Coffee Rhetoric: Bus Tales
Showing posts with label Bus Tales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bus Tales. Show all posts

November 28, 2011

This Land Was Made For You And Me...

Post-racial Society: Post-racial Society is a theoretical environment where the United States or other first-world countries in the west, is void of racial preference, discrimination, and prejudice. In the U.S. some Americans believed that the election of Barack Obama as President and wider acceptance of inter-racial marriages signified that the nation had entered this state, while others believe that groups such as the Tea Party movement prove it has not. In January 2010 the Pew Research Center conduced a poll in conjunction with National Public Radio that indicated that 39% of persons of African-American descent felt they were in a better position than they had been five years ago, an increase of 19% from the previous poll taken in 2008. Actor and director Mario Van Peebles made a television documentary titled Fair Game that challenged the idea that the United States had become a post-racial society. --Wikipedia

March 16, 2011

Bus Tale: A Rant

Aside from rolling my eyes at those Negative Nellies and Neds curling up an upper lip to sneer at any number of downtown Hartford's positive steps towards improvement, I've noticed- (for a while now)- another trend amongst Connecticut's resident Hartford booers and hissers... Disdain towards people who take public transportation. While taking the T might seem like a normal occurrence for many a Bostonian and utilizing MTA is par for the course for most New Yorkers, I've found myself constantly needing to defend myself for choosing not to drive, to people from my home state... and why should I have to? I'm a product of the urban landscape and hopping a bus to get to school (especially after having missed the yellow bus) or to get wherever else I need to go has always been a normal part of my life. I've never needed to rely on anyone to take me anywhere I've ever wanted or needed to go. The moment people have noted me needing to dash off to catch the bus they automatically launch into a host of reasons why they can't offer me a ride... shuffling their feet as they express regret ; "Oh, I'd offer you a ride, but I need to go pick up my son/daughter" or "Sorry, I can't drive you, because I've gotta get to my Zumba class, plus I'm not going in that direction."  In which case (after a *blank stare*), I point out to them in a matter-of-fact tone, that I never asked them for one to begin with, much to their dismay... because after having been gently glove-slapped across the face, I've had those very same people DEMAND that I take a ride from them the following week or insist on knowing how I managed to find my way to some social event sans a car. And don't get me started on the dates that have ended on a sour note, because some jerk automatically assumes he'll have to become my personal chauffeur... Umm, really?? If they could be so lucky to be taken on what would make for an interesting and titillating ride ;-p 
One of the primary reasons why I think people here find taking the bus so repugnant has a lot to do with classism. Yes... I said it. Residents currently living or who have grown up outside Hartford's perimeter, in suburban and rural areas either move to Hartford or some equivalent CT city and embrace being able to utilize public transportation or they don't know the first thing about how mass transit functions at all and so will harbor and add to an already discriminatory attitude towards Hartford dwellers, for apparently not only are most of us niggers, spics, drug users, unworthy of happiness, insignificant, sad, incapable, gun toting thugs, uneducatedtrash or whatever other myriad of insults they hurl on the Courant comment boards and amongst their neighbors, but according to the memo (I must've purposely missed it), only CT's lower class/losers/minorities ride the bus, can't afford to drive a car, and are probably unemployed. No  self-respecting employed professional would ever dream of boarding a bus with the riff-raff *(drips with obvious sarcasm)*  EVERYONE should want to drive a car everywhere and MUST enjoy doing it.  It's impractical to take CT Transit. It's a lame system... Notwithstanding that it's still better than many other ones or even exists for that matter... it's still laaame! and so the foolery of the arguments go. 
Once while on a semi-date- (and after the schlub stopped blathering on about his visits to his therapist and how evil his ex-wife was)- I was asked, "What if your mother has an accident and needs to get to the hospital?" I reminded him that my sister lived close by, has a car, and generally most people would probably dial 911 in the event of an emergency. My answer was fruitless and unsatisfactory;  "How do you GET anywhere?" he kept demanding to know... "I get to where I WANT to go without incident. 9 times out of 10, I've no desire to frequent any rural parts of CT. What would be the point? What use would I have for Enfield or Wallingford... Is it hopping out there?" It went back and forth until I grew bored and until I discovered he grew up and still lived somewhere on the shoreline and drove into Hartford for work every morning. Made perfect sense. Not only was he a self-important ignoramus but he had no sense or concept as to how the metropolitan mind works. Furthermore, I opine that those CT residents who have the most contempt for the bus and people who ride it don't understand how to utilize the system and have never taken mass transit in their adult lives. That's my argument and I'm sticking to it. The sole point they try to argue is; that public transit riders are shit out of luck and can't navigate as easily. I say it's just the opposite. I can't count how many people I know, who actually LIVE within the boundaries of Hartford/Hartford County, panic when they're having car troubles. They'll convulse and explode into a sweaty, sticky mass as if they're in the throes of a sugar rush when faced with the prospect of needing to ride the bus... mostly because they don't know how to nor do they understand the way the schedule or routes function. 
Listen, if you want to drive everywhere, be my guest, but don't unfairly judge other people because they choose to bus (or bike) to work or wherever else. Contrary to popular belief, it's an extremely convenient and cost effective way to get around... waiting and all and many people do it because that's their preference. It's no more inconvenient than having to maintain the cost of having a car.  Whether you have faith in mass transit- (and yes sometimes hopping in a car can be convenient)- or not, it still would benefit car seat warmers to at least learn the system "In Case Shit" (© Chris Rock) happens. Not every bus taker needs or even wants a ride from you nor are people who choose to take advantage of public transportation in this state, poor, uneducated bottom feeders (I've seen how some of you act in the comfort of your cars when you think no one's paying attention...).  Rarely ever would you see or experience that level of stereotyping over taking the bus or subway in NYC or any other major city. At the end of the day, when your car gets totaled and you feel lost, confused, and discombobulated over not knowing how you'll get around... what does that make you? Rant over. 

