Dear Mister Bus Driver,

I hopped onto the bus and within five minutes you were addressing the entire bus, informing us that we should keep our feet on the floor of the bus at all times, that we should keep our feet inside the bus and off of other seats because this was not our living room or bedroom, this was public transit.

I thought you were great for doing that, since it's gross when people have their bare feet against the poles that people touch with their hands.

Of course, the best part about you being the bus driver was that when you announced stops, you also announced which buses that people could transfer to, where the buses went and what numbers those buses where.

Seriously, you were the best driver I've had in a while.

Plus, telling people to keep their feet down or get off your bus? Very nicely done. Considering it's a disgusting habit that people have. I get having your shoes off when you're in your own car, because it is your own car. But in public transportation? Where there's chewed gum on the floor and occasionally on the seats and such? Gross.

Dear Man in Blue,

I think it's commendable that you feel the need to inform the people in charge of the transit system that you find it faulty because the bus didn't show up for an hour. I understand your frustration because everyone else that was waiting for the same bus (myself include) was also very frustrated.

But when you start throwing things down onto the ground and just at no one in particular around you... You no longer appear frustrated, but maybe a touch mental. You threw down your bag. You threw down your blue jacket. You threw down your sunglasses, your transit pass. You threw down what remained of your lunch and probably whatever change you got from your bag of fast food.

You shouted obscenities at people and demanded, from everyone, to know when the bus was arriving and why was it so late.

And the odd thing is that when the bus finally did arrive... You didn't get on. You shouted at the driver, told him that he was damned late and you had lost an hour out of your life that you will never get back and then you just picked up all your things and left.

Dear Blue Eyes,

So I was feeling pretty down today, mostly because I was feeling sick this morning (only a small part due to the fact that I had an exam at noon, mostly because I have been sick for the last few days). I look up across me from the bus and I see you sitting there, reading a book. You had sunglasses on, those dark ones that I always find that make someone intriguing and you push them up onto the top of your head to reveal those blue eyes. You smile a little, possibly to yourself, and you flipped the page.

And what strikes me as funny is that I used always glance over at people wearing sunglasses. And now that I've started wearing them, I've noticed that more people looking at me, glancing my way. And I couldn't stop looking at you. Which was pretty much incredibly embarrassing once I caught myself looking.

But seriously, beautiful blue eyes. And I know that you attend the same school because I recognized the logo on your jacket (plus, you know, it said the school name and the name of a sports team). You just had this cute smile and you kept on looking up. Which was nice, considering I was directly across from you.

I would have said something, I would have. Only, you know, I wasn't feeling good and my voice has been coming and going all day. I didn't particularly want to start off a conversation with clearing my throat or a hacking cough.

Most sincerely,
Very intrigued with men who wear sunglasses

Dear Mister Truthful,

Yesterday while I was waiting for the bus, you were walking around. Dressed in scruffy clothes, you looked a bit dazed, a bit confused. Never one to willingly interact with people I don't know, I kept silent and was listening to the up-beat rock that was flowing into my head, courtesy of my headphones. You started addressing people, telling them who they were, what they were and how damn awful they should all feel. But you were only addressing the woman, you disregarded the men as if they were not there, as if they were not worthy of your time.

One woman was Satan's whore. Another was Satan's bastard daughter. Satan's wife, Satan's cousin, Satan's mistress, Satan's slut.

One by one you labeled the women as you walked around. You would stop in front of each one and tell them exactly who they were in your mind. And then you stopped in front of me and just smiled, almost cheerfully as if you hadn't been insulting the woman before me and as if you weren't going to be insulting the woman two people away from me.

"Satan's master," you called me.

And to be honest, I didn't mind it very much. My friends and I have an on going joke that I rule hell. And, well, as Satan's master that's exactly what I'd be doing. So thank you for being the first one out of my circle of friends to acknowledge all that evil, pent-up power that I have. It certainly made my day and made me smile. I said thank-you and you moved onto the woman after me in the line up for the bus.

Thank you for being honest,
Satan's Master

Dear Woman with the Cell Phone,

You sat down next to me on the bus this evening, I had no problem with that. You pulled out your phone and started chatting with your friend, I also had no problem with that. What I do have a problem is was that you pulled out your cell phone, started chatting with your friend and then proceeded to loudly tell your friend all about how your vagina was itchy.

Yes, it's all find and dandy that you are having issues with your girly bits. But must you really yell these problems out into your cell phone so that everyone else can hear it as well? Honestly, is it so much to ask for you to just whisper the damn problems that you have with your current (I'm assuming this part) yeast infection to your friend? Just go to the doctor, get something for it, and keep your trap shut about it on the bus. Decorum, woman, something that you do not possess.

