Hard to Love People

I thought about calling this post "the conversations that go through my mind" -- it's a subtitle.

I was on the bus this morning, reading my book, not thinking about anything in particular when a woman flagged the bus down.

First, she was irritated that the bus driver did not stop right in front of her. She was carrying a yellow card that said LIFT in all capitals. Yellow, read neon. She was not in a wheelchair, she was pushing a little cart. She was white.

I point these two facts out only because it has been my experience that the bus drivers will invariably stop in front of the non-white bus patron regardless of where he/she is standing; that is to say that if the non-white person is four feet from the line of people waiting at the bus stop, that's where the bus driver will stop. This is an aside, but it is an important part of the action.

By the time the bus stopped, not right in front of her and didn't open the back door especially for her, she was already irritated.

I fully admit that I don't know what was truly going through her head, but it's my blog and it's my story, so I am going to put whatever thoughts I want to in her head, and she will have to read the blog and refute it in comments if she (or anyone else) has a problem with it.

This lady, let's call her Mabel for the sake of not having to say the lady with the LIFT card, exhibited her irritation by yelling loudly what she wanted. Mabel is the kind of impatient old lady who is CONVINCED that she is always getting the short end of the stick and not nearly the amount of respect that anyone her age should be accorded. Wildly waving the card, and yelling, we all became involved in waiting for the bus driver to get her on the bus.

I had a very visceral response to Mabel's sense of entitlement, her irritation and her sense that she is not getting and never has gotten her due. In many ways, she is both my mother and the person I desperately NEVER want to be. She is the spector of the person I might be someday that keeps me up at night. She is the reason I try to bring perspective to what I experience so that I don't fall into the depth.

Did I forget to mention that before Mabel ever got on the bus, she also was motioning to me to let me know that I was sitting in HER seat and that I better move. Point, point, wave, wave = get out of MY handicap seat, lady.

So, when Mabel wanted to get off the bus, pushed the button and started yelling about how this was her stop and she needed help to get off, I wanted to crawl out of my body. I was afraid I might start clawing the doors to get off that damn bus. I didn't want to hear her say it one more time. And, worst of all, I needed to get off at this stop too. Who would go first? What indignity would I have to face if I got off first or violated anymore of Mabel's rules?

I am sitting on the bus, or at this point standing on the bus, with many various thought lines churning through my mind. My first instinct was to feel irritated back at her. I sized up her insecurity and the fact that she had used this "I always get the least respect, least this, least that" attitude immediately. I tried to soften this thought by composing very calm responses to Mabel that would counsel her about it would be easier to get what you want by being nice.

I was horrified at myself at this point. Glad that no one could read my mind on the bus. Thinking about all those awful comments on the newspaper where there are no filters because no one can see you.

It wasn't that long of a bus ride, but it was long enough to process these emotions.

Ultimately I did find my way to compassion.

I left the bus with the realization (again) that loving nice people is easy, being compassionate to the downtrodden is easy, but having compassion and loving those hard to love people is what we are really challenged to do.

It was a lesson I was needing to remember and the universe delivered it right on cue.