The Characters on the Bus

Throughout this summer I have encountered a wide variety of people while utilizing public transportation. I always knew these people were out there, but I didn’t know there was a place where they all hang out. If the internet is the information superhighway, then the State Street bus is the character superhighway. The other buses that I ride have their share of characters too (the 801 and more recently the 451). I’m not guaranteeing a complete list, nor am I saying that everyone that happens to ride the state street bus falls into one of these character classes. So in the words of Dave Barry, I swear I am not making this up:

The Bus Driver’s Friend – The BDF seems to appear more regularly on the State Street bus. He sits “shotgun” (the seat nearest the front door of the bus) where he has direct and unobstructed access to the driver. If that seat is occupied when BDF boards the bus, he sits opposite that seat (with a partition separating him and the driver) and pouts until the seat is vacated, then he jumps up and maneuvers his butt into the desired spot. I have reason to believe that some of these guys actually have amateur relationships with the driver, but I assume that most of them secretly wish that they themselves could be bus drivers some day. Some can be helpful by doing things like opening the air vents and windows when the air conditioning is broken or nonexistent or adjusting the seats to make room for wheelchairs. Others try to swap “war stories” with the driver.

BDF: “There was one time on the 200 southbound where Steve picked up two wheelchairs and had three bikes inside because the rack was full. You know Steve?” Stated more as a confirmation than a question.

Driver: With eyes on the road, “Yup.”

BDF: “Not to mention it was raining and the first day of school. That bus was like a can of wet sardines.” As opposed to dry sardines?

Driver: “Mm-hm”

BDF: “That guy handled it though. I wasn’t even late for my therapy session.”

Driver: “700 South.”

The Crazy – Crazy is also a common occurrence on the Sate Street bus. Crazy can be a man or a woman and may have any of the following items on his or her person: A fanny pack. A rolling suitcase. A shirt pocket complete with pocket protector and a wide assortment of pens, pencils, and other like-shaped items. Pants pockets bulging with who knows what. A hat, and/or sunglasses purchased at DI.

Crazy will often have a wild look in his eye. He/she will often be unshaven, and not in a rugged Tom Brady way, but an “I shave as often as I shower type of way.” (Which is not very often.) Crazy will make random comments that are unintelligible if audible, and usually to no one in particular. Crazy is the one that no one wants to sit by, not because they’re prejudiced, it just that you never know.


Creepy Guy – CG is a rare, sometimes funny, most of the time scary character. I had heard reports from one girl that I work with that she had been proposed to three times while riding the State Street bus. No doubt it was CG. Just today I had my own encounter, but this was of the non threatening sorts. CG was sitting in the seat in front of mine. As the bus pulled away from a stop he was doing some serious rubbernecking, apparently checking out what I assume was a female. It is worth noting that this guy had thinning, stringy hair, and if he owned a washing machine it must be broken. And I’m not sure if he was missing teeth or had immense gaps, either way he could eat corn on the cob through a chain link fence.

I’m not sure of exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of “There’s room on the bus for her!” The bus wasn’t very full so for all I know she could have been a woman of large stature. I couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his remarks. Noticing my amusement he then proceeded to tell me of a time he was eating at Red Lobster near Sugarhouse Park and had a great view of the joggers. “They’re better than the food. Why am I paying $30 to eat here when I can go over there and not spend a dime?” I’m not sure if he was saying that he’d rather look at women than eat them or if CG has cannibalistic tendencies.


The Shell Shocked Coed – SSC is one that I encountered on the good ole 801. SSC is what one might call a sweet spirit. Her hair hasn’t seen a comb since she received her Young Womanhood Recognition award and she has no idea what conditioner is. She is oblivious to the existence of makeup and the clothes she wears have been discontinued by the DI. In other words she would be the perfect candidate for one of those makeover shows on TLC.

