What's that saying again?

The one about not judging books...

I could write volumes about public transportation. I take the bus 2-4 times per day. I know the #16 is always early in the morning - so much so that when it's actually on time, everyone acts like it's late - and late - minimum 10 minutes - in the afternon. The #2 is always on time, morning or night, rain, sun, sleet or snow. The #1 is on time until 11.45am, and about 5 minutes late through lunch time. The #13 doesn't run often enough to be useful. The #11 always seems to be early when I'm running late for a private lesson, but I never have to wait long to take it back home an hour or so later.

But that wasn't my intended point for this entry.

I wanted to start by saying that public transportation brings people together. Yes, physically, especially on the #16 in the afternoons when it's like being in a sardine tin with smelly high school boys. But also in spirit. People complain, and people love to complain about things to other people. Even better when they can commiserate.

There are two older women with whom I ride the #16 to school every single day. We often share the square of four seats near the front. We always say good morning, and wish each other a nice day when I get off at my stop. Otherwise, they chat amongst themselves, and I listen to music. I know one is a middle school teacher and the other works next to the school. There are frequently two other middle school teachers who complete the seats. (Standing room only in the mornings.)

This morning, when the always-so-early-that-on-time-is-late #16 wasn't there at 7.30am (scheduled departure time), nor at 7.35am, and was still not there at 7.40am, everyone was getting antsy. The bus arrived around 7.43am and left a couple of minutes later - roughly the time when I usually arrive at school. My two seat companions immediately began grousing about the delay and the gruff attitude of the bus driver when one of them commented on his lateness.

The commentary continued and as I looked frantically at my watch, one woman asked if I had "fixed hours" and if I was going to be late. I responded, explaining that I work at a primary school, and while I wasn't going to be late to teach, I still had some preparations to do. The conversation went from there, and they asked if I was a teacher. I said yes, then doubled back, saying that I'm in fact an English assistant. This never fails to pique the interest of the unsuspecting French person speaking with me.

"Oh! Are you from England?"
"No, the United States."
"Huh! Well we'd never guess just by looking at you!"

... and I never know how to respond!

Often I make a joke of it: "Thank you! I take that as a compliment!" or "Yeah, I know, I hide it well!"

But really, do they expect me to be wearing a letterman jacket, or a cheerleading uniform, or a big hoodie sweatshirt from my alma mater? Or maybe they expect me to have an American flag tatooed on my forehead?

It doesn't really bother me (and really, I do take it as a compliment!) but I find it a very strange comment to make, in any case. And stranger still the frequency with which I receive this commentary.

I wonder what we'll talk about tomorrow morning on the bus!