Umbrella

Every weekday afternoon, I go up the hill to the corner to meet Laura’s school bus. This takes some doing, because I take Hank and the dog with me, and only the dog is on a leash. I enjoy this part of the day not just because we get to greet Laura and walk her home, but also because it is a chance to chat with my neighbors while we wait for the bus. We congregate on the corner, we stand and wait, and we disperse again with our kids. That is all. Yet it is possible to do it wrong. So since it's back-to-school time, I offer some thoughts on Bus Stop Etiquette:

It boils down to this: The bus stop is a social space. For a brief period in the morning and afternoon, an unremarkable corner in our neighborhood becomes a bus stop, which is a social space. Not in the way that a party is a social space, but when we are there, we are in society with others. We form a society of people who are waiting for their children. Accordingly, we are subject to conventions that govern our social behavior. The rules, happily, are not difficult to master—you don’t have to know which fork to use or how to introduce a bishop to an ambassador. The only rule is that you must acknowledge that this is a social experience, and engage, at least minimally, with your fellow bus stop attendees. A very little will suffice. Eye contact, a greeting, and you’re good. Chattiness and real warmth can come later—we have 180 days.

It seems silly to talk about this, because this is second nature to anyone who wasn’t raised in a barn. But it is in my nature to try to codify things that usually go unspoken, and it seems there are people who don’t know. If you sit on the curb fiddling with your cell phone, your back turned, and ignoring the group, I will judge you. I am sorry, because you are probably a really great person. But we are trying to have a community here. And we need you. “Geez Beck, lighten up,” you may say. Let people just do their thing once in a while!” There are plenty of places where you can act like no one else exists. Like while you’re shopping. But here at the bus stop, we have a lot in common. We live in the same place, and our kids go to the same school. That is huge, y’all. So make with the pleasantries.

Matt does the morning bus stop run, and he reports that the scene is slightly different. Fewer kids ride in the morning, so there are fewer adults about, and some of those are on their way to work. The increased bustle plus the early hour means that it’s a more businesslike affair, but some people try to avoid even the greatly reduced sociability of the morning bus stop. Matt says that one mom (who lives right beside us—more on her later) never makes eye contact with him or acknowledges the presence of other people at all. And one dad wouldn’t speak to him after an initial grunt, even when spoken to. After I interviewed Matt about his experiences and expectations of the morning bus stop scene, he invited me to spend a few days getting up at 6:30, in order to experience it firsthand. In the interest of this sociological study, I almost would. But instead I’ll take his word for it.

In the afternoon, the cast of characters includes my friend Normal Neighbor—I haven’t ever written about her, though I like her very much, because she’s nice and normal—whom I’ve been seeing at the bus stop for over two years now. Normal Neighbor and I are friends in 5-10 minute increments. We rarely spend more time than that together, even though her daughter often plays with Laura. Yet we transact a lot of business in that time—exchanging info about the kids, school, running our households, and various gossip (don’t make me defend gossip as a valid and indispensable cultural practice ‘cause I totally can). I am thankful for her and I look forward to our chats, and we help each other by picking up each other’s kids sometime.

Another member of our little society is the German au pair who lives with the family down the street. Actually, the family just got a new au pair, and we haven’t really talked very much yet. I thoroughly bonded with the old one, Steffi—she was totally a hausfrau in training and really embraced her role—but I am sure Fabienne will be interesting too, even if the dad of the family she works for thinks her facial piercing will make it “hard for her to fit in here.” (Dude, it’s not that big a deal.)

The point is that these few minutes at the bus stop are a great opportunity to exchange information or just build ties of civility with the people around us. Am I a freak here? What are your expectations for this social scene, if you have any, or do there seem to be different rules in your particular situation? If it takes a village, we’re the village, right? We don’t even have to like each other, but we have to be civil, in the fullest sense of the word. Okay, end of lecture. Now go forth and schmooze. Or just remark that, yes, it is still very hot out, but at least there is a nice breeze.