August 29, 2010

Bus Tales: Bums Who Court and The End of Summer

Summer is coming to a close.  Being a free agent sans benefits but without having to commit to the hassle of piss-poor work environs (benefits will come soon… I’m hopeful)- I’ve had the pleasure (but not really in some instances) of working at a myriad of non-profit organizations, which found me taking different bus routes for weeks or months at a time.  Summer’s end also marks the end of the foolatry and fuckery that unfolds during this season’s most sweltering days… which seems to wrap folks up in a tight bear-hug and squeeze it out of them… causing them to act the fool and roam the city’s streets terrorizing the poor, unsuspecting masses.
The bus is no different.  The last most interesting ride found an irate Pop-pop wanting to beat the foolatry out of a “punk in a vest.”  Last week, I found myself evading an unwanted suitor, who hasn't a pot to piss in or a window to toss it out of, who I seem to not be able to avoid, no matter which route I take or which neighborhood I stride around. Spied behind a ubiquitous pair of large, dark shades, on a crowded bus towards the back … I hurriedly sat toward the front and hustled my ear-plugs in, turning up the music… pretending not to hear him “pssting” my name from the back and hitting the DECLINE button when he had the gall to call me ... from the back of the bus.  Alas, to no avail, because he stayed seated, bypassing his own stop waiting for me to get off further down from my usual stop in an attempt to avoid him.  He followed me off and made one last ditch effort to ask me out on a date. "When are we going to get to hang out?" he wondered. Quickly reminding myself that this individual is car-less, has no apparent place of employment or any desire to be gainfully employed at one, and full of shit I replied, "I honestly don't know if that's going to happen anytime soon. Sorry, I'm busy." He opened his mouth to respond to my rebuff, but triumph came in the form of my connecting bus just then.  
Also, apparently, I’m not the only local woman he’s attempting to run his sad, twisted game on.  Women... we talk whilst in the throes networking and becoming acquainted. We have a keen sense of recognition once someone is described. 
Word travels at about 299,792,458 meters per second, the same as the speed of light. So give it up, because your scam is up. No one wants to date a deadbeat in this day and age, where people are trying to come up in this struggling economic climate. If you want to court accordingly, drop the act about working and being in school and stop being mediocre. That is all.  In any event, here is a hodgepodge of conversations overheard on the bus, to close out the summer …
Man, with a black patch over his eye ranting loudly on (and off) his cell phone: “… Bus driver!! Can you stop the bus before you that came?? I left a brown paper bag on there! My ID, money and everything is in that bag!!”  *Editor’s note: Because carrying your ID and money in a brown paper bag is a wise and common thing to do.
Bus driver:  “What was the number of the bus you got off of?”
Eye patch:  “I’ounknow! It was the one that came before you!!” *Editor’s note:  The driver is psychic, so he can automatically determine which and where…
Bus driver, indifferently: “I can’t help you if you can’t tell me the number of the bus you just got off of…”
Eye patch hurriedly gets on the phone, and starts ripping someone named Debra a new one… “This is all your fault!!! If I didn’t go to pick up your damn hairspray, I wouldn’t’ve left the bag on the bus!!!! My ID, your hairspray… EVERYTHING is in that paper bag! Damn man!! I went to pick up YOUR hairspray!!! Look! I’m on another bus now! I’m trying to track it down! Shit! Look, do you want me to come and see you or not???!!!” …
Meanwhile towards the back of the bus, girl with thick Hartford accent opins: “Yeah, she’s a dumb bitch! That’s why I don’t talk to her. It’s not my fault her son’s father calls me! …“
Eye patch, on the phone to a friend: “… Yeah, if I didn’t have to go pick up her hairspray, I wouldn’t’ve lost my damn ID. EVERYTHING is in that bag!! Wait a minute… she’s dating him? That’s not what she told me! She must be lyin’ because when I axed her if she was single, she said she wasn’t involved with nobody. Well, he must be gettin’ punked then.  Or either she lyin’  I mean, I’m not interested in her anyway, but I was just wonderin’ if she had a boyfriend… she claimed she didn’t. …”  *Editor’s note:  Debra would NOT approve. 
The sounds of summer… I laughed, I side-eyed, I threw major shade, I felt like crying, I gagged from the noxious odors emanating from mouths and unwashed bodies… I’m feeling a sense of nostalgia already. …

August 04, 2010

Bus Tales: Punk In A Vest

We are in the throes of summer. The weather has been all over the place... inconsistent in its emotions, much like me. Humid and unbearable one week... Warm breezes, beautiful and tolerable the next... spliced with intermittent rain showers. Needless to say, I've been trying to make the most out of it. Getting around for the Free Cheap, and Fabulous... Jazz In the Park, cheaper than cheap happy hours, so forth and so on. ... I'm making the most of it. Life is sputtering along in dips and waves, but I'm none too worse for wear. The hustle continues and living arrangements have temporarily changed. Different address definitely means a different bus route. ... and so it is without much surprise that I relay how the hazy days of summer brings out the crazy in the masses. ... Eyes are wild and body languages jerk with a frenetic energy, not unlike a Nijinsky ballet. ... 
Commuting from this particular route for the past two months has found me in uncompromising situations... From sitting across from a harried father wiping the putrid, seeping diarrhea from his sleeping toddler's person on a stifling, hot, un-air conditioned bus, driven by a grumpy bus driving bitch, to last week's showcase show down, where a drunken antagonist assumed the Karate Kid position, ready to take down featuring a long, braided, pig-tailed Snoop Dogg circa 1993 wanna-be; on a late, crowded, bus taking afternoon, 'pon me returning from a gig I scored at yet another non-profit. ... Once again I was in the middle... I was worried... I wasn't pleased.
Scene: On a crowded bus, replete with standees... a stumbling man, with questionable dental hygiene plops down directly across from me, and spies low-budget Snoop Dogg antagonist. My assumption is that there's bad blood between the two, because the older, unsteady gentleman immediately goes into hysterics... 
"I'll fuck you up nukka! You're just a punk in a vest!! I'll fuck you up! You don't know me!!!! You ain't nothin' but a fuckin' PUNK IN A VEST!!"
Snoop Dogg Dude: "Nukka, shut the fuck up! I'll fuck you up!!"  So forth and so on... 
Unsteady Pop-Pop: "You're just a punk in a vest!! Don't let these gray hairs fool you nukka!! You gon' respect me!! I'll kill yo' whole generation bitch!!! You don't know me nukka!" 
This is all occurring whilst I'm inconveniently seated in the middle. Unsteady  Pop-Pop stands up, steps to Snoop Dogg dude, and is ready to fight. I, behind a mask of large, dark shades, curse underneath my breath... because if these two men go at it, chances are, I'll be a victim of any and all residual punches and kicks due to where I"m seated. 
The bus driver, A cute, petite, middle-aged Puerto Rican woman pleads, "Guys! Sit down please!! No fighting on the bus! I need you to sit down! You're disturbing the other passengers!!"
The two adversaries are unmoved by the bus driver's plea and continue to assume their fighting stances. 
Finally, a tired woman, undoubtedly exasperated from work, demands that the bus driver pull over at a non-stop so that she can get off, because she is NOT feeling this shit and is not the one; "Bus Driver! Can you pleeeease... Just let me off NOW. I'm am NOT dealing with this!!  I wanna get off!!" she demands. Commiserating, the bus driver obliges... while nervously watching the two men in the bus' rear view mirror. 
Me? My knees start anxiously bouncing up and down. Clutching my handbag and pretend pearls, I'm registering where, exactly, my pepper spray is nestled, in case I become an innocent bystander once these two dudes start swinging. Fortunately, Unsteady Pop-Pop, who was not feeling the "punk in the vest"  live and in effect from my generation, demands that the bus driver lets him off the Hate Ride, between Albany and Vine, because he feels his ire rising to epic proportions!
Without hesitation, she obliges him... all is right in the world of Connecticut Public Transportation. 
I stop feeling around for my pepper spray and exhale ... 

