Janelle

Editor’s Note: This story was originally published in 2012. No details have been changed so as to retain the spirit of the original story. 

“You know where you’re goin?”

“Not really,” I remarked, ” I thought the 28 went to Stop & Shop…”

“No, no, there’s no Stop & Shop this way. We’re goin’ towards Shaws.”…

I had been cleaning my new apartment all day and needed to take a break. There was as little food in my refrigerator as there was furniture in my apartment, so I decided to take a Saturday bus ride to the grocery store. A colleague from work gave me a tip about using Google Maps on my phone to find bus routes and numbers, so I decided to give it a shot. The 28 bus was coming down Broadway in 7 minutes, which was just enough time for me to throw on sneakers and a rain jacket, grab my keys and a reusable shopping bag and walk the 0.2 miles to the bus stop.

Having just moved in the night before, I was unsure which side of the street was inbound and which was outbound– shocking, I know– so approaching the hut I asked an elderly Hispanic woman sitting inside. “No habla Ingles” she responded, so I decided to wing it. I sat and waited until the 28 showed up. My phone said to take the 28 outbound, so I figured even if I went in the wrong direction I’d get to the right spot eventually.

I hopped on and asked the bus driver if this was heading to Stop & Shop; he told me no that it was headed to Shaw’s, and I didn’t care. I was hungry and tired, and as long as I got to the store that was all I really cared about. I walked up to the driver, a Hispanic-looking man who couldn’t have been older than 35 and started asking questions. He asked if I knew where I was going, I told him, no, and he told me I wanted Douglas and Admiral. He repeated his question, ” You know where you’re going?” “Douglas and Admiral,” I repeated parrotlike; I knew there was something I couldn’t trust about him.

“Douglas and Admiral,” he announced, partially turning his head to look back at me. ” Is this it?” I asked clumsily, noticing a CVS across the street. ” This is it,” he returned, pointing up the hill. ” That’s Admiral.” I thanked him and smiled, and he smiled back, saying, ” I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

Feeling thirsty, I walked into CVS eager for caffeine and something other than water to drink. I was ecstatic to see the bright blue Pina Colada Arizona drinks that my sister had turned me on to; three bottles of Arizona and a Red Bull in my hands, I waited in line for what I thought would be a five-minute walk ahead…

The young black girl behind the counter was wearing large pearl earrings and a nametag that read, Janell<3, her bangs twisted in a pretty curl around her face. I couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes; she was so young, what could make her look so tired? I decided I liked her. When it was my turn in line, I removed the drinks from the crook of my arm and asked whether she had tried “blue Arizona’s” before. ” No,” she replied, “but my manager has and he say they real good.” “They’re awesome,” I started, and continued making small talk with Janell<3. Out of instinct, I asked her if I was headed in the right direction. ” Yeah dat’s right, but I suprised you walkin…”

You’ve got to be kidding me…

She continued on to tell me that it was about a 15-minute walk, and I informed her that the bus driver had herded me off at this stop. ” Which bus you take, da 50 or the 55? Well eitha way, dey both go to Shaw’s.”

Next time I see that bus driver, I hope Chris the Finga is with me…

Thanking her, I told her I had just moved to Providence and was having a bit of trouble with the public transportation system. ” Where you move from?” she asked kindly, ” Hartford,” I lied, trying to convince her and myself that I wasn’t incompetent.

Slightly agitated, I was happy to have a decent walk ahead of me to cool down. Although it was raining, my thin LL Bean rain jacket stuck to my bare arms as I walked up and down hills for what seemed like an eternity. Street after street passed by, and then I saw it– the green and orange sign that I thought would never appear. I picked up my pace, and as soon as I turned the corner into the parking lot, a bus pulled out of the driveway in front of me. ” Typical,” I thought out loud, wanting to kick it as it drove by.

It took me until I reached the end of the store to realize that I didn’t need eggs or butter and that I had forgotten to grab a basket. Turning on my heel, I marched back to the front entrance, smoothed out my curly ponytail, and breathed. Walking towards the veggies, I noticed a young man in a tan shirt coming my way. He didn’t have a Shaw’s nametag on, but I didn’t care; turns out he was an employee and had no idea which bus I had to take home. He told me that the big cement blocks in front of the store were the bus stop and that if I asked the bus driver he would surely be willing to help. “Sure he will, ” I thought to myself, still bitter about my last encounter.

My basket getting heavy, I decided I could survive– just barely– without Edy’s coconut bars and headed for the register. I had brought only one weather-proofed Trader Joe’s bag for my groceries and managed to fit everything inside. Heading to the cement blocks, I put down the heavy bag and leaned against a brick pole, waiting.

A car parked in front of me was loudly playing ” Let the Good Times Roll” by Shirley & Lee, the soul-filled voices echoing through the empty covered walkway in front of the store, making a further mockery of my present temperament. The Shaw’s kid had been honest–the cement blocks were right next to the RIPTA sign I had neglected to notice until now; a sticker bearing the face of a monster eating the letters OMG stared me right in the face, stuck to the middle of the bus stop.

I began laughing out loud, not caring who heard me. From the departing bus when I finally arrived at the store, to the music rattling my skull, to the sticker, the ironic message was clear–I had put myself into this situation in the first place.

The 55 bus arrived and brought me to Kennedy Plaza, driving past the CVS where Janell<3 had given me her friendly insight. I got off and looked around, not sure how to figure out where the 28 would board. ” How the hell do I find the bus to get to Broadway,” I declared to a young black man sitting near me. He looked up and waited a minute to answer; I think I caught him a bit off guard because the confusion on his face was unmistakable. Then he started, ” At KP you can always find yo’ way. Down dere on da lef’, on da otha side a da street, dats da stop fa Broadway.” I thanked him and followed his directions to the crowded platform.

I was one of four white girls waiting for the 28, and I remember feeling confused as to why I noticed and why I cared. I’ve had and still have multi-racial friends– the concentration for my B.A. of English was in cultural studies– so why was my initial reaction to feeling out of place and outnumbered? I was definitely out of my comfort zone, and a bit ashamed as to why. The other riders ignored me; I then realized that my transition to city life was going to provide a whole new kind of introspection into cultural dynamics, for now, I was a pawn in the game and not just a girl enraptured in books and theory.

The bus pulled up, and as I boarded I looked up to see the face of the bus driver who tricked me. Where was the Finga when I needed him… I didn’t remove my stare from his eyes, and greeted him with a curt, “We meet again.” ” We do,” he replied, not smiling nor frowning, but with an uncomfortable countenance. At that moment I felt slightly vindicated, and as I walked to a vacant seat I decided to get over it. So what, he tricked me; I was naive and gullible enough to believe him. I wanted nothing more than to be home in my new apartment– the writer’s loft as I’ve started calling it– an empty but welcoming place. A hot cup of tea and a blank sheet of paper were necessary to clear my mind. A lot of lessons were learned this past Saturday…