The Wheels on the Bus

As a general rule, I'm a kind of weirdo magnet, but no where is that more true that while I'm entrenched in the world of public transportation.

People have said some strange stuff to me at the bus stop.  Surely it doesn't help that I'm hanging out downtown at 5:30 in the morning, but I try hard to simultaneously blend in & look alert. 

"Hey, baby girl.  You look like a non-smoker."

"SEE?! SHE'S SNEEZING CORRECTLY!" [Stoner dude to his tired-looking girlfriend after I had an allergic fit into the crook of my elbow.]

"What's your first name?  What's your middle name?  What's your last name?"

In all fairness, it's more often that I get to merely observe the oddities of others, rather than passively interact with them.  One morning, I was standing by myself, waiting for the early bus.  A truck pulled up & a lady who seemed a bit dingy & frayed around the edges (that's the nicest way I can come up with to describe a woman who, at a glance, appeared to be a crack whore) slid down from the passenger's seat.  She started to lean back in to say something to the driver, but he suddenly gunned the accelerator & peeled out, leaving the woman to throw herself out of the way of the slamming door.  She jumped up immediately, hollering after the truck.  "You sonofabitch!  You didn't pay me!!"  I sort of thought that, as a working girl, she should probably ought to have known better than to get out of the vehicle without cash in hand.  I didn't want to overstep any boundaries & it seemed that she'd probably respond poorly to any counsel after learning such a harsh life lesson, so I just kept that bit of advice to myself.  Hopefully she remembered next time.

For once, my husband took my karmic spot on Bus Ride Nut Patrol today.  A young man wearing a leather vest with shorts took the seat next to Eric on the #10 up the Hill this evening.  The bevested stranger began by telling my beloved all about the Green Lantern anthology that he was reading.  Tapping Eric on the shoulder to get his attention, he boasted that he'd borrowed the book from the library downtown.  "Nice," my man said to humor his seatmate before putting his earbud back in, "enjoy!" 

A few minutes later he noticed the young man giving him the side-eye, staring at Eric's arms before looking down at own arms, then back again.  "Everything okay?" asked my husband.  "You have even more arm hair than I do!" explained his neighbor.  "... Yup ... I'm a hairy guy," he responded before quickly going back to his music.

A couple of blocks later, the talkative traveler tapped Eric on the shoulder once more.  "What does your tattoo mean?", still eagerly, yet troublingly focused on the Mister's forearms.  "It's a Voltaire quote,"  his answer most certainly accompanied with a Look.

When the bus rolled up to the 12th & Pine stop, the friendly rider reached out to shake hands before exiting.  "It's been great talking with you," he said, "have a great night."

"Sure, dude.  You too."