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March 24, 2010

Bus Tales: Umm, Er... I'm not sure

Today's society illustrates that we not only live in a multifaceted world complete with racially ambiguous people, political fence straddlers, and omnisexual revelers, but gender ambiguity factors into this ever increasing equation as well... 
This afternoon, while en route to my mother's house, my interest was initially piqued by the intimate yet loud details of a petite young woman's cell-phone conversation...
"Yeah! I know she's mad I left the apartment on Sumner Street, but I'm sorry, that shit was just disgusting! It smelled like pure DOG! I was like HELL NO! I really don't care!! She has such a nasty attitude. I don't know how she got my fucking cell phone number!! I changed my number for a reason! Don't let me have to give her baby's father her number!! And she wonders why he doesn't wanna deal wit her ass! ... " 
When two teenagers, shoulders bogged down with book-heavy backpacks stumbled onto the bus. Initially I thought they were both young teenaged boys, They both had on the uniform and look typical of most young men living in urban areas... trendy, yet baggy jeans, Timbaland-lite footwear, large polo shirts, caps pulled down low over their heads, and mouths hanging open...thoughts laden with the superficial... no doubt. Bored with petite woman's conversation, I began to listen to the two young men sitting across from me, until I noted the heavier set guy's voice...  His? voice was husky and deep... almost as if its tone were contrived. Intrigued, I looked up and noted he? had extension braids pulled back into a bun at the nape of his? neck and a baseball cap pulled down low... his? eyebrows were also groomed into an arch. He? spoke about girls to his? smaller boned friend... "Yeah, I saw her sitting in class. I was trying to talk to her... It's a good thing there's a such thing as Twitter! " she? laughed to her? friend... who was looking down and busy punching away on his? phone's qwerty keypad. 
Small boned friend wore a striped tube cap pulled down over his? head... and noticeably sparkly studs in each pierced ear. He? was undoubtedly a boy... until he? looked up and out the window and proclaimed in a high-pitched teen girl's voice... "Oh look! That's *insert girl's name here* walking down the street! The one in the pink boots!" 
"Who is that?" his? husky voiced friend asked, looking towards the object of his friend's attention. 
"That's the girl I was telling you about! I was trying to talk to her earlier!" 
I grew more confused, and tried as best as I could to study their features without being overt and rude about it... Small boned went back to busily typing on his... um, her? phone's keypad... on Twitter. "How do you spell 'committed'? Does it have one 't' or two?" 
"Com-mi-TED... One 't' " the huskier one offered, after sounding it out. I cringed and was tempted to interject and say "There're TWO 't's' in committed." but opted to mind my own business. Still intrigued by the fact that I had no clue whether or not either of them had been born girls, I listened to them giggle about their female classmates... notably the ones they thought were the cutest... Then they pulled the wire that rings the bell to stop, for Albany Avenue and departed. 
The moral to this little anecdote is that I guess it doesn't matter. They're being who they choose and want to be... However, I'm still bothered that 'committed' was tweeted incorrectly. That is all. 

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October 21, 2009

Two Boxes of Douches and Snuggle Fabric Softener

Life is still sputtering along. I think I did well on my interview last Wednesday, but only a follow-up phone call will tell if I sold myself well enough. Needless to say, the search continues. And I'm hunting at a feverish pace, as my only other options are relocating, hooking, or relocating to hook. ...
Anyhow, two nights ago, while in my chariot (a.k.a. mass transit), a disheveled, drunkish looking man wearing the whitest pair of sneakers- (they struck a shocking, like-new contrast against his wrinkled black t-shirt, and dirty, faded black jeans)- stumbled on the bus balancing a cell phone against his ear, his fare, a plastic shopping bag, and his sobriety. He stood up front, reassuring whoever was on the other end of his call, that he was "on the bus now" and would "be there soon. bye!"
In awe of his super-white, squeaky clean, new sneakers, I broke my trance and noticed the contents of his bag... two boxes of Summer's Eve douche stacked on top of each other: Vinegar & Water and Island Splash (trust me, those were the varieties he purchased, because I'm familiar with the color code of each type of douche). Leaning against the douche boxes, completing the unusual menage a trois was a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener. I looked back up at the man... week old scruff served as a beard, his eyes were heavily lidded like he knocked back a few, and he leaned his back against a pole at the front of the bus, struggling to maintain his balance. He held on tight to his shopping bag though. Perhaps he needed to dull the pain of having to buy feminine douche and Snuggle, so he drank until he was numb? Just speculating...
Needless to say, I'm still a bit perplexed by what I spied.

July 23, 2009

Bus Tales: Buttcheek Touches Seat

Dearest Blog Diary:
Wednesday was a warm day. While most might say it was beautiful outside, considering all of the rain we've had in Hartford, CT, I found it hot and hazy in most areas in the city. Cities tend to be especially steamy during lazy summer days. I mean, public transportation is a hot bed for errant body odor and various other unpleasantries I want no parts of. What can one do? Nothing... and so I'm usually at peace as I'm sitting there inhaling short spurts of stifling air every so often, between holding my breath for the 10 minute ride.
Downtown, on a connecting bus en route to my mother's house is where I would be lightly slapped in the face by true elegance and sophistication. Two troglodytes in love and smug about it. Initially, as they held one another in a tight embrace (attached like a carbuncle on someone's ass), as they boarded the bus, I had difficultly making out which was male, and which was female. Upon further inspection, I determined the troll in the backwards, bedazzled NY Yankees cap was indeed a he and the the other one with its hair gelled down tightly on its forehead, over its thick eyebrows, and around its ears like a swim cap and rubbing its swelling (pregnant?) belly was a she. Duly noted. They sat tight against one another. She held on for dear life, seductively rubbing the sequins on his cap as she massaged the back of his head. She looked around the bus, whispered in his ear, he quickly scanned his closest surroundings and they both laughed. Are they making fun of people? What nerve!
Eyes, masked behind large dark shades as I sat in the back- (don't Rosa Parks me, it was crowded!)- I watched them. He fidgeted a lot in his seat, slouched, and also wore dark shades. She continued to rub, knead, and whisper while I struggled to hold my coffee down, when I noticed the young woman's face sitting directly across from them and two seats in front of me. I snapped out of my stupefaction and followed her disgusted gaze down towards the man's baggy jeans. They were sagging around his bottom. Now growing up and living in an urban area, I'm familiar with this fashion trend, most commonly associated with young teenaged boys, who have a love affair with showing off their underwear however, what I saw... what would assault these brown, almond shaped eyes were not the man's underwear... oh noooo! What I spied was the brown of his buttcheek. The fact that he was commando wasn't the most vile development, but the fact that his naked butt was making contact with the seat was! Marring an already germ filled communal vehicle even further, where someone else would sit shortly after his departure... with his butt juices.
Blog diary, I honestly don't know what else to say beyond this point, so I'll just end by saying I didn't think summer could get anymore gutterbutt. What did I do to deserve that?
That is all.