She is either a recent graduate or currently enrolled at an institution of higher education in Utah County. She has landed a new job as an “administrative assistant” and is having a hard time adjusting to the “non-BYU” atmosphere. Probably because of all of the U of U and Westminster alumni that she now interacts with on a daily basis, or the people drinking Dr. Pepper in the break room.

SSC was most likely homeschooled.

Talking to Themselves

One night last fall I was leaving the Harold B. Lee Library on BYU’s campus after a long night of intense studying. Actually, I was there with a few friends so we probably didn’t get as much studying done as we should have. But nevertheless, the sun had long set as we came out of the large glass atrium entrance to the vast vault of knowledge that is the library.

As we embarked into the darkness I noticed a young lady making her way towards us alone through the deserted campus. When she got within earshot of her she began to laugh. It wasn’t a laugh like she was remembering a funny joke her friend told her earlier in the day, or a laugh like she was replaying the latest episode of “The Office” in her head, but a full out guffaw. This girl was busting a gut, and she was all by herself. My first thought was, “Did I forget to zip up?” She couldn’t have been able to tell that my fly was down in the darkness. As she got even closer and I checked myself for embarrassing blunders she started busting a gut again. This girl was getting a huge kick out of something, and there were only four of us around. I thought the girl had escaped from the loony bin. She had to be certifiably crazy, or homeschooled, or something. There are all kinds at BYU, I tell you what.

As we passed this loopy nut, I caught a glimpse of a wire running down her neck and into her jacket pocket. This girl wasn’t laughing at the voices in her head; she was talking on the phone.

Hands free devices are great. They can help you do important things like drive or type while you are talking on the phone. But many people are making complete fools of themselves on a daily basis by using these things.

Able bodied people with at least one free had can’t seem to muster the energy to actually hold a phone. Either they have a severe lack of endurance, or else all of their endurance is zapped by repeated marathon-like phone conversations. Could they really so lazy that they can’t hold a phone to their ear?

Some people confuse me by sticking the earphone in their ear, and then using their FREE HAND to hold the microphone up to their mouth. Not only were these things invented so that you don’t have to use your hands, but they are also designed to pick up your voice perfectly from exactly where they hang from your ear. By holding them next to your mouth all the person on the other end will hear is static.

All you people walking through the mall like a hot shot with your blue tooth stuck in your ear, you don’t look cool, you look lazy. And for everyone walking around campus with that little wire running up into your ear, you aren’t “multi-tasking,” you look like you are having a conversation with your multiple personalities.



So unless you’re driving in your car, typing on your computer, or performing another essential task that requires both of your hands suck it up and hold the phone up to your ear. That way we all know that you aren’t laughing at the joke that your alter ego just told, or at us for that matter.

Guitar Guy

I love guitars. I play the guitar, and I have lots of friends who play the guitar. I think girls that play the guitar are hot, and if they have a voice to match, well, let’s just say that they have a lot going for them. Guitar players vary in their expertise, technique, and style, but they all bring an important hue to the musical canvas of the world. Without guitars we probably wouldn’t have known such great artists as The Beatles, Willie Nelson, or Jimi Hendrix, just to name a few. But there is one that just seems to rub me, and many others, the wrong way. He is known as Guitar Guy.

Now guitar player and guitar guy are not the same. Guitar player might play in a band, with his friends, or all by himself. Guitar guy is different. Why? Well, let’s get to know him a little better.

Guitar guy is the guy who shows up to any social gathering packing his six string. He’ll be the one at the ward party or company picnic sitting in the corner or under a tree somewhere strumming away, hoping that someone will come and ask what he’s playing. He usually doesn’t sing, but when he does, let’s just say that Simon, Paula, and Randy wouldn’t be impressed.