So go to your bookshelf, pick up a dictionary and find the word, realize that you don't possess any, and then find some. I'm sure it's available on eBay.

Dear Little Girl,

I was minding my own business while I was sitting down on the train, honest. It was not my fault that you and your equally young looking friend sat down down in front of me. At first glance, I would have said that you two were around grade 10, 16 years old or so. And goodness, wasn't I surprised when I overheard your conversation? (F is 'friend' and Y is 'you')

F: You're so lucky! You've got to be the only girl in our school dating someone that's four years older!
Y: I know, right? He's awesome.
F: And cute. I can't believe you're dating a guy in grade 11.

[Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it. Grade 11? Four years older? That's right readers, depending on when he and she were both born, she's either in grade 7 or grade 8.]

Y: Yeah, I was talking to my mom last night.
F: Oh, what did she say?
Y: She's totally cool with it. She said that if I'm dating a guy in grade 11, I should expect that he'll want me to put out. She made us appointments so that I can everything wax.
F: Oh, that's so exciting!

You're in grade 7 (or 8, I don't know when you were born). That means you're either 12 or 13. And you're dating someone who's in grade 11 (ages 16 or 17)? And your mother allows this? She's even encouraging you do to this by taking you out to get waxed? That is not exciting, that is painful. Very, very, very painful. I cannot believe that your mother is telling you that the boy would expect to have sex (although it is true) and then encouraging it further by getting you ready for it.

When I was 12, my largest concern was if my crush-of-the-week liked me back. Your biggest concern at 12? Bikini or Brazilian. Does that sound remotely normal in today's society? You should be worrying about regular pre-teen stuff. Like when the new episode of Gossip Girl is going to be on, not having your mother tell you that you're going to be expected to spread your legs, so you better get ready. And what does that say about your grade 11 boyfriend? He can't get a girl in high school? He can't get a girl his own age? He has to resort to someone who's barely a teenager? It's a social taboo to be dating someone that many years older/younger than you are when you're still in grade school.

Seriously, once you get out of high school, flirting and dating and kissing guys that are like 6 years older than you, is not that big of a deal because when you talk about him, you're not going 'Oh, he's in grade 11'. It's more like 'Oh, he works [here]' or 'He goes to the same university/college as I do'. That's fine.

Besides, the legal age for sex in Canada is 14. You're (at most) 13. Seriously, keep your legs shut and seriously think of why your oh-so-hot grade 11 boyfriend can't find a girl in high school to date.

(Please note, it's definitely not because you're more mature than they are.)

Dear Girl in Pink,

I was having a horrible day today. I generally do, whenever I just finish having a midterm that's worth more than 5% that I cannot even be sure if I passed or not. I managed to stay with a scowl on my face on the bus and for a short period of time on the train. I managed to keep this scowl until you can running onto the train car when it reached the station and your mom came jogging in after you.

You seemed to be quite young, maybe around two, and you needed your mother's help getting up onto the seat. You had a great big smile on your face and you nodded and shook your head at your mother's questions, sending your long pigtails swinging around your head. What I first noticed was the fact that you had on pink rainboots that happened to have yellow ducks on them as well. I thought that they were really cute and noticed that you had on a pink winter jacket as well. But what I really noticed, was how happily and gleefully you would giggle away when your mom hid her eyes from you and then revealed them again. You would giggle and giggle as if it was the greatest game ever invented. You just seemed so happy that she was playing Peek-A-Boo with you, that you were all smiles for your entire trip on the train.

And watching you get so excited and so happy other something that seemed so simple made me sad. When did I outgrow the peek-a-boo being enough to make me happy? When did I go from looking up and loving my parents unconditionally to rolling my eyes at their advice and being annoyed whenever they told me to do something? When did I get to the point that simple things didn't do as much as they used to when I was that age? It sad that we as a society have progressed to the point that simple things like that are only reserved for children. Simple gestures are overlooked, simple actions are disregarded, simple words are considered mundane. It's a sad thought that the world doesn't work like that, that in the society where I live, happiness is based almost solely on monetary value.

To show you love someone, you buy them a bouquet of roses, you don't go and pick wildflowers or grow them yourself. To thank someone, you send them a gift that you bought, rather than making something yourself. To make someone happy, you don't just cover your eyes and go 'peek-a-boo', you buy them something.

It is disheartening, but I must thank this Girl in Pink for reminding me that there were once simpler times. While those who are about the age of five can no longer see that, there are still some who can find happiness in what we consider to be simple acts of love.