May 07, 2009

Les Miserable: A Bus Tale About Peace and Harmony

Sooo -
These past couple of days, my bus rides to work have been relatively peaceful. Benita Butrell hasn't been on recently ... thank goddess. Very good, very gooood. Peace, serenity and... "You need to move your umbrella! If I trip over it I'm gwanna bus' you in your fucking face!!!" Threatened the West Indian woman who walked on all be-scarfed, red with malice and anger, to the the heavy set Latina woman... minding her business and plugged into her IPod. Me? On the inside, I'm like "whoa, whoa, whoaaaa Neeellyyy." Seems many of the bus passengers were exclaiming the same thing with their eyes. A relatively quiet ride suddenly disrupted like a sunny picnic by a bolt of lightning with thunder.
Let's rewind.
This morning was a wet, gloomy rainy one. I recall boarding the bus with relative ease. I didn't trip, I didn't have to step over anything. I sat across from the Latina woman, whose small, purse sized umbrella (of the Totes variety) was nestled tightly on the floor, wedged between her feet. Out of the way, inconspicuous and damp.
I boarded... okaaaay, Regular Joe Schmoe boarded... ooookaaaay.... Young woman boards sans any probs.... ooookaaaaay.....
Angry Jamaican woman boards. NOT okay. She gets on with no apparent problem and sits her ass down. Then suddenly she yells from her seat, in her heavily accented voice- "Your umbrella is on the floor!"
The Latina is looking away, calm and bobbing in time with her music. "Your umbrella is ON THE FLOOR." Crazy yells! Still no response. Finally the Jamaican woman gets up out of her seat, taps the Latina woman on her arm frantically and yells, "I said..."
"I know it's there." the Latina woman answers calmly without unplugging her music, and casually turns away.
The Jamaican woman yells from her seat. The Latina shrugs at her and continues to enjoy her music.
Latina casually turns to the woman and says, "No one will trip. You see it when you get on."
"WHAT BALLS. WHAT A STUPID BITCH" THE Angry Jamaican yells. "Whatever." said the Latina casually. With that, she calmly got up and off at her next stop. I felt like saying to El Pollo Loca, "Bitch be COOL, you're sitting down already, and your crazy ass didn't trip, What the Bombaclaat?? DAMN." But just scowled in her direction instead.
What the HELL? What on earth provoked that unwarranted attack? See, I had my tote bag on the floor of the bus, out of the way, tucked in-between MY feet. What if she decided to direct her venomous, hot garbage at moi? I really commend the Latina woman for her casual indifference. I reeeeally do, because some people simply ask for it. They BEG and PLEAD for it.
What prompts folks to wake up in the early morn and decide to spew their misery onto others??? And so early, pre-coffee. The NERVE!
Anyway, check out this Interesting blog post about about a man's vow to wait 6 months before he kisses a woman. She may have to resign herself to using creams, jellies and toys.

April 30, 2009

Bus Tales: Kindly Shut The Hell Up

Dear Ranting Woman on the 7:55 AM Farmington Ave/Downtown Bus:
Every morning, regardless of whether I want to hear it or not, when I board the bus I can always count on you to go off on some random, loud tirade about any number of topics. None of the dots seem to connect, no one pays attention or responds to you, but you sit there... loud and pretentious with your raggedy, discount bin Beauty Max wig on... hootin' and hollerin' about the minutia. Eyes bugged, mouth twisted as you "hmph" and "tsk" about welfare recipients, how you don't go to work to pay for lazy women who push out "baby after baby", what a great job you think former jailbird Governor John Rowland did implementing whichever program he deemed necessary, so forth and so on. What the hell are you on about lady???
Its barely 8AM in the morning! Many of us are caffeine deprived, harried from rushing out the front door, and chomping at the bit to get to work or to the nearest Starbucks so we can get some delicious, robust java in our systems. We are mentally trying to prepare ourselves for the busy workday ahead of us, but we can't concentrate on our thoughts because you're flapping your gob nonstop. You sit there with a book open on your lap, but never really focusing on its contents, as you run your pie hole about a bunch of trivial B.S. that none of us want to hear, so early in the morning. The banality of your ranting makes me feel uneasy, not to mention it irritates the hell out of everyone else. I saw that man sitting next to you, giving you the side-eye a few mornings ago. He couldn't scramble off of the bus fast enough, when it was his turn to get off. And what about the two women trying to carry on a convo betwixt and between one another, with their indoor voices? You just kept talking over them with your loud, obnoxious, deep monotone. A succession of doo-doo on top of stupidity. Interrupting them. They finally gave up and sat quietly for the remainder of the bus ride, their mouths in tight lines!
Two A.M.s ago, imagine my despair and annoyance when I couldn't untangle my effing ear plugs so I could drown you out with my music! This morning however, I made quick work of detangling and plugging in prior to the bus's arrival. I was ready for you! Lo and behold, as soon as I boarded, you started running your mouth and wagging your be-wigged head, talking about (to no one in particular): "I gotta try to put mahself in a good mood!! Gotta see if I can get in a GOOD MOOD this mornin'!" Lady PLEASE! My fingers could not push the volume button up quick enough to drown out your hot garbage. Also, riddle me this: Why sit there with a damn book open on your lap, if you have no intention of sitting quietly and reading, til your damn stop comes up?? Do you wake up in the morn, look at your dry, haggard reflection, and wonder aloud, "I need to figga out how I'm gon' annoy and disturb the bus passengers taday? What can I ramble on loudly about... Hm, let me see-eee" ???? Methinks you do.
Listen, shut the HELL up, because everytime you go proselytizing and preaching about whatever it is you deem necessary to yell about, you effing put ME in a bad mood, and I have to re-route and reshuffle my own thoughts prior to my arrival at work. I pity the fool co-worker who has be within earshot of your nonsense, because I'm sure your fuckery spills over off the bus and within the confines of your place of employment.
Shut it!

