Skip to main content

Life in Italy

I like it here in Italy. I've written thousands of words into a pseudo-journal about what life here is actually like, not to mention the thousands and thousands of words about the traveling we've been doing on weekends (which is currently at 10 countries and 13 trips in 13 weekends, ho-hum). There are, however, some things that I cannot figure out, and I will tell you about one particular thing that happened to me today.

I teach a class at a school in the suburbs. My commute includes two metro trains (like the el in Chicago), a regional train, and then a bus to the school. Three weeks ago, on a rainy day, I was waiting for the return bus to take me back to the train station in this suburb - called Monza, for what it's worth - so I could arrive at my next lesson that evening. As my bus pulled toward the stop where I waited, I stepped toward the curb in anticipation of, you know, getting on the bus.

You can imagine my surprise when the driver looked at me and opted not to slow down, and carried on to the next stop.

I wrote it off as some kind of terrible luck and speed-walked through the town to the train station while cursing the entire Italian nation and its people.

The last two weeks passed without incident in the same location. On those last two occasions, I opted to take a different bus back to the station: I took the z206 bus instead of the z228 bus, even though the stop where I wait refers to the z228 in giant letters and the z206 in much smaller letters, which makes me think that it's mostly for the 228.

Today I was waiting for the bus in the same spot, and I had a woman with two children nearby waiting for a bus as well. As the z228 rolled toward the stop, we all stood up and inched toward the curb.

The bus proceeded to not stop, and carried on as I threw my arms up and cursed in a language that was hopefully unfamiliar to the kids with the woman, and then the bus stopped, some 50 feet past us.

We scampered over and the driver made some comment in Italian that sounded like "you need to make sure I know you want to get on this bus. Signal me so I know to stop."

That's right. In Italy, standing at a bus stop and staring at the driver does not cut it when you're hoping that a bus-driver will pick you up. Perhaps you should try dancing in the street, throwing rocks, or maybe pulling your pants down and swinging your penis to get their attention - I really don't know.

For all the great things about this country, there are some really impossibly stupid ones.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Naples Archaeological Musuem and Its Penis Room

When the situation calls for it, I am a mature person. I can talk comfortably about reproductive health, I can watch a movie with a sex scene and not make a joke, and I can look at nude statues and think nothing of it beyond art. Hell, my senior yearbook quote was about how maturity is just knowing when and where to be immature. I won't laugh when you fall down because you might be hurt and I absolutely do not laugh when an animal humps something because it's instinct and the animal can't help it. I believe you shouldn't laugh at something if the thing you're laughing at is helpless in the situation. But sometimes you find your limit. The National Archaeological Museum of Naples (abbreviated MANN in Italian) pushed me near my limit. See, Naples is home to brilliant and interesting historical artwork. With the nearby town of Pompeii buried under the ash of Mt. Vesuvius, tons of pristine artifacts which were rescued from Pompeii ended up in MANN. Some of these p...

Movie

Someone asked me today: if my life were made into a movie, would I watch it? HELL YES, I WOULD. Upon answering so emphatically, she called me out for being cocky. Here is my extended answer, including teasers, cliff-hangers, and the possible title. I justify my arrogance by saying that if I don't believe in my product, who in the world is going to see it? The movie about me would be executive produced by me, obviously. I have the final say in what goes and what doesn't. If my life were made into a movie, only the most important parts would make it...it would be like a 23 year highlight reel crammed into 2 hours and 12 minutes (any longer and I'm risking a major walk-out-to-pee-and-miss-the-important-stuff crowd reaction). For the meaty part, think about all the great things this movie would have! It would feature sports, love, friendships, hardships, heartbreaks, family bonds, and most importantly...frontal male nudity. Name one thing from that list that doesn't appear ...

1000 Words a Day, Day 10: On Old Friends

At some point in college, it dawned on me that my group of friends from home was unusual. Yes, we were all weirdly close an did some objectively strange things to each other (and with each other, but mainly to each other), but apparently it was weird to stay so close to people from your hometown. We all thought nothing of it, because that's just the way we were. Others, however, were surprised and often confused. Some of them were "adopted" into the group of us from the Chesterland area, and it's hard to say how much they still stayed in touch with people who didn't go to high school with us, because they sure assimilated into our friends-since-early-childhood clique. But still, that was only college. Later, I moved to Chicago and found that there were people who I hadn't seen in years who would gladly, willingly, almost eagerly bail me out of I was in a pinch or needed a place to stay. These were people I wasn't even necessarily close  with when we were...