If he shows up to a party without the acoustic in tow, it’s inevitable that somewhere during the course of the night it will come up in a conversation that he plays. And some unsuspecting young lady will undoubtedly point to a guitar in the corner and ask him to play a tune. He will do one of two things: 1) Rush over to the previously unnoticed guitar and proceed to pick out Stairway to Heaven or Sweet Child of Mine or some other song that he can’t remember all the words to. Or 2) Act reluctant secretly hoping that he will be encouraged, and when he is by previously mentioned young lady, he will pick up the guitar, start playing, and not put it down the rest of the night. Before you know it, seemingly reluctant guitar guy has played the whole Eagles anthology, pretty much every Kansas song ever written, and will have thrown in his own rendition of Praise to the Man.

Most people use the guitar as a way to express themselves, relieve stress, or as something to do with other musical friends. Guitar guy uses the guitar primarily to pick up women, and generally without much success. He doesn’t understand that most girls aren’t impressed by the instrumental (read: guitar only) version of Holiday by Weezer or Glycerin by Bush. Maybe he uses this approach because he has a hard time carrying on a normal conversation. Well, if he’d leave the guitar home from the ward party then maybe he’s get a chance to work on his conversation skills.

Guitar guy usually isn’t in a band because if he was he’d be the one taking constant stage dives and 10 minute solos during shows, much like Jack Black’s character in School of Rock. His band mates would kick him out early on because he could never understand why the bass player might need to run through the pre chorus six or seven times in a row so that he can get the lead in right. He’d be the one constantly strumming away oblivious to the fact that the rest of the band is trying to tune up, or discuss the logistics of getting to the next show.

So next time you’re at a party, and you suspect that you might have struck up a conversation with guitar guy, whatever you do, don’t ask him to play you a song. Unless you’re in the mood for an hour or so of really bad classic rock.

(Special thanks to Jim Rome and Scott Hales, and no, neither of them would be considered guitar guy.)

Mass Transit Adventures

So this summer I ended up living in Provo and working for Salt Lake County. It’s about an 80 mile round trip and I calculated the cost of driving to be about $15 a day. (This was when a gallon of gas cost about $3.30 and assuming that my Explorer was getting 20mpg, which it does more often than you think.) I started the summer getting up early every day and driving an hour each way all by myself in my “gas guzzling SUV.” Take that Al Gore.

Well, $15 a day added up quicker than I thought. And before I knew it, I had racked up a gas bill of over $400 for the month of May. Ouch. I quickly realized that driving every day wasn’t going to be viable; I would have to seek an alternative. After looking into vanpools and carpools, I decided to buy a student bus pass from BYU that I could use for the remainder of the summer that cost a mere $30.

After consulting the UTA website and a fellow bus riding friend, not to mention a little trial and error, I ended up riding “The 801,” an express bus that works it’s way through Provo and Orem, then jumps on the freeway and doesn’t stop until it gets to downtown Salt Lake City. From there I catch “The Sate Street Bus” or “200” down to 2100 South where I work. And therein lies the adventure.

“The 801” is made up of an interesting demographic. First there are all of the church employees. They are quite distinguishable due to the Church Office Building ID tags clipped to their belts and their clean cut, “going to High Council meeting” appearance and demeanor.

The next main group to call “The 801” their ride are the law school interns. They are always well dressed but, unlike their church employed busmates, they tend to wear colored dress shirts. They can be spotted updating resumes and cover letters on their laptops or researching potential employers on the internet (since “The 801” has wi-fi). They converse amongst themselves in law school speak and are often overheard saying things like, “I would have gone to Harvard/Vanderbilt/Georgetown but BYU is such a deal and my wife really likes it here so…” They are bright, hardworking, and have only one thing on their minds: Making partner.

The rest of the bus is made up of a smattering of other interns, secretaries, various businesspersons and a few other characters.

“The 200” is made up of people of all shapes and sizes, literally. The 60’s were not kind to most of these people. The characters on this bus are so varied that it would be nigh impossible to generalize them in any way. I will have to follow up with a post about some of the individual characters I’ve encountered on my mass transit adventures.