and now, I give you...

a snippet from my soon-to-be-written book, Get on the Bus...and the Etiquette That Should Follow.

1. If you're forced to stand, move to the back.
I know you want to be near the door so you don't have to push your way through when you're ready to get off. I know you hate being ass-to-ass with strangers but it's the bus...that's how morning rush hour on the #22 works. If you move to the back, it's pretty likely you'll be close enough to the door in the back so that you won't have to claw through people to get out. It'll be okay, really.

2. If you decide to stand up front, do not stand directly in front of the card reader.
Part of the joy of having the Chicago Card Plus is that you simply wave it in front of the card reader and you're on your merry way to (hopefully) sitting down. Do not stand directly in front of the reader so that when someone gets on the bus and attempts to pay their fare, they can't because you're standing there completely oblivious to the world around you. And when they say "excuse me," don't look at them as if they just inconvenienced you by asking you to move 2 steps so they can go about their day. It's common sense, really.

3. Backpacks. Oh, dear god, the backpacks.
We live in the city. A lot of people carry them. However, this doesn't mean they have to be glued to your back for the duration of your commute. If you have a backpack that is stuffed full of everything you own, the courteous thing to do is to take that backpack off so you're not shoving it in someone's face the entire ride. Especially if you're standing and there are a gazillion people standing with you. Take it off, hang on to it, and hold it at your feet. People will thank you. I'll thank you.

4. If you insist on chatting on your cell phone, do it semi-quietly.
If you're in the middle of the bus and I'm at the front of the bus with my headphones on (which I tend to listen to a bit on the loud side) and I can hear you on your phone? You're talking too loudly. I don't expect everyone to enjoy the peace and quiet like I do in the morning but I don't care what boy you hooked up with on Friday night and I don't care that you couldn't decide what outfit to wear this morning or that you forgot to call your father yesterday. Please use your indoor voice.

5. When a very large woman who has somewhat of a tough time walking gets on, don't say to the person sitting next to you, 'and people looked at me as if I was rude to get on with this suitcase? The way I see it, it's the same as someone that size getting on, ya know?'
No, I don't know. Because it's not the same and here's why. You have a thing with you. A possession. The overweight woman who just got on is a person. She's not carrying a thing with her, she's carrying herself. She's a real, live, breathing person who ought to be able to get on the bus without some bitch whispering to the person in the seat next to her and chastizing the overweight girl for not weighing whatever magical weight it is this week that doctors are saying is "normal." She has as much of a right to ride the bus as you do and she's just as entitled as you are to common courtesy from others. I hope the airline loses your precious luggage.

5. Don't look at me as if to say, 'Huh. Why'd you do that?' when I thank the bus driver.
He or she just provided me with a very valuable service. Do they sometimes do it as if their secret passion in life is NASCAR? Sure. Do they sometimes do it as if they're secretly 90-years-old and can barely see over the steering wheel? Sure. But they just allowed you to read for a bit or listen to some music and relax or catch up your emails or any other number of things you wouldn't (or at least, shouldn't) have been doing had you driven yourself to work. Karma, my friends. Karma.

6. Push your own god damn door open.
If I'm behind you and you're the first one in line to push those doors in the back open so we can all get off, don't stand there and wait for me to do it. It's not my fault you can barely manage to hold yourself up on your 3-inch heels while balancing your 13-gallon handbag on one shoulder and your cell phone on the other. I'm not your fucking door woman.

Expected publication date: unknown.