March 05, 2009

Bus Tale and Other Matters

So, I've literally been in bed since Monday evening. I'm sure waiting out in an unexpected, blizzard-like snowstorm for 20 mintues for a bus (before learning there was a 2 hour delay, and I didn't need to be to work until later)- helped aggravate matters, because as the day progressed, my throat got scratchier, my head throbbed more, my annoyance level was at a 20, and my sinuses pulsed and tingled. I hardly ever get sick, so when I do, I may as well be on the cusp of death because it's a feeling unlike any other. All-llll sinus and throat... mostly sinus. I can't think, I can't eat, I feel discombobulated... I just want to crawl into a hole a la like I'm Alice, and stay there until it's all over. It's a sick of epic proportions that makes me moan for my mom! Tired of lying underneath the covers reeking of Vicks Vaporub, I dragged my wrecked carcass out of bed to check email, light some incense sticks, and relay this lovely little Bus Tale that took place on the aforementioned Monday. Perhaps this exacerbated the illness that'd been percolating and weakened my body's defenses even further? I don't know ...
Monday, I headed back out into the horrible weather... properly bundled up, face covered with large shades, and perplexed by the onslaught of snow that hit the East after such cooperative weather! Thankful that I didn't have to wait long for the bus the second time around, it stopped in front of me and I boarded. A troglodyte sitting across from me with, ohhhh... saaay about 4 teeth (I didn't make eye contact with him for too long) looked me up and down lasciviously... "How's it going sistah" he said appreciatively. I mumbled something akin to a greeting, an attempt not to be rude, but a sure sign that I wasn't impressed and didn't want to engage him. He continued to stare, I made sure to keep my shaded eyes averted. "You are veery beautiful. Just the kinda sistah I like." he said in his bestest sexytimes voice. I shot him a disdainful look (hidden by my dark shades), jerked my shoulders in an indifferent shrug and turned away.

"I'm sure you're just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside though..." he continued.

I didn't respond... well, okay, my mouth tightened into a sneer. The bus ride was quickly turning into the longest 5 or 10 minutes I'd ever had to endure. When my stop finally approached, I quickly pulled the lever and stood up before it came to a complete stop... anxious to get the eff off. Much to my chagrin, my yuck-mouthed admirer got off at the same stop... He continued on with his disgusting and unwelcome courtship...
"You alright sistah..." he continued. "Yup!" I yelled over my shoulder as I jumped over a high snow bank (in record time... unheard of!). "Oh, I figured you needed help over the snow bank or somethin'" he said as he looked on lecherously. "Nope!" I said quickly as I made a beeline across the street... away from him.
"Alright then!" he yelled after me. "I'm gonna dream about you tonight!!!" he threatened. I ran faster.
So now here I am... home in bed... sick and blowing demonic and unmentionable things from the depths of my sinuses ... Yup. It's definitely the troglodyte's fault!

