In the cynicism of our “Hollywood” mentality, we see all too often that
what matters most is who you know, not what you know and who you are.
in the moment-to-moment engagements of our daily lives, it sometimes
matters more how we treat the people we don’t know, or hardly know, and
how they treat us. It’s what gives a sense of intimacy, of community, of
being part of something greater than ourselves in a vast, sprawling
metropolis where so much that goes on seems cold and impersonal –
unfolded when my wife left her purse on the Route 222 bus that dropped
her off outside the Warner Bros. studio in Burbank, where she works.
You have to be pretty distracted to leave your purse on a bus, and she was.
car was in the shop. She was running late, worried about missing the
Media District bus at the end of the Orange Line Busway in North
Hollywood, thinking about all she had to do to get ready to leave town
Thursday morning for a family event back East.
As she stood on
the curb at Lankershim waiting for the interminably long light to
change, she saw the Media District bus pulling away and fumed about how a
key point of bus-subway connection for thousands of public-transit
users could be designed in a way that maximized traffic flow for cars
and penalized pedestrians.
So she waited and waited for the next
Media District bus, shared her breakfast of strawberries and apples with
a homeless man, and found out from others at the bus stop that the
Media District bus she saw departing, the 9:17 a.m., was the last one
until evening rush hour. She would have to take the airport bus and
transfer to the Route 222 bus to get to work.