Time For Another Ride On The Tragic Bus
My bus to work arrives at the Cherry Street stop at a relatively early time. As I stand in line to enter the vehicle, I notice something unusual about the reddish-haired girl in front of me. She turns her face just enough for me to think, “Hey, this girl looks like a female version of Mich… NO, WAIT! NOT AGAIN!” Yes, faithful readers, I have once again run into the female version of Michael Moynihan (mentioned previously here)! It’s quite eerie to behold, particularly after spending a weekend at his house and then seeing his gender-reversed doppelganger. Eerier still is that this girl has an insanely hot body, particularly the backside. But, then she turns around and she’s stolen Moynihan’s face — and it’s just plain wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Sitting on the bus waiting to exit the main stop, my ears pick up on a persistent light snapping sound. It sounds like way too many things to actually figure out by hearing alone, so I turn my head away from the window I’m looking out and towards the front of the bus. There is a woman in her 30s wearing thick-rimmed glasses, rather fat and dumpy, and with greasy dark hair in some generic non-hairdo. By all appearances, she’s a person who likes to eat a lot and, as I stare in horror, she’s also someone who likes to take care of post-eating dental health right away. Yes, I bore witness to this beastly lass flossing her teeth right there on the city bus. And I don’t mean just a few teeth — I mean each and every single one got the full treatment. It actually took my civilized brain a few seconds to process the rudeness and vulgarity of this public act. Being someone who actually takes pride in his appearance, I immediately wondered if I was out of projectile range, seeing as she was getting rather snappy with the floss, perhaps even able to slingshot some of her between-the-teeth slop in virtually any direction. Luckily, I had angularity and distance on my side. The bus driver was probably not so fortunate, but that’s really conjecture more than anything else. That, and I really don’t care about him. He’s on his own.
The other day, I was taking my usual seat on the bus and keeping a casual eye on the potential cast of characters entering up front. Generally speaking, I have a preferred seat, but I’m not completely insane about it. But, on occasion, I see evidence of others being less than secure with the loss of their favorite seats. While cueing up one of my news podcasts to watch, I noticed a regular coming down the aisle. He’s of the “messy nerd” variety — tousled dirty blond hair, askew clothing, looks like a teenager even if he’s probably well into his 20s, etc. — and, on most trips, is thoroughly glued to his Nintendo DS. So, to invoke my love of nicknaming, he will henceforth be called Nintendo Champ. Anyhoo, NC gets to his usual seat (the one right in front of mine) and finds a middle-aged fella already sitting there. He stops and just stares agape in completely exaggerated amazement. Then, his stare turns into a 30-second glare at the guy, a look that clearly shouted disdain and indignity. The seated man looked up at Nintendo Champ, first confused, then dismissive, then not at all. You could tell that NC wanted to huff and stomp his feet, but he instead collected himself and took the seat in front of his sedentary nemesis. I got a small chuckle out of it all.
More bus tales as they come…