“And I took my meds this morning!”
Y’all, I was caught in a VORTEX OF CRAZY on the bus this a.m.
Somewhere to the back, Slightly Retarded Tony Gwynn was yammering his face right off his head, asking people’s phone numbers (especially that of the guy I couldn’t see but who sounded like Stanley from The Office, which was awesome) and hollering quotables including the title of this post; the bus driver eventually got on the P.A. to ask him to please simmer down. Just in front of me, the … slightly off little five-year-old was bouncing off the walls, having glommed on to this woman who in recent weeks she’s decided is her best friend, waving her Woody-from-Toy-Story doll around and making her read this fucking book about Pirate Pete, while her mom – hefty, bespectacled and shaven-headed – ignored the rest of humanity as usual and texted the entire ride. Back and to my left, Mister Chatty Motherfucker was turned around in his seat, talking to this couple behind him about Sydney (the city in Australia) and its budget woes (WTFF?). And that was just DURING the ride; when I got on, at the last stop before the bus goes express to the city, we just sat at the curb for 20 minutes; I was busy writing my Sixteen Candles sequel on my new tiny little laptop so I didn’t really notice, but by the time people got seriously restless, a fire truck had pulled up, blocking us, and several of the firemen boarded the bus and removed a man, then stood at a distance talking to him for awhile. We sat there making nervous unfunny bomb-on-the-bus, terrorist-attack jokes while a raven-haired tattooed chick went out to talk to them, then came back; turns out, Removed Guy was in fact Crazy Guy, who from the first stop had been rambling about “Suicide San Francisco,” saying he was on his way to the Golden Gate Bridge to jump off it, and hoping he had enough money to get there – and the chick had spoken to the bus driver, who called … um, I guess the fire department.
You people who drive to work miss all the fun.
Somewhere to the back, Slightly Retarded Tony Gwynn was yammering his face right off his head, asking people’s phone numbers (especially that of the guy I couldn’t see but who sounded like Stanley from The Office, which was awesome) and hollering quotables including the title of this post; the bus driver eventually got on the P.A. to ask him to please simmer down. Just in front of me, the … slightly off little five-year-old was bouncing off the walls, having glommed on to this woman who in recent weeks she’s decided is her best friend, waving her Woody-from-Toy-Story doll around and making her read this fucking book about Pirate Pete, while her mom – hefty, bespectacled and shaven-headed – ignored the rest of humanity as usual and texted the entire ride. Back and to my left, Mister Chatty Motherfucker was turned around in his seat, talking to this couple behind him about Sydney (the city in Australia) and its budget woes (WTFF?). And that was just DURING the ride; when I got on, at the last stop before the bus goes express to the city, we just sat at the curb for 20 minutes; I was busy writing my Sixteen Candles sequel on my new tiny little laptop so I didn’t really notice, but by the time people got seriously restless, a fire truck had pulled up, blocking us, and several of the firemen boarded the bus and removed a man, then stood at a distance talking to him for awhile. We sat there making nervous unfunny bomb-on-the-bus, terrorist-attack jokes while a raven-haired tattooed chick went out to talk to them, then came back; turns out, Removed Guy was in fact Crazy Guy, who from the first stop had been rambling about “Suicide San Francisco,” saying he was on his way to the Golden Gate Bridge to jump off it, and hoping he had enough money to get there – and the chick had spoken to the bus driver, who called … um, I guess the fire department.
You people who drive to work miss all the fun.
Labels: balls o'clock a.m., cryin' amazacrazy, indignities of transit, Jesus H. Christ in a sidecar drinking tequila, that's what your mom said, way too old for this kind of shit anymore
posted by Gleemonex at 1:04 PM
3 Comments:
I don't know if I am jealous that we don't have usable public transport here in Atlanta, or if I am relieved. I am, however, delighted that you share your experiences here. Good times.
I can't wait to learn what happened to Jake Ryan!
I think you'll be pleased, Panda. FYI, he no longer drives that Porsche. Or any other Porsche. In fact, the way his life is now, he's a little bit embarrassed that he ever did. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
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