This event took place January of 2009. I have a theory when it comes to riding the bus, if the bus isn’t full but you think it might be just sit by someone that looks sane. It’s a fairly basic safety precaution that should not be underestimated.
On this particular day I was on my way to work, I had just hopped on the bus which was, for the most part, vacant. Myself, about three other riders, and the driver. The bus wasn’t going to leave for about another five minutes, and in this time it started to pile up. I don’t know where the extras came from, but they came in a very long line.
I’m sitting there while they’re filing on, hoping that I can somehow land a normal person. What I got was anything but. I literally thought when I saw this woman, “Please, not me”. Low and behold who does she decide to sit by? That’s right, yours truly.
Let me paint you a picture, large (you know what I mean), frizzy dyed red hair pulled back in a black scrunchy, some kind of a purple cardigan which I lovingly refer to as “the purple carpet”, tight black pants and tennis shoes to add a little somethin’ extra to the outfit.
As she sits down she started out on the edge of seat but it did not take her long to scoot in. Now I’m a thin person, and I understand my obligation to utilize that but I can only do so much. Soon enough she had taken her seat fully and a good percentage of mine as well. Staring out the window I was cursing my luck and while doing so I noticed with my peripheral that she’s gazing at me. I pulled my vision away from the outside scenery, for she had finally taken a break from looking at me. Yet again my curiosity got the better of me, and I just had to take a better look at this creature who was causing my discomfort.
Sure enough, while looking over at her she glanced at me and we made eye contact, which to a crazy person is an unmistakable invitation to engage.
“Hi”, she said. Her voice was a tad nasally and a bit gravelly.
“Hi”, I said and looked away quickly knowing that this was only the beginning. We rode in silence for a few more seconds, when she then asked, “Are you a red head?”
This is a surprisingly valid question from a crazy, my hair color has been under debate for years. To some I’m a blonde, to some I’m a red head, so I just go by strawberry blonde, but I don’t deny any of the previous titles.
“Kinda”, I replied.
“Kinda”, she repeated.
I nodded my head a little.
“My sister married a red head.”, she says with raised eyebrows and a look that said something along the lines that she was in the know about us red heads.
“Oh really.”, I said with a look of bewilderment. Imagine that, there are people out there who have sisters that get married to red heads. It really can happen.
We had probably been sitting and riding the bus no longer than 5 minutes, and there was absolutely no way I was going to take 15 more minutes of being crammed up against the bus window, even if it meant me having to pull the emergency exit handle.
We rode a little while longer in silence, when she turned to me and asked about my thoughts about the flooding that had just recently occurred in our city.
“Well, you know, I was out of town for that, but I know it was a real problem for others.” I said with a certain professionalism, I’m a regular Sarah Palin.
“Yeah”, she said, and then looked forward with a smirk, relishing in her success of a conversation.
Alright, I really can’t move and now more or less we’re cuddling. I promised myself that if she didn’t get off within the next 3 stops, that I would. Yeah, I know was on my way to work, but by this point I didn’t care. I’d just call in and explain that there was a situation that involved my bus ride going awry.
Thankfully, she got off on the second stop and was replaced by quiet small woman, leaving me to enjoy the rest of my bus ride.
From this story I have inherited the phrase, “Are you a red head?” which I through out there every now and then. Who knows, maybe on day I’ll ask someone else on the bus if they’re a red head, just to keep things interesting.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Crying Lady
This took place early December 2008, and what you are about to read is not an exaggeration, if anything it’s a watered down version of the original event. I had been unemployed going on three months, and as a way of making a little extra cash I donated plasma. I had just finished having my blood sucked in and out of my arm for the last hour, and was now $40 dollars richer. For me donating plasma was a draining experience (get it?). Seriously though, it left me exhausted. It was also freezing outside and I was getting ready for a forty-minute bus ride home. Needless to say, I was in no mood for any shenanigans.
I approached the bus stop to find that the bus that would get me home wouldn’t be there for the next fifteen minutes or so. This particular stop is right by a community college so I decided to step inside to keep warm. While walking inside I noticed a crying of some sort coming from a figure approaching the stop. I stepped inside wondering what could’ve been going on. My curiosity got the better of me and I went out to see what was happening.
I walked up to the stop to find a shorter woman looking up at the schedule talking and sobbing (and I do not use the word sobbing lightly). I assumed, still being fairly new to riding the bus regularly that this woman must have been on a bluetooth and was crying to someone on the other end of a telephone line. How little I understood the rules of bus then. Let me make one thing clear, crazy people ride the bus. This is not to say that an average sane person doesn’t, but let’s get real, it’s about half and half.