November 29, 2008

Bus Tales: Black Friday

Oh yes. It is the return of Bus Tales indeed. I've never really paid much attention to the day after Thanksgiving so aptly dubbed Black Friday. See, while I can appreciate an excellent deal, and love sales more than the next spender, I'm not a shopaholic. In fact, I hate shopping and do it online in the quiet sanctity of my home, pants optional. I cannot stand large crowds or places where massive groups of people congregate, and so I avoid places like parades, festivals, strip malls on the weekend, crowded elevators (if I can), buses packed to capacity (sometimes I have no choice), and spaces of the like.
INTRO: Friday, Early AM- Late Afternoon
Yesterday, my sisters were up at 4:30AM primed and ready to go huntin' for great post-Thanksgiving deals. I turned over and went back to sleep on my mother's chaise lounge. As the day progressed, I rocked back and forth, going through cell-phone withdrawal, because I lost mine last Saturday. I felt discombobulated (I've grown so attached) and cut off from the rest of society without it, but I sat and lazed about... procrastinating over having to go out into this Black Friday world where folks were getting stomped to death by crazed lunatics trying to purchase $300 computers and being shaken down by sneaky perps lying in wait, ready to rob happy shoppers swinging their bags in the crisp, autumn air. It was late in the afternoon, and my sisters still hadn't arrived.
I waited. And pissed around. Procrastinated. Waited... before finally deciding to go shower. Bathed and freshly scrubbed, I still did eff all. I effed around on my mom's computer. I ate more Thanksgiving desserts, while web surfing and emailing folks back and forth. Finally at around 3ish, my sisters returned. Frazzled and spent. I slowly got up from the computer and shuffled around deciding it was now or never. I figured the bulk of the crowd had probably dissipated. My mother shook her head at my late start. I shrugged at her. Needless to say, the mall was besieged by manic shoppers, large baby carriages, and mischievous teenagers meeting to do who knows what. I saw the diablo in everyone's eyes. I weaved in and out of bodies, trying hard to duck heavy, swinging shopping bags... throbbing and bursting at the seams from marked down merchandise! I suddenly felt faint. Faces started to bleed together, eyes became large and black, no whites to speak of. I started to sweat in that hot mall and undid the top button to my coat. My kneecaps started to go numb. I knew T-Mobile was just around the corner and I hung on for dear life as I forced my legs to work at a feverish pace so I could do my business and get the fuck out of there.
Needless to say, the BUS ride to the mall and back was just as harrowing...
The bus was packed to capacity. I sat there in my seat as standees weaved unsteadily in front of me. Afraid that someone might fart in my face, step on my foot, or fall in my lap, I clutched my purse tighter. I put my leather gloves on. I took them off. One talkative guy sporting a plaid ivy cap, backpack and a limp arm (with a hand that had loooooong nails) who'd tried to engage me in conversation earlier at the bus stop about his early shopping experience, stood up front and ran his mouth to the bus driver (an attractive, full-figured, middle-aged Black woman) about a wide array of interesting topics. They included but aren't limited to: his taste in women, his dark side, how he was writing a book on numerology, philosophers, his temper, his aversion to spicy women and how they gave him heartburn, his preference for MILD women, more about his dark side, how he was a true artiste who had to go to school for it and hated anyone with natural talent and no passion, the 8 Guinness stouts he drank during Thanksgiving, a cat he had named Baby who knew how to doo-doo in the toilet and used to lick his face and massage his back, and subjects of the like. He went on and on.
Suddenly, I noticed a rather slight man running alongside the bus and then finally in the street, risking the risk of getting hit in the process. The bus driver cursed him before deciding to pull over and stop for him. Breathless and toothless, he complained about her not stopping initially... she told him to shut the hell up and be thankful that she stopped because she "didn't have to" and to stop "figuring" (he said he figured she didn't want to stop for him) and sit down somewhere. He kept muttering. "You're STILL complaining," the driver noted, in disbelief. He laughed, embarrassed at being scolded and squeezed up front with the rest of the standing bodies. I kept my eyes averted to the floor of the bus. Trying desperately not to give in to PSIS. The bus jerked forward, then stopped for a woman with a thick West Indian accent and close cropped hair, which she wore in a natural. She squeezed on and engaged the driver, the man with the limp arm, and the toothless complainer in a spirited conversation about Thanksgiving, the curried coat she said she'd made for herself, her divorce, and her upcoming Christmas trip to Jamaica.
"Oh, I wish I was going there!" the toothless man said excitedly. "Now Jamaican women are HOT!!!" he continued.
The limp arm man chimed in, agreeing. The West Indian woman chuckled with satisfaction. She turned to show her appreciation, unfortunately and much to my chagrin (because I'd been looking at the back of her head through the sea of standing bodies)- she was the exception. Weeell, the woman was attractive in that avante-garde Wandaesque (from In Living Color) but not as extremely fugly way, if you're into that, definitely no Grace Jones though. She had on a nice, stylish warm down coat, however and her accent was nice. She made her way off when her stop came up and bid the front of the bus revelers adieu. Still amped, the toothless man continued to cackle and talk about women with Limp Arm... suddenly an unused crack needle fell out of his pocket. No one seemed to notice but me. Due to my neuroses (read: keen eye), I always tend to note the minutiae. I was riveted and enthralled by the crack tool. I looked at the needle then back at Toofus. I looked across at a guy with black rimmed eyeglasses (and equally as amused by the cracktacular goings-on up front)- to see if he had noticed. He seemed caught up in the rapture of the conversation unfolding up front, so I don't think he did. I stared back at the crack needle. See, judging from Toofus's skinny build (he said he was 140 pounds during parts of the animated chatter), piss poor dental hygiene, and over excited demeanor I was 110% certain he wasn't a diabetic. He cackled, his body shook. He appeared antsy. Suddenly he caught my gaze, looked down and finally noticed he'd dropped the host to his lil piece of crack heaven on the floor. He hurriedly picked it up and nervously shoved it back in his jeans pocket without missing a beat. I smirked. This time he shoved it deep down, ensuring it was nestled and safe in the confines of his pocket. His stop finally came up, he quickly said his goodbyes and pushed off taking one last, brief look at me.
We'd finally made it to the mall, where I struggled and elbowed my way towards my destination...
The bus ride back to my mother's house was relatively normal until the bus picked up passengers from Vine Street, sometime after 7:20pm. One guy under the influence stumbled on, he stood up front fidgeting inside his coat picket. "I got my bus card driver, I ain't tryin' to get a free ride," he promised. "You can sit down and look for your card," the driver advised and lurched forward. The man stumbled up front, right across from me and next to an extremely large man in a red Salvation Army apron (one of the annual holiday bell ringers stationed outside major spots trying to raise money for the organization, no doubt). " 'Scuse me" Drunk Puss said to the man, who moved over, allowing Drunky more space. He continued to fiddle for his bus card. He looked across at me. I turned away quickly and closed my eyes. "Hey Miss!" I pretended not to hear. Kept my eyes closed. " 'scuse me, MISS!" ... my eyes stayed closed. "MISS!!" I finally opened my eyes and slowly turned in his direction. "I like your boots!" I blinked lazily at him. Disinterested. "They're so shiny, and nice, and full of goodness..." I turned away from him and closed my eyes once more. He continued to spout a bunch of ridiculous and drunk banter as he dug 'round for his bus pass... A man with a cane (who smelled like a booze fiesta) also stumbled on and plopped down next to me- (Liquor, meth and crack must've been marked down as well, because folks under the influence were out in droves). Drunk Puss was apparently familiar with the new passenger, stood up to greet and fell on top of the old man, knocking into my shoulder in the process. I sighed heavily, irritated, and squeezed my eyes shut tighter, and put my hand over my face to block the pain of this circumstance out. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Drunk Puss said to his acquaintance.
"I love you man, but not THAT much."
He found his bus pass and FINALLY made his way up to settle his fare. He plopped back down and caused some more drunken damage. Finally the bus driver jerked forward and pulled over to the side of the road. He switched on the light up front. Sighing and anxious to get home, I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, annoyed by the slight delay. I heard the driver whispering on the emergency phone. Probably about Drunk Puss, to a supervisor. A preemptive measure perhaps? He sat there for about five minutes, " 'scuse me driver, is there a PROBLEM!" Drunk Puss yelled up at him. The driver didn't answer. "Hm. Should I get OFF??" he yelled. Someone from the back of the bus answered, "Yes!" Passengers snickered.
The resident drunk passenger finally stumbled off shortly after the driver took off, much to everyone's delight. I'm starting to truly understand WHY the day after Thanksgiving is called Black Friday. It is undoubtedly a dark, scary experience. I'm none too worse for wear, however. And am furnished with a new cell phone to replace the lost one. I did this all for technology. ...

August 26, 2008

School's in Session

How do I know? Because, despite the fact that I took an earlier bus to work, I still managed to be ten minutes late. Seems my bus got caught behind a stagnant school bus's flashing STOP sign, every other block! And once the children are settled and seated on the school bus, you know the driver has to fucking sit there for an additional five minutes, just to spite morning rush hour commuters, and to go "nah nah nah nah nah nah" over the fact that traffic HAS to stop when a school bus driver's STOP sign comes out.
I also noted the young hellions waiting at their respective stops. Faces greeeazed up and glistening. Scrubbed of this summer's funk and muck. School uniforms pressed new school bags slung over their shoulders as they waited to be picked up... reluctant yet hopeful looks on their faces. One kid looked downright distraught. As if he weren't quite ready yet. Needless to say, I do NOT miss those days. While some students' start date is this week, others begin the stresses of academia next week. I have been and will be avoiding the mall at all costs! Nothing worse than the school shopping rush! Wall-to-wall bodies taking up every inch of the mall. Parents sucking their teeth at indecisive and petulant tweens. Teenagers cutting their eyes at their mothers for not letting them purchase those $200 Citizens of Humanity jeans. I'd rather wait my turn.
As far as the Condo I Covet goes, progress has stalled. Par for the course unfortunately. See, the universe and the forces that be, seem to have it in for me. Contentment, PEACE never comes sans attached strings! I don't have it that easy. Some people are simply lucky bitches, others have to fight, beg, and plead for a little luck. For a tiny break. For some good karma. So in the meantime, I'm back to pounding the pavement (so I'll have a back up plan)- until I hear the good (or fucked up) word. My sanity is contingent on my settling into a place of my own again, and having some semblance of stability.

