Don’t Tell Anyone… I Control Social Security
While waiting at the main stop today for my bus to work, a bus on a route not my own stopped and let off its passengers. Among the people who exit are two individuals, girl and guy, pleasant looking, probably in their mid-20s or thereabouts. They seem pretty coherent, not appearing to be on drugs or suffering from any mental illness, but there is something about these two that truly defies logic — they both are forgetting their own bicycles strapped to the front of the bus they just left. They get about 10 feet or so away before the bus driver blares the horn at them to get their bikes off his vehicle. They turn around and, without ANY visible sign of surprise or shame, casually walk back as if nothing happened, remove their rather expensive looking bikes, and ride off. I believe this is where the kids say… WTF?! (Actually, I’m not sure if they actually say that acronym out loud… but they sure do type it often enough!) The girl was even wearing a bicycle helmet! How the fuck do TWO people BOTH forget they have bicycles in such a relatively short period of time when one is visibly wearing a bicycle helmet? Wouldn’t that be a glaring indicator that you — as either the helmet wearer or the person looking at the helmet wearing friend — might have a BICYCLE, let alone TWO of them? And imagine if they got to where they were going (which might have also taken longer than it would have on… you guessed it… a bicycle), sat down, and then discovered the bike helmet. Who would get to admit that tale of stupidity to the folks at CCTA? Now, I’m wondering about all of the marvelously dimwitted calls they must get every week, and if someone will one day be smart enough to save them and put them on the Internet so we can all enjoy some schadenfreude. Not that I’m blatantly suggesting anything here.
The locally infamous crazy guy on crutches (yes, these kind) who wanders Church Street, randomly screaming things at tourists, walked by me the other day while I was sitting on a bench at the Cherry Street stop. He knows who and what I am (or at least whatever he thinks I am), and has tried to spit out snide little quips while passing me on occasion — all of which are hoo-larious. One time, he asked me about “colts” (he was trying to say “cults” but it came out with a long “o” instead), so I diverted the conversation for a few minutes by going on and on about young male horses, which was a real head-spinner for the old guy. Anyhoo, he passed me at the stop a few days back, looks me (and the suit I was wearing) up and down as he’s walking, and sincerely shouts, “You’re not controlling the social security, are you?” I smiled. He stopped smiling, exclaimed, “I hope not” and hurriedly disappeared. Yes, it’s fun to be the Magister.
And that’s actually all for bus tales. It’s been rather dead for notable activity over the last so many months, making me wonder if the economy is depressing people too much to act stupid or insane on the bus for me. Such insolence! I mean, where’s the hipster tard or the girl with the pith helmet or the scary Eastern European couple? I demand more entertainment value for the price of my monthly bus pass, damnit! Let’s hope that Winter livens things up for public transportation shenanigans. I know I’m crossing my fingers.