Public Transport Dynamics:
Five Minutes Can Make an Eternity
on the get rich bus in Shanghai, China

Reality is full of trap doors. A philosophical insight, a breath of fresh air, getting on the bus five minutes earlier than everyone else. Each one has its repercussions. Time has its warp zones.

I ride the "get rich" bus to work every morning. That's line number 518. (518 is pronounced "Wu yao ba," which sounds like "wo yao fa," which means "I will make money").

I learned on the first day that the get rich bus is a popular one. My roommate (the one on the left) said that "since we're two stops from the start of the line, you're sure to have a seat." He's a reporter for a morning paper, so he usually gets a late start, and of course he always gets a seat. Like most of Shanghai, I need to be at the office (yes, this is my first office job, eek! i'm adjusting) no later than 9am. That first day, I definitely didn't have a seat and had to stand for the 45 minute ride.

Never again, I vowed. Never again. Riding a crowded bus is nothing to sneeze at. It's something to get sneezed on.

The next day, I boarded at 7 am. I ran to the door with the crowd at my stop. There were two people who didn't get seats and I was one of them.

The next day, I got on at 6:55. There was no running. After everyone was on and situated, there were still five empty seats. And there were empty seats throughout the ride to People's Square.

Why, I wonder, does five minutes make all the difference? Is it the psychological difference between 7:00 and the 6 o'clock hour? Or does it have to do with getting to the office at 8am and no earlier? Would people rather stand on a bus than be at the office five minutes longer than they need to be?

This morning I left the house at 6:58 and I knew that meant trouble. Yeah, just as I passed the gate, there went the get rich bus, crammed with people. Crap.

I took the bad with the opportunity it provided me to cross the street and buy a cup of soy milk and a black rice cake. When the next bus came, I made no attempt to shove. I was one of a dozen who didn't get seats.

No matter. I proceeded to the back of the bus, pulled out my oral Chinese textbook, plopped it on the step of the raised back row, and sat to one side the aisle. The Chinese may have too much dignity to sit on the floor (even on paper on the floor). But when you're late, how else are you supposed to eat your rice cake and read about such interesting topics as the construction of sexual identities in the early republican period?