Bus Stories

The fates have noted my recent complaints about the inadequacies of public transportation; they have exacted their revenge by surrounding me with local nutjobs whose puzzling behavior leaves me more befuddled than usual.

Today:

A woman got off the #4 bus and ran across the street to catch her other bus... which was also the #4, but going in the other direction. She stayed on for several stops. What was she doing? Why would she take the #4 bus several stops just to cross the street and go back the way she came?

Another woman got on the bus and made a big production of taking the seat next to mine (which required wedging me into the window) and arranging her various bags around her. At the next stop, she picked up all her bags and went and stood by the door, holding on to the balance pole. I assumed she was getting off shortly. But at the next stop, she turned around and squished me against the window again! What gives? All I can figure is fart break, and if that's the case, then I'm truly grateful to her for moving. But couldn't she just have stayed there?

I got hit on. Again. This time the guy was in his 50s who first he suggested that I remove my headphones to hear him better, at which point I assured him I was hearing him as well as I needed to. He then talked about the wonders of technology, showing me his cell phone (which looked alarmingly similar to Bret's camera phone, only dirtier) and went on at length to explain how much he liked listening to mp3's on his phone but how he's never been able to figure out computers because when he was in school they used fountain pens and hand-chiseled pencils. No doubt I could understand this, since we were "of the same epoch." (Actually, a$$hat, I got my first computer when I was nine. But thanks for playing.)

The event that took the cake, though-- the moment I knew that God was doubled over laughing at me-- was on the way home, when this armless guy sat next to me. He had no arms, however he did have fully-formed hands... attached to his shoulders. I swear that I am not making this up. The first thought that came to mind was how Brooke makes fun of her husband's "T-Rex arms," and that was a bad thing because I wanted to laugh but you must absolutely, positively, under no circumstances laugh when you're sitting next to a man with shoulder hands.

So naturally I've spent the rest of the day contemplating his predicament and I've come to the conclusion that shoulder hands are the worst possible torture a person can endure. Yeah, he's got hands, but he can't do any of the things hands are good for-- putting keys in his pocket, scratching (other than his ear, maybe), drinking. I suppose if he's really flexible he can pick his nose, but still...

I swear I think I was being punked. (After all, when I got into town, city engineers were busily putting up banners for advertising an event which takes place in September. Okay, so are they really early or really late?) But it doesn't matter, at any moment my hamster-like attention span will kick in and I'll start thinking about other things. Like my previous reference to Flight of the Conchords. Which means I'll think about this. And then I'll think about kebabs. And then I'll think about how I should have eaten lunch a few hours ago. And then I'll go into the kitchen and find a warm Diet Coke that I opened and left on top of the refrigerator at some point. Could have been this morning, could have been a week ago, who knows.

Just another day in paradise.