Case Study: Transporting Ourselves

There’s a new group of people emerging from the ashes of physical transportation - a group that has established its unique behaviour, dead-pan expression and seat-selecting rituals. More frightening to approach than my mother chasing a cockroach, this group is robotic, uncaring and relentless. Yet frighteningly enough, they integrate into society so well, nobody has noticed their existence.

Who are they?

I like to call them Homo public-transportus (Homo portus for short. It just has a ring to it, don’t you think?). Every week on the train to school, I glance around sneakily from my magazine, and observe them in their natural environment.

Homo portus’ natural facial expression is one of utmost boredom or detachment, and Homo portus’ speech patterns have rarely been noted; conversation seems to be non-existent when travelling with them. Typical Homo portus behavior includes dabbling continuously on sleek, black iPods, indifferently gazing out windows to the graffiti-ed train tunnels beyond, eagerly pressing against the automated doors when they release their occupants.

Most importantly, members of Homo portus avoid eye-contact, smiling or general mingling at all costs.

Woe to the Homo portus who dares to approach another.

To my horror, after years of taking public transport, I found myself becoming more and more detached to people around me – exhibiting clear Homo public transportus tendencies, in fact. I know that Lindy and i have touched on this issue before, but it seems more obvious in the summer holidays (although not because I'm so popular I take public transport all the time. Hah, I wish.)

Spending hours a week in a metal box with fellow humans from the same race (I double-checked), you would think our paths are bound to cross. Unfortunately, it seems the twenty-first century golden rule of ‘Mind your own business unless I expressedly invite you’ discourages any form of human bonding, and it takes a strong shot of courage to begin a simple conversation with a stranger.

There is something very wrong when finding a smile in a trainful of people becomes akin searching for an earring in a wardrobe of clothes. Or searching for something manly in a large pile of manly things. Is it so difficult these days to find a smile somewhere within ourselves? Have we become so closed off that we miss opportunities to connect with each other?

Is keeping strictly to ourselves really the best way to live in a less-than-united world?

Sure, the world is a witch’s brew of awful disasters, pain and thorns - but we forget the overwhelming good still exists. Friends who support, family who love, people who give. In the words of Leonardo Di Caprio’s Inception character Dom Cobb: “Positive emotion trumps negative emotion every time.” So there - it must be true.

A few days ago I stepped over the gap between the platform and the land of Homo public-transportus, donned my earphones and settled in for an uneventful train trip.

Then an elderly man with kind, crinkled eyes took the available seat next to mine. Clearly not of the iPod-owning, facebook/twitter-spamming generation, he sent a benevolent smile my way and engaged me in conversation. The Homo portus part of me was outraged – how dare he barge into my boredom! - but the more humane part was strangely curious.

We were not exactly the best-matched kindred spirits - he enthusiastically talked about his small grandchildren, I hesitantly brought up the stresses of high school. However despite our differences, it was liberating to be able to share experiences, thoughts and life with a complete stranger.

"As long as you find somebody to share your life with - friend, relative or partner - you don't need much else," he said. "What material thing could possibly be better than having a person there with you every step of the way?"

Needless to say, I had no comeback for that. Unless you count the really bad ones roaming my head.

When he arrived at his station, he said farewell the old-fashioned way - a hand shake and tick from his hat. I was quite sad to see him go.

But he gave me a glimmer of hope that perhaps Homo Public Transportus may be after all, just a made-up race.

Always Remember, Happiness Equals Bracket =)

NB: Image from www.advantagemarketingsolutions.com