The woman flips around, both ears exposed and voila, no bluetooth. Her eyes got wide and set on none other than me. Her and I are making direct eye contact, standing face to face, just the two of us at a bus stop. At this point inner dialogue is saying something like, “What have I done!”.
“Is everything alright?” I ask timidly.
“NO!” she exasperatedly gasped.
“Well, what’s the matter?”
“Just because I don’t carry a bag!” ,she yells. She then begins to stomp her feet and lift her right arm up and down as if she was heaving something heavy. Alright now I’m terrified. The bus isn’t going to be there for another ten minutes and I can already tell that I’m in this one for the long haul.
My face was clearly puzzled and I asked, “What?”.
The woman then went on to explain that she had just completed an interview at Costco and while attempting to leave she was stopped by the quote-un-quote “Bitch at the door!”. Now, this woman has a backpack, cause like she said, she doesn’t like to carry a bag and let me tell you the thing was busting at the seams on account of how full it was. More or less, when she approached the gate with a full backpack and no receipt, her bag was searched. Yes, I know that it is embarrassing her but those people are just trying to do their job. I would’ve done the same.
Now based on the way the woman was sobbing in a front of me I cannot imagine (nor do I want to) the hysterics she must have been in while her bag was being searched. She started talking about how that was another job that she couldn’t have (you’ve got one thing right, I’m thinking to myself.). She then proceeds to ask me what’s wrong with her, apparently I look licensed to do so. Should she wear her hair differently, dress differently, wear makeup? According to her she didn’t wear makeup, which I thought was odd considering the copious amounts of mascara cascading down her cheeks.
“ I mean if people I know won’t tell me what’s wrong with me then people I don’t know should.”, she says.
At this point I’m thinking, “Maybe you should start by not sobbing to complete strangers at bust stops.” You know, that’s just one idea.
Being the polite the person that I am, and also one that doesn’t want to get shanked by a middle aged woman at a bus stop (after all I had no idea what was in that bag of hers), I told her that she looked fine. Which is true she looked just fine, minus the crying, the mascara, and the backpack which induced a kind of hunchbacked body stance. I told her to just keep on trying and to not let that get her down.
She told me that she had been unemployed for the last three months, ring a bell anyone?
“Well I know how you feel”, I said
“NO, you don’t!”, she said angrily.
Excuse me, I’m trying to be nice to the crazy lady in the night and you’re giving me sass, I don’t think so. I would’ve told her to leave me alone right then and there but then things took a turn. Turns out that she had been living in her car for the last little while and then came the sentence that worsened the situation.
“I hope I just die tonight.”
Oh no, I’m cold, my body is running on a lot less blood than it had been an hour previous and now not only am I dealing with a crazy crying lady, but a suicidal one at that. Like I said, really not in the mood for this.
I replied with obvious stun in my voice, “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Well it’s true! Who would want to live?”
I then went on to explain that I know things are tough but dying is really not the answer, and right about that time the bus rolls up.
She steps on the bus before I did, still sniffling. The driver looks at her, and looks at me. I gave him a look that said don’t even ask. At this point I’m wondering now should I sit with her? Are we friends now? Should I give her some money? What do I do? I opted to sit on the other side of the aisle a few seats back. She rested her elbows on the seat in front of her and buried her head. The bus riders were all watching and listening to her muffled crying, and everyone kept looking at me like I possibly could’ve been the reason she was crying. Like I had upset the woman. All I could do was look at them and I shake my head. I mean they had no idea what I had just endured. 15 minutes of pure crazy.
The bus reached the station and I hopped on my next bus home, as I watched the woman wander off, still in total disbelief of what had just happened to me. This particular story is still one of my more poignant ones to date. It was very surreal, I still can’t believe it happened to me.
I approached the bus stop to find that the bus that would get me home wouldn’t be there for the next fifteen minutes or so. This particular stop is right by a community college so I decided to step inside to keep warm. While walking inside I noticed a crying of some sort coming from a figure approaching the stop. I stepped inside wondering what could’ve been going on. My curiosity got the better of me and I went out to see what was happening.
