It doesn’t matter how packed the bus is—there’s always room for one more. And by “room,” we mean theoretical possibility, not actual space.
Don’t expect to sit. Those seats are reserved for people who boarded in 1983.
Personal space? That’s now negative space. You’ll be closer to strangers than you’ve ever been to your therapist.
Take a wide stance—sumo style—and grab something stable (ideally a handlebar, not a person).
Have your 1 sol ready before boarding. You might not be able to find your pocket while pressed against your new four best friends.
Flex your knees to absorb the lurch when the bus driver speeds as close as possible to the car in front, then stops.
If you do get a seat, congratulations! Don’t be alarmed at the pelvises thrust against your head. It’s a new social reality. Don’t take it personally. You’re really not their type.
Yell ‘Baja!’ before your stop otherwise the driver will not.
When it’s time to exit, channel your inner salmon. Wedge yourself through your new best friends (whom you will never see again), push for the exit doors (front or back) like a landed fish gasping for the open water and sweet, sweet freedom.
Hurl your 1 sol into the assistant’s hand as they shout at you to hurry—while 15 new passengers climb aboard using you as a ladder.
Bonus Tip: You’re free! And possibly very lost. Because you have no idea what stop this is, and you’re now 8-blocks away from home. Enjoy the walk. You’ve earned it.
lol. This cracks me up.
5.5. Not counting the hand you already have in your pocket preventing unauthorized hands from stealing your wallet, keys, etc.
6.5. Determine to exhale only as your nose is pressed into the armpit of the nearest passenger who is also clinging desperately to the overhead bar.