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.
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.
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