I never gave buses much thought till I needed one daily for class. At the beginning, it seemed like a drag. Sometimes freezing, sometimes stuffy - never just right. No matter when I arrived, the schedule stayed confusing. Just stood there drowsy, pack hanging off one side, wishing that ride would show without running into chatter.
 

One guy behind the wheel kept chatting nonstop. This fellow - Mr. Reyes - spoke so loudly you couldn't miss a word, no matter where you sat. Even if he aimed words at just one rider, everyone heard. I dodged looking at him whenever possible. Seven a.m. felt way too early for all that energy. Still, after weeks had gone by, it hit me - he remembered each student on his drive. He knew whose sports session was on, yet also who had shifts at work - on top of that, anyone going through tough stuff at home or needing seconds to cross the road. Sometimes he'd bring up something you mentioned ages ago; truth is, it caught me off guard every single time.
 

That day, the bus came late - people grumbled nonstop. I dropped into my normal spot, left side, second row, zoning out the glass like nothing was wrong yet. Up front, Mr. Reyes peeked back using that wide mirror, wondering if I’d slept enough. Usually I’d just lie and say fine, but this time, weirdly, I didn’t. I mentioned pulling an all-nighter for school, feeling like I hadn’t caught any sleep. He gave a nod, then shared how he once juggled two gigs and hardly got rest - but kept pushing forward by just being there, since showing up helped him face the next day.
 

That tiny remark stayed in my head. It hit me how little I knew about grown-ups’ daily grind. To me, bus drivers were just people moving vehicles around. No idea they woke up way before dawn. Or handled pressure while faking smiles for teens who ignored them completely.
 

From then on, I began speaking up now and then. Just small stuff - like which assignments were due or exams piling up. Still, it changed how the trip felt. Not exactly exciting, yet somehow sharper. Way better than zoning out. For example, there was an actual human driving, not some robot going through motions.
 

The odd thing? That bus trip began to steady me. When the rest of the day spun out, those few minutes forced me to pause. Sure, I still loathed the icy benches and the messy timetable - yet slowly, I valued the tiny habit, plus the single grown-up who turned a dull commute into something real, not just dead time between moments.
 

Looking back, I learned one basic thing. What happens by chance can change you without making a sound. That bus didn’t get me excited about early hours or wild moments - still, it showed how people count, even in spots you’d usually ignore.