I walked up to the stop to find a shorter woman looking up at the schedule talking and sobbing (and I do not use the word sobbing lightly). I assumed, still being fairly new to riding the bus regularly that this woman must have been on a bluetooth and was crying to someone on the other end of a telephone line. How little I understood the rules of bus then. Let me make one thing clear, crazy people ride the bus. This is not to say that an average sane person doesn’t, but let’s get real, it’s about half and half.
The woman flips around, both ears exposed and voila, no bluetooth. Her eyes got wide and set on none other than me. Her and I are making direct eye contact, standing face to face, just the two of us at a bus stop. At this point inner dialogue is saying something like, “What have I done!”.
“Is everything alright?” I ask timidly.
“NO!” she exasperatedly gasped.
“Well, what’s the matter?”
“Just because I don’t carry a bag!” ,she yells. She then begins to stomp her feet and lift her right arm up and down as if she was heaving something heavy. Alright now I’m terrified. The bus isn’t going to be there for another ten minutes and I can already tell that I’m in this one for the long haul.
My face was clearly puzzled and I asked, “What?”.
The woman then went on to explain that she had just completed an interview at Costco and while attempting to leave she was stopped by the quote-un-quote “Bitch at the door!”. Now, this woman has a backpack, cause like she said, she doesn’t like to carry a bag and let me tell you the thing was busting at the seams on account of how full it was. More or less, when she approached the gate with a full backpack and no receipt, her bag was searched. Yes, I know that it is embarrassing her but those people are just trying to do their job. I would’ve done the same.
Now based on the way the woman was sobbing in a front of me I cannot imagine (nor do I want to) the hysterics she must have been in while her bag was being searched. She started talking about how that was another job that she couldn’t have (you’ve got one thing right, I’m thinking to myself.). She then proceeds to ask me what’s wrong with her, apparently I look licensed to do so. Should she wear her hair differently, dress differently, wear makeup? According to her she didn’t wear makeup, which I thought was odd considering the copious amounts of mascara cascading down her cheeks.
“ I mean if people I know won’t tell me what’s wrong with me then people I don’t know should.”, she says.
At this point I’m thinking, “Maybe you should start by not sobbing to complete strangers at bust stops.” You know, that’s just one idea.
Being the polite the person that I am, and also one that doesn’t want to get shanked by a middle aged woman at a bus stop (after all I had no idea what was in that bag of hers), I told her that she looked fine. Which is true she looked just fine, minus the crying, the mascara, and the backpack which induced a kind of hunchbacked body stance. I told her to just keep on trying and to not let that get her down.
She told me that she had been unemployed for the last three months, ring a bell anyone?
“Well I know how you feel”, I said
“NO, you don’t!”, she said angrily.
Excuse me, I’m trying to be nice to the crazy lady in the night and you’re giving me sass, I don’t think so. I would’ve told her to leave me alone right then and there but then things took a turn. Turns out that she had been living in her car for the last little while and then came the sentence that worsened the situation.
“I hope I just die tonight.”
Oh no, I’m cold, my body is running on a lot less blood than it had been an hour previous and now not only am I dealing with a crazy crying lady, but a suicidal one at that. Like I said, really not in the mood for this.
I replied with obvious stun in my voice, “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Well it’s true! Who would want to live?”
I then went on to explain that I know things are tough but dying is really not the answer, and right about that time the bus rolls up.
She steps on the bus before I did, still sniffling. The driver looks at her, and looks at me. I gave him a look that said don’t even ask. At this point I’m wondering now should I sit with her? Are we friends now? Should I give her some money? What do I do? I opted to sit on the other side of the aisle a few seats back. She rested her elbows on the seat in front of her and buried her head. The bus riders were all watching and listening to her muffled crying, and everyone kept looking at me like I possibly could’ve been the reason she was crying. Like I had upset the woman. All I could do was look at them and I shake my head. I mean they had no idea what I had just endured. 15 minutes of pure crazy.
The bus reached the station and I hopped on my next bus home, as I watched the woman wander off, still in total disbelief of what had just happened to me. This particular story is still one of my more poignant ones to date. It was very surreal, I still can’t believe it happened to me.
Public Transit
About a year ago I became what you could call a “frequenter” of the public transit system. I rely on Public Transit as one of my main modes of transportation, and since then I have racked up quite a few stories. I had no idea when I first started using the bus that I would literally be in a wild ride. I have long since talked about starting this blog to share some of the crazy happenings that have occurred while in transit. I know a number of other frequenters who have just as many stories as I, so you’ll be hearing from them too. Thanks for reading.
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