August 11, 2008


Today, the weather was this strange amalgamation of rain, humidity, cool air, and sun. While the humidity wasn't oppressive as there was enough cool air to present a healthy balance, I was overheating, however. I've always had a tendency to overheat, which is why my body doesn't respond well to any level of humid air... low, moderate, or high. I pick up on it right away. I remember once, as an adolescent, urinating and seeing steam come out of the toilet bowl. I was mortified. I thought something was terribly wrong with me! Or the one time, in high school, I tried to be a good humanitarian and donate blood to the American Red Cross... but couldn't because I had a temperature. I sat there for about 45 minutes eating free cookies and sucking down several small boxes of cold grape juice, a desperate bid to lower my temperature... to no avail. I still had a slight temperature. And the woman who took my temperature shrugged and said, "Sorry, we can't allow you to give blood." "But I'm not sick!" I exclaimed. Dejected, I shuffled out of auditorium, jealous of the people walking around school that day with I Gave Blood stickers worn proudly on their shirts. I felt like a rejected applicant from an exclusive club.
Today my body heat overwhelmed me. I sweated, I fanned myself, I splashed cold water on my face, stuck my head underneath the powerful new hand dryer installed in the restroom at work. Nothing. Seems the older I get, the hotter I feel. I am NOT looking forward to menopause.
Anysteam, while on the bus ride home, I sat directly in front of a woman who yapped on her mobile phone incessantly and loudly. Which only exacerbated my body's rising temperature- (perhaps this was psychological, but the more agitated I grew by this woman's intrusive behavior on my solitude, I swear the hotter I became)- I hastily stuck my ear buds in and turned up the music uploaded on my cell phone's mp3 player. I felt triumphant... until a warm cloud of toxic air wafted up front and bitch-slapped me on my left cheek.
Not only was the woman running her gob loudly right behind me ... but her breath reeked of a pile of hot, steaming shit. No other way to describe it. Suddenly the chocolate and coffee cheese cake I scarfed down from the Cheesecake Factory right before leaving work, started rumbling in the pit of my stomach and threatened to spew forth, like brown tidal wave all over the guy nursing his crutches in front of me. Fortunately I choked it down and held it together. Thoughts of Scwhepps Ginger Ale and hot chai tea danced in my head.
Finally Dragon Breath got ended her conversation and got off the bus. Those were the longest ten minutes I've ever had to endure.
On a totally separate and unrelated note, I'm interested in reading this book...

April 08, 2008

In Which Coffey Learns

During these stuffy sinused, work filled and busy days, I've finally had the opportunity to reflect on conversations heard whle out and circumstances I've run across. I've been taken to school, if you will. Inadvertent lessons taught to moi. As my ears pop and my nasal passages clear up, I'm suddenly awash in a brilliant sea of clarity. I've realized, in this current cult of personality, that people will simply continue to be themselves in all their loud, stank, uncouth glory. Bad, ugly, unhygenic, and overwhelmingly raunch. This much I know is true. I realize that people have no qualms about boarding the bus, early in the AM, taking their seat, and then breathing heavily... their breath reeking of jungle rot or hot garbage on a particularly humid day. I can sit here and ask the universe whether it's too much to ask or wish for certain people to floss, brush or scrape their tongue, gargle and take it to the back, perhaps pop a mint before venturing out into the world... But why bother? The answer is yes, it is too much to ask. And so I suffer silently. Fate decreed that this is the cross I must bear sans questions. I also learned while en route to the mall (on the bus of course)- this past Saturday, that a young Hispanic lass I'll call Romeo (all of maybe 16 years old) was headed in my direction to meet Lissette. Lissette, apparently, was going to meet Romeo at the mall, so that he could "fuck her." ... "Yeah," proclaims Romeo to his buddy, "Lissette's gonna meet me there so I can fuck her." To which his friend replied with a spitty chuckle/chortle combo. Ahhh, I learn something new every single day. Is this what young people do now? Do they have trysts at the mall?? Whatever happened to sitting in the dark, at the back of the theater? Or going to the park after dusk? Folks our future depends on these very same young people. In which case, I'd rather not be cryogenically frozen. I'll just go head and rot. I also learned that a mall is NOT the place to be on a Saturday afternoon, with a sinus infection. It was hot, it was extremely crowded, and I couldn't concentrate for I found myself wondering about Romeo and Lissette. I didn't want to run into them in some sort of compromising position. Speaking of young people, I also learned that in their quest for fame, they like to videotape themselves beating the living daylights out of some poor unsuspecting victim, in hopes of uploading it on YouTube. Yup, don't freeze me, just burn me and throw my ashes in the nearest ocean. Life's little lessons can be a bit overwhelming when swallowed whole sometimes. Now pardon me while I go wait for my food to digest ...

February 01, 2008

Bus Tales: Miguel

This Friday was a long and tiring day. I'm convinced that once Friday comes, we're put through the ringer on purpose by some antagonistic force, as a way to make us EARN the luxury of relaxing, after having made it through another tedious work week. The day drags on, there's one annoying occurrence after another, your feet hurt, headaches abound, and no amount of watching the time will make it go any faster. You're stuck. You simply must ride the wave until you're finally washed ashore, gasping from its impact. Speaking of washed ashore, it also rained buckets, like a pregnant woman does right before she gives birth. It was chilly, wet, dreary and gray. Making today even longer and more harried.
In any event, I got my favorite and most comfortable pair of boots repaired. Shoe repairmen and makers impress and fascinate the hell out of me. I'm always stoked when I go pick up a pair of shoes that I've taken in to be repaired at a relatively low price. It's like buying brand new shoes. Of course my favorite part of the transaction is seeing the satisfaction on the repairman's face, as you exclaim, "Wow! They look great! Thank you!" as he nods knowingly. In any event, I braved the element called rain to go get them. I simply couldn't wait until Monday. I wore them home. The bus ride home was equally as tedious, in addition to crowded, long, and wet... but oh so amusing. Let me explain...
A harried Hispanic man with is head shaved completely bald, clad in light wash jeans (very late 80's, early 90's), and a thin hooded jacket boarded the bus holding an open can of Coke. Rather than sit down, he stood next to the driver and directly in front of me rambling on in a gravelly voice... in Spanglish to the bus driver. The conversation went as follows...

"Mira! You goin' to Garden Street?" Bus driver (also Hispanic) nods. Then asks him in English where he needs to get off at. Agitated, the man then launches into some strange (and extremely comical) story about his roommate Miguel. He says some other things in Spanish before loudly exclaiming, "Man, I just got back from Home Depot! I had to go cash my check and go all da' way to Home Depot because my roommate Miguel, he left me with $1001 in back rent!!" He mutters some other things in spanglish to the driver. "My roommate just escaped from the convalescent home and everything and the cops came lookin' for him, right? The cops kicked in my door man! Lookin' for Miguel. I told them he wasn't here! They had the nerve to tell me I hadda pay a hundred dollas to replace that door that THEY kicked in!!"

Bus driver mutters something I can't hear because I've got my face buried in my coat, trying to hide my smirk. Miguel's roommate complains,
"I said, how come I gotta pay it!! I didn't kick it in! Ya'll kicked in my door and now I gotta pay?? Man, I went to Home Depot and bought everything I needed. I bought a new lock, the cement (or whatever he said) to make it hard... I said I'll fix it mahself! I paid forty dollas for all that stuff! I fixed the door myself!" They came kicking in MY door, I said Miguel ain't here. I live here. This is MY apartment. I pay the rent!"
"Yo, they kicked in my door. I fixed everything but the lock. THEN they told me I gotta pay fifty dollas to replace the lock!"

