It was 7:38 a.m, 13.5 degrees and I had an 8 a.m. class. After much inner turmoil, I decided at the last possible second that rather than facing the blistering cold, I would take my chance on the Miami Metro-a decision I would come to regret. While I am not a habitual bus rider, I in no way consider myself to be a Miami Metro novice. I know which bus goes where and when, but most importantly I know the unofficial code of the bus.

I'm not talking about your basic "no food or drink" rules nor am I referencing the bus law that states, "no one shall enter the magical middle of the bus door," a rule intended only those exiting the bus and perhaps God.

This is something entirely different. I am talking about the Miami Metro's unspoken, unofficial code of conduct.

Up until a few weeks ago I believed nearly everyone was aware and abided by this code-but I was so very wrong. It was on this fateful, freezing February morn I met the exception.

Let us call her "Smiles."

Rule 1: Do not sit next to me.

After running for the bus and knocking on the door-yes, I was that girl-I at last made my way down the aisle and plopped down on a seat toward the back. I was elated to see the bus was more or less empty. It was quiet and dark. Everyone aboard merely stared ominously out of the window, dreading the dull 8 a.m. class they were inevitably about to face. Just as I was embracing the golden silence, it happened or rather she happened. I was staring out the window when Smiles sat down in the seat next to me. Let me repeat, next to me. My immediate reaction was utter confusion. Why, when there are plenty of other seats on the bus, would you choose to sit next to me? Do I look inviting? With my hood up and mean face on, my guess would be no. So why? I don't understand. I enjoy my personal space, and Smiles was infiltrating.

Rule 2: Do not smile at me.

At this point, I was eight stops from my final destination-piece of cake.

Last summer I worked at a kids' camp that once required me to spend four hours in a ball pit at Chucky Cheese with 30 5-year-olds. Smiles' space invasion had nothing on me! Ironically enough, it was at that very moment Smiles took it a bit further and did the unthinkable.

She smiled at me.

Um, hello, this is not "The Love Boat" nor is it an audition for Paris Hilton's next BFF show. So why are you attempting to engage me in this type of friendly behavior? We are not friends. I do not wish to build a friendship with you. As a matter of fact, at 8 a.m., I choose to have no friends. So I ask of you, please do not acknowledge me.

Rule 3: Do not speak to me.

I am sure you can assume what happened next. Smiles spoke.

Can you believe it? I even had my headphones in pretending to listen to music which is typically a very effective method to ward off uninvited conversation. Smiles blatantly ignored them. She proceeded to ask me questions about my upcoming class, my schedule for the day and my feelings about the current weather. It was dreadful. I was completely taken aback. I had never encountered a person so blissfully unaware of the bus code. I attempted to politely answer her questions, as politely as my anger would allow, but her conversational persistence was overwhelming. I couldn't take it anymore.

I know I may sound unkind or perhaps anti-social. In fact, after telling my mother this very story she informed me this type of behavior solidified my destiny to become a cat lady, forever isolated and alone , which is a plausible future I now fear.

Regardless, my point is this: adhere to the code. That's all I ask. If you would like to be my friend then let's convene in a proper social forum such as a bar, party or perhaps Facebook.com. The Miami Metro bus at seven-ish in the morning is far from the type of environment I wish to befriend you.

Needless to say, I bid adieu to Smiles, got off the bus three stops early and walked the remaining way.

Perhaps I'll name my first cat

Snuffles.