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UCLA has taught me valuable lessons. For instance, sweatshirts are particularly useful for smuggling food out of the dining halls, and most skateboarders will not fall (surprisingly enough) when going down the hill on Charles E. Young Drive.

These on-campus lessons are somewhat trivial, unlike the life-altering education I have received from one of the greatest teachers in Los Angeles: the Metro.

I am not a native to Los Angeles. In my small hometown, public transportation is defined by cramming as many people as physically possible into the back of a truck. Living on campus insulated in an airtight bubble did not prepare me for the experience of commuting either.

Stepping onto that first bus reminded me of how President George W. Bush feels when he gets a question from an unscreened audience member: startled, scared and confused.

I quickly overcame these emotions after realizing the benefits of riding the Metro. On campus it is often difficult to meet new people, with everyone always in such a rush to get to class. On the bus, you have all the time in the world.

This is especially convenient for those of you looking for love. On one particular trip I was approached by three charming young men. The first had a smooth opening line: He was going to be hired by the NBA soon. It almost made up for the fact that he was homeless.

The second lovingly informed me that he had missed his stop a few minutes ago, but that was OK because he was so attracted to me he was just going to keep following me indefinitely. I blushed in appreciation as I gripped my mace.

The third informed me he thought I looked like a man from the back. He could have used a few tips from the first two.

Honestly, though, the strangers I’ve encountered have taught me a lesson in appreciation. Suddenly my “bad day” doesn’t seem so desolate when the teenage mother of three sitting next to me has to ride the bus for an hour to get her kids to the doctor. Or I notice that the cardboard box next to my stop is serving as someone’s home.

I’ve also learned to be more open to advice. A bus driver once berated me for “just standing” at a bus stop. “You gotta move around so I know you want on!”

Now whenever my bus approaches I fling down my bags, allow my arms to go into spasms, and kneel in the middle of the street. I have not been left behind once.

After receiving that helpful tidbit, I actively seek out helpful suggestions. At first, getting lost meant hyperventilating into a panic attack. Now I take a deep breath, calmly search for an individual who doesn’t look like he or she would mug me (the vast majority of riders look like they wouldn’t), and ask for directions. The kindness I’ve been shown by patient people explaining routes and giving me directions has restored some of my faith in humanity.

I’m much more careful about making judgments about new people I encounter. When people stare at me, I no longer assume they’re serial killers. I no longer open my cell phone, dial 911, and rest my finger gently on the “call” button. Instead, I smile and attempt to strike up a conversation.

Adopting this technique has allowed me to forge memorable, albeit short, friendships.

One woman from Central America spent 15 minutes criticizing the way I hold my pen. A deaf senior citizen told me jokes in sign language for half an hour. Everyone has an interesting story to tell or some vital information to impart, and being on the receiving end is often even more fun than being the speaker.

I bought my winter quarter sticker for my Go Metro pass a week ago. As a now-experienced commuter I am confidently looking forward to another quarter of planning my routes so that I do not, God forbid, end up switching buses downtown at night – and learning too much about the world and myself in the process.

If you’re looking for a more hands-on and moving educational experience than regurgitating lecture notes into a blue book, I highly recommend taking a little trip on a blue (or gold or red) bus. Another plus: It’ll make for great comedy. Go visit a museum or play volleyball in Santa Monica.

Just take the headphones out of your ears so you can hear the driver yell obscenities at the cars that cut him off. Remember: Half the fun is getting there.

To send love notes to Strickland in time for Valentine’s Day, NBA players can reach her at kstrickland@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.

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