Everyday I’m greeted by the Redstone Express, with its less-than pristine coat of paint, squeaky brakes, and woven seats. I usually go in the door towards the back because I don’t feel like having that moment where you don’t know whether to greet the bus driver or not. She’s the type of bus driver that kind of takes her job too seriously. Case in point are her red leather driving gloves with the finger tips cut off and “Terminator” sunglasses (I pray to God that she has Funk Master Flex driving shoes too). Her blue, two-toned uniform also adds a bit of flair to it all as well, it makes it all…official. So I get settled in my seat and breathe in the funny smelling air conditioning that’s the same recycled air they have on planes. “Wheel In The Sky” by Journey blasts on the bus stereo system. This gem of a song is followed by “Rock & Roll Fantasy” by Bad Company. I can tell it’s going to be an amazing ride. On any given day it could just be you and the driver or it could be a sardine can. For me, the sardine rides are the most interesting. You can tell the mood in the entire place is nervous to say the least. The people standing are uneasy being pressed up against a complete stranger, not to mention the critical decision whether to give the people sitting down the ass or the crotch. There are also those times when you look around and catch somebody’s eye by accident, instantly sparking your muscles to look away for no apparent reason. There is a girl sitting across from me that I’d give my left foot to go over and talk to, but unfortunately she’s with a group of friends. These are the types of girls that are constantly yacketayakking on their bedazzled cell phones. These are the girls who travel in packs, they have power in numbers. They giggle and plot and connive against you when you least expect it. There is also a basketball player sitting next to me, squirming in the inconveniently small seats. The kid is probably as tall as me sitting down as I am standing up; he’s riding this bus like he’s riding his scholarship. There’s also the artsy fartsy people, always trying to situate themselves and those big portfolios they carry around. One particular art fart accidentally hits one of the power in numbers girls as she sits down…they then proceed to giggle her into embarrassment. You can’t forget about the “free thinkers” sitting on the bus. These are the people wearing Gamehendge shirts, discussing dank headies and gossiping about whether Mike Gordon will show up at Higher Ground tonight or not. Next to them are the sports people. You’ll undoubtedly see them chewing on gum with a strangely nervous ferocity in sweatpants or track jackets with “Vermont,” or “Catamounts,” or “Vermont Catamounts” plastered all over them. Watch out for these people because they’ll probably hit you with their gym bag or stick of some kind…lacrosse, hockey, or otherwise. You also can’t forget about the Abercrombie/Greek type, shouting about how when trying to drink an entire keg they threw up into their cup, and still drank it anyways (Oddly enough the person he was telling this to thought it was “So Awesome”). My attention turns back to the girl and I decide for the sake of balance that I’ll keep the foot and leave her be. All these kinds of people have their different quirks and eccentricities, and that’s what makes this school so great. The bus itself is a mini UVM; it’s a microcosm of the population of the school. On any day, groups that represent all these people and more, pour onto the bus to get to wherever they are going. It’s a sociology major’s wet dream. I sit back in my snug seat and press play on my iPod, ready for what I hope is the ride of my life. More people rush into the bus, and everything becomes too close for comfort. The kid standing in front of me, unfortunately decides to give me the ass.