An anonymous autumn Wednesday at 4:51 p.m. The line in front of Mandeville Auditorium snakes toward the trees. At this hour, the sun mischievously conspires with an unusually chilly breeze to sabotage students actually expecting a dose of toasty warmth. About a fourth of them clutch cell phones to their ears. Most in line are Rainbow-, Reef- and J. Crew-wearing members of the flip-flop army: those whose footwear constitutes the unofficial icon of San Diego, and arguably, California. All are waiting expectantly for…
Here it comes. The big bulk of white and blue, with a giant “UCSD” emblazoned on the front and sides. As the Cityshuttle pulls in, the crowd lurches forward. Slowly but surely, 10-, 30-, 50-, 70-some students pile into the shuttle. Everyone squishes in, packed into the vehicle like premium Haagen-Dazs in an airtight carton. Alas, someone is running alongside the bus after we start pulling out of the turnaround. The driver, all personality primly concealed behind a friendly blue “UCSD Transportation” shirt, slams the brakes for this Forrest Gump. This is not unusual, of course. Many a time has a driver graciously waited or stopped for a sweaty, desperate student, who pants out a breathy “Th…hanks” after the chase. It’s pleasant to see mercy in action.
The radio is playing Star 100.7, which runs a close third to 91X and 94.9 on the Billboard chart for UCSD Shuttle Soundtrack Selections. Strains of generic U2 can be heard over a steady buzz of conversation. The noise level depends on the type of crowd. Some mornings, 30 people sit without uttering a word. I’m sure any professor (or any adult for that matter) would be shocked to see the eerie, almost obedient tranquillity coming from a group of college kids. What happened to rowdiness and raucousness? Collegians are supposed to be that way, aren’t they? Not always, it seems.
Instead, a spirit of introspection seems to pervade. Over the speakers now, Jewel is singing a folksy ode. It’s a mellow, sweet, yearning song, rippling through the shuttle’s atmosphere. Funny how music can set a mood, alter a tone. It feels like a scene out of some WB show, with quiet drama set against a moody soundtrack, except with real people and not the network’s mass-produced, beautiful specimens.
Two girls softly sing along: “Same old story, nothing to say… hearts are broken every day.” One of them sways to the beat of the song. She clutches her textbook, using the tip of the front cover as her microphone. She’s oblivious in a liberating way. To be encompassed in Jewel means momentary freedom from the constraints of self-consciousness, for once. How refreshing. The other singsong girl is half of an amorous couple. Boy leaning over the seat, one hand on the handle bar, the other holding girl’s hand. Shuttle or storybook carriage, it makes no difference. She grins, gazes and sings at the same time. Just a catchy tune, or an informal serenade? “I know you love me and soon you will see … you were meant for me, and I was meant for you …” They get off at the corner of Villa La Jolla and Nobel. Peripherally, I see them sneak a kiss as they walk toward Ralphs. Their giddiness is palpable, even from afar. Romance is sweet, if ephemeral. Observing it brings a toxic twinge of envy, admiration, sadness, cynicism and disdain. In no particular order.
Three people are reading those pesky Google advertisement inserts, studying them intently. Corporate cognitive science. A few are reading the Guardian. Still others are reading for class. Dante’s “Inferno,” O-Chem. Are they really reading or just seeing words? There’s a difference. Many are attached to their respective MP3 players, along with ubiquitous iPods. Some are chatting amongst themselves, and it’s clear that they’ve made friends in the five minutes since they boarded the shuttle. Still more riders have their eyes closed. Sleeping? Resting? Praying? Thinking? How to tell their friend they wanted to go to the concert instead of the party. Quiet jubilation over the “A.” The alienation they feel even amid a crowd. The purpose of life? Or maybe they’re just holding fast to the hope of dinner at home — will it be Ramen Supreme or Hungry Man tonight?
A real “hungry man” with blindingly white Nikes is munching on chicken skewers, probably from Library Walk’s barbecue-of-the-day. He looks so darned content in his world of tasty bliss. “Man, I’m glad he overcooked it, I wonder if the Foreman grill can replicate the smoky taste.” Or “This is like the kabob contest last year. Ugh, that stupid giant toothpick really hurt my mouth.” Or, “Maybe it needs more paprika.”
Almost everyone says “thank you” as they step off. Our mommies have taught us well. The shuttle driver salutes, then waves wildly to a passing shuttle, as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen another bus. The excitement he emanates is inspiring.
It’s just another ride. For all of life’s speedy episodes and its breakneck pace, there is a certain wonderfully surreal quality to a simple moment. The vibrant dance of UCSD life creeps out in seven-minute intervals. You can almost see the stream of thoughts float over the star-upholstered seats and into the air. Such a diverse group of individuals, not only in race or major or walk of life, but also in feelings, thoughts and inclinations. We all melt together in our common bond as wearied students ready for home. Maybe it’s just me, but the joys of being a part of the shuttle community are explicated through its mundaneness. Therein exists a familial feeling, different than from a classroom — warm and smiley even as I kept to myself.
And here is my stop. I pick up my Jansport. A “thank you” to the shuttle driver as I step off the bus. Togetherness and good cheer. I felt the holiday spirit already.
