There are so many things that it is difficult to know which ones to pick. Luckily, I am here to help you sort through all the things — not things to buy, for which there are magazines and blogs aplenty, but rather things you experience, wait around in, look at askance, make small talk about or just encounter.

This column begins a series about things I endorse and why I endorse them.

Today, I endorse the Pitt shuttle system.

What can rival the joy that blooms when, after several minutes of standing alone in the cold with an uncharged iPod, you at last discern the shuttle’s chubby face coming ‘round the bend?

As the shuttle door swings open, it is surprising to see a driver behind it all.

In my mind, the shuttle is a sentient being. Huffing and panting over the cracked blacktop of Oakland, he is eager to help his friends, the humans. He does not want slush to numb their delicate, pink human feet.

In fact, nothing gives him more pleasure than to restore us with a den of warmth and safety, like a cozy log cabin roving far and wide across the land, perhaps built by Abe Lincoln himself. That is how I fancy he fancies himself.

Maybe the shuttle is a she, though. I guess there’s nothing to stop a woman from being a bus.

The fun has just begun, though. Through those squeaky glass doors is a cast of characters you’ll never forget. It’s like the TV show “Cheers,” except no one knows your name, because you never talk to one another.

But you would for sure fraternize grandly if the shuttle had a bar. Beer is sort of an unfair advantage that “Cheers” has over the Pitt shuttle system, and I would endorse any measures to close the disparity.

Beer or no beer, you are all comrades, if not acquaintances. You are in this thing together. Whenever something weird or funny happens to the shuttle as a whole — old women arguing in the road or a hostage crisis, for example — the shuttle is soon abuzz with comment, as if the passengers were old union men in a barber shop.

It is this subterranean camaraderie that makes the shuttle system a jewel in the crown of civilization. A jewel restored at long last!

A beautiful quality of our grandparents’ generation was the capacity to do anything with total strangers, except have sex. Back then, a typical American man would hitchhike, fix a truck, shower, play Jew’s harp and shoot at the Axis powers with fellows whose first names he did not know — all in one day.

Nowadays, unless the draft or the parish system make a comeback, the shuttle is a rare chance to course with a random sample of the Pitt student body. It forces us to look at our neighbors up close — in total innocence — just looking at them and making observations, because we’re bored and therefore curious:

“The girl with elaborate purple boots has now purchased an elaborate purple hat. How far can she take this?”

“The dude who once told a knee-slapping hilarious story on his cell phone is taking out his cell phone. Will he repeat the achievement?”

“The Mexicans are speaking Spanish again. I want to signal that I speak Spanish, too, so I can look smart. Maybe I should laugh at that joke, but it wasn’t actually funny enough for me to laugh without it being obvious that I just laughed to show I understood … Mierda!”

The shuttle ride even has an epilogue that leaves the heart as warm as June.

Just when you thought the fun supply was done, as you alight, the driver tells you to have a nice day. He does so with a degree of sincerity that is amazing, given the number of nice days he bids in an eight-hour shift.

If you are lucky, cool and a dude, then the driver will even call you “my man.”

In return, every rider thanks the shuttle driver. A simple “thanks” suffices. It is not necessary to read the poem Walt Whitman wrote about Pitt shuttle drivers called “Oh Captain! My Captain!” in unison with the other riders, for example.

But as forced and awkward as it might seem, trading thanks is a moment of shared humanity rare outside of an underdog sports team. That is what the shuttle is all about: bringing people together. And also loud rap music.

E-mail Lewis at [email protected]