October 26, 2005

Never ever ride the bus late at night.

Whoa... Were my self-esteem directly tied to the emails I recieve after each post, the last post would have sent me into a complete me-loving frenzy. I would, in fact, be under the impression that I'm only a lyric away from signing a record deal and riding off into the sunset in a tinted-windowed tour bus surviving only on my ability to write mediocre verses. Which would mean I definitely need to go shopping for a leather jumpsuit and an entire wardrobe of sequins.

In short, thank you for your kind words. And message recieved. More to come, as soon as I'm struck by incredible boredom/self pity/love at first sight.

::steps off soapbox::

You remember that magical bus story from when you were little? What's it called?


Aaah. "The Magic Schoolbus". Remember it? And Ms. Frizzle taking the kids on these crazy magical bus rides through the galaxy or their intestines or the deep deep scary-glowing-fish-who-look-like-aliens sea? I sort of felt like I was on the grown up, cracked-out version on the bus home last night.

I stayed out late after work with a couple co-workers. Saw a foreign film. Ok, it was an action flick.

::shifty eye action, lip biting, finger twiddling::

FINE. It was "In Her Shoes". Whatever.

The point is, after the movie I had to hop on a bus to get home. The stop I needed to use was the one on 3rd street, just up from the market, in a sketchy retail part of town. Stores close, freaks and gangsters come out, and the transients go to bed in every doorway.

So I'm waiting at the bus, and this guy who smells like he's never wiped in his life keeps walking by me and referring to a "sweetie" (which I sincerely hope wasn't me) and scratching all over and licking his lips. The 10 minutes I spend waiting at the bus stop were some of the longest minutes ever. THEN, I get on the bus, open my book, and begin to plug those uncomfortable little I-Pod headphones into my head when I (well, everyone on the bus) notice there's the quintessential meth-head on the bus, scratching and talking exactly one million miles an hour to what appears to be herself. Well, at first that's what I thought, until a pair of very loud African American women near the front engaged her in an argument.

Turns out My Friend Meth was saying 3 things over and over: "I'm native american!" "I just can't believe how black you are!" and "look at black curly black ness I can't believe gurgle gurgle..." or something. Anyway, lots about the blackness of the black hair of these women with curly black hair and brown skin. Meanwhile, the two ladies seem to have completely forgotten that this woman is clearly under the influence of the demon of drugs, and decide they'll get upset about crazy's comments and start yelling and threatening her. Well, at this point, all book-reading is futile as I'm devising a survival plan should things get ugly. Namely duck under the significantly large man sitting next to me. While I'm busy having escape fantasies and pretending I'm invisible by averting my eyes and ocasionally squeezing them shut and counting to ten, the bus driver begins to yell at the already yelling ladies, only worsening the problem and causing everyone on the bus to increase the intensity of their practiced eye aversion.

THEN, as if we all weren't WAY uncomfortable enough, some stressed-out passenger just can't wait and LIGHTS A CIGARETTE AND PROCEEDS TO SLOWLY AND DELIBERATELY SMOKE IT ON THE BUS.

Well, this drives the bus driver (heh heh) nearly off his rocker -- which is a bad, bad thing, as he's driving the bus that is supposed to deliver my ass safely home.

Which is where I eventually wound up, after we pulled over on Hwy 99 and threw a couple passengers out.

So it was an eventful night. Tonight, I think I'll watch "Lost" and maybe even pop some popcorn if I'm feeling crazy. Or illegally download a Metallica song. Oooooh. I've really turned over a new, brave, live-life-on-the-edge leaf, haven't I?

Aaw fuck it. I was always a good girl. No amount of piercing, swearing and drinking will cure me of that. Hope you're not dissapointed.

Today's soundtrack -- funky latin and old jazz, sung new:
"Mariposa (en Havana)" by Si Se
"Waters of March" sung by Jane Monheit
"Reflejo de Luna" by Alacran
"Don't leave me now" by Amparanoia


wicwit said...

Ah, the life of public transporation... a mini adventure every day.

Billy Jones said...

My now x-wife once told me that a bus was a rolling bad neighborhood but she loved bad neighbors-- go figure.

Anyway, the real reason I came was to let you know you made the list of 100 Blogging Poets In 100 Days Enjoy

T.S. Idiot said...

Reminds me of an L ride in Chicago. On that urban roller coaster, its not the tracks that twist in spirals and go upside down, its the people.

Chuckles said...

I love riding the bus. My favorite freaks rode the 5 bus north out of downtown Portland on Interstate.

Which has almost sadly been replaced by the MAX. I bet the freaks ride the MAX now. Sigh.