In my last job, my employer paid for us to travel on the buses and I became quite the bus travelling expert. It wasn't just that it was free. Not having to pay $8 for parking was a bonus, and I enjoyed the community of travelling to school with students who would always be so happy to see me.
It wasn't always this way though. When I applied to host overseas students visiting Massey University, I had to quickly upskill. I didn't even know the bus route numbers, let alone how you pay or what MST is.
My house is a Bee Card's throw from two bus routes so that was double the learning. The loop system is confusing, but I soon learned which way meant the long way home.
When I lived in Wellington, buses, the occasional taxi and friends' cars were the only way to get from A to B. The buses would go from the city centre to the end of a route then turn around, so it was easy to know which side of the road to stand on.
As well as the horror when your cans of corn and loaves of bread took on a life of their own and made a beeline for strangers' legs, my most enduring memories of years of bus travel are the driver calling out "move back, move back please". Peak-hour buses were always packed and standing passengers would be reluctant to move down the aisle. It wasn't so much squashed in like sardines as make like the figures in Three Businessmen Who Brought Their Own Lunch, a sculpture in Melbourne's Swanston St.
Ah, Melbourne. Now there's a public transport system.
I've never been on a "move to the back of the bus" bus in Palmerston North. We are lucky (or unlucky depending on how you look at it - needs of passengers versus needs of the environment).
On Saturday I decided to walk to The Plaza. Then I hung around the bus terminal as the mall was closing and got a bus home.
In its pre-election report, the city council says the terminal is uncomfortable, has poor amenity value and discourages people from dwelling in the area.
There is a negative perception of this area that can act as a significant barrier to public transport uptake, the report says.
The terminal is certainly a wind tunnel, the seats are freezing and it can be an intimating place when you don't know which bus you need or which platform it departs from.
My only negative perception of the area is the old post office across the road. Imagine if this was a hotel with ground-floor cafes and boutique shops. The amenity value would rise faster than young Judith's heart rate running for a bus. Middle-aged Judith wouldn't even attempt it.
Replace the dark green vegetation on either approach to the terminal with shorter and more colourful plants, and add more lighting around there.
But the best thing is the buses invariably leave on time. Usually, drivers will let you on five minutes before departure, so there is no need to dwell. Dwell instead on a $1.20 ride home.