"You know, Miguel he's, he's 62 years old and he escaped from the convalescent home, and they lookin' for him 'cause they said he suicidal! He's got a lotta pro'lems!"

"Yo, so look... *insert more spanglish*... then Miguel had the nerve to come ova' to MY place, breakin' up my mailbox and shit... so I took pictures of him, you know, destroying my mailbox, then I beat his ass down! I kicked his ass!"
"I got arrested for assault! I was like, look! Mira! He came over destroying MY property, so you know, I showed them the pictures I took on my phone, of Miguel trashing and breaking up my mailbox and shit. So they reduced the charge to disturbing the peace! I hadda go to court and they just gave me a PTA (whatever that means) and that's all. But still. They still lookin' for Miguel. Alright man, gracias!"
Then he proceeds to grab his open can of Coke, flick his hood up on his bald head, hunched his shoulders in response to the wintry chill, and descended the stairs, thereby concluding the embattled tale of Miguel. ...


October 31, 2007

Keeping a List

This past week coupled with this present week has been rather interesting, to say the least. For 3 consecutive days in a row, I've slept under a full moon... literally hovering o'er my head, just outside my window, In all its resplendent glory. I don't know if my moon has anything to do with the strange haps, but I'm convinced that I'm the only one who proceeds through life as if I'm an unwilling cast member in some Twilight Zone episode. Let's explore this short (but indelible) diary of occurrences. Shall we? Oh let's!
Saturday, 5:15PM:
As I was walking from the bus stop in front of Bushnell Park, en route to my apartment building a couple of blocks away, a shuttle driver pulls over and implores me to hop on for a free ride. I told him I was only mere inches away from my building, but he insisted. He said he wanted to "kidnap" me, so I rode the loop downtown with him. During the course of the ride, he suggested that I take some of the brochures from off the dash to read about the latest and greatest the city was offering. I obliged him, fully aware of his motivation. I stood up quickly, snatched some literature up, and sat down just as quickly. Seconds later, Driver would remark, "I just wanted you to stand up, so I can look," to which I remarked dryly, "I know. I figured I'd humor you, and let you get a quick peek. " Embarrassed and surprised by my response, he chuckled and said nothing more.
Monday, mid-Afternoon:
The Fire Marshall is scheduled to come test the museum's fire alarm system. It's difficult for him to focus on the matter at hand, because he finds my scent alluring. So alluring in fact, that he keeps sidling next to me and sniffing me. Deep inhalations of breath. While the few who notice, stand by, looking flummoxed by his behavior. He suggests that I work behind a cage, because men such as himself, are likely to pounce on me for smelling so good. I shrug indifferently. And manage a tight smile... or was it a grimace? His task complete, the Fire Marshall heads out and on his way. But not before walking over to where I'm working for one last, hearty sniiiiiiiiifffffff.
Wednesday, 9:15 AM, This Hallow's Eve:
As I'm standing at the bus stop, a white man (attractive and rather sane looking) around my age walks by me, towards the Holiday Inn Express... on his cell phone. Not finding what or who he seems to be looking for, he heads back in the opposite direction from whence he came but not before stopping and telling me how much he likes my shoes. In fact, the conversation went as follows ...
  • Perv: Hi, I really like your shoes. They're so hot.
  • Me (hiding behind large, dark shades): Thanks
  • Perv: They're smokin' Hot. They're so sexy. Listen, I'm sorta into shoes. Well... I have a bit of a shoe fetish.
  • Me: Do you, now?
  • Perv: Yes. Um, actually, can I take a picture of your shoes. They look so hot.
  • Me: No.
  • Perv: Please? I really like them. They look so hot on you. I would love to take a picture of them.
  • Me (considering an asking price): Umm. No.
  • Perv: Okay. Sorry to bother you. Have a great day. Bye!
Until this morning, I honestly didn't think my existence and interaction with the male populace could get any stranger. ...

August 21, 2007

Parents Gone Wild

Dear New Age and Young Mothers Who Ride Public Transportation:
I don't mean to sound rude, insensitive or grouchy, but as someone who has no children I feel compelled to speak out on the behalf of childless singles like myself who navigate your world. Yes, I've chosen to appoint myself unofficial spokeswhore because I know deep down inside, similar minds feel the exact same way. This comment thread on this blog pretty much indicates as much. And this article illustrates the universality of the problem. I see the looks of slight agitation briefly cross faces as victimized passengers board the bus (particularly in the morning). Why are they, we agitated? Because many parents (young parents especially) have no consideration for the rest of the general populace trying to get from point A to point B. I cross your paths each time I step foot in a mall (love how you bogart the aisles in Claires), restaurant, or cafe. My mouth puckers with distaste when you all come into the museum where I work ignoring the rules and the fact that other patrons are trying to enjoy the museum's offerings, or into a clothing store where I'm trying to concentrate or maneuver my way around, but can't because you're in the way with strollers and steadfastly refuse to move, or I'm being knocked into and jostled about near the clothing racks by ripping and running 4 or 5 year olds, much to the chagrin of the shop girls as you continue to browse, indifferent and undaunted. Enough is enough! I have to put my foot down at least where the bus is concerned. I try to be understanding in regard to such matters. I really do but, the sign on the bus POLITELY READS that you're supposed to fold or collapse your bulky strollers before you board. For your safety and for the rest of ours. Not to mention you're blocking the aisle, hindering other passengers from finding a seat or even getting beyond the front. Do you take heed or care? Noooo. You all defiantly leave your carriages open, obstructing the bus aisle because you feel some sense of entitlement! Because even though the driver may remind you to fold the carriage, he can't force you to or boot you off. Don't think I don't notice the looks on your faces... daring or challenging anyone to protest or ask you to please excuse them as they desperately try to squeeze by and take a seat, before the bus lurches forward. I see you roll your eyes if the driver does, in fact, remind you of the rule. People like myself put up with a lot! We smile empathetically in your direction when your unruly toddlers screech and scream shrilly on the bus and on planes. Arching their bodies as you try to hold them in place. We turn around and smile at you pleadingly when the backs of our chairs are kicked over and over again. Hard. But to know avail, because you do nothing about it. Well, I implore you all to at least show some effing courtesy where public transportation is concerned! I did not appreciate, for the second consecutive day in a row this week, having to stumble my way by your bulky stroller(s) that blocked the aisle, as you sat comfortably in your seat. Watching me teeter on heels, balancing coffee, a large tote bag, and my oversize purse... squeeeeezing and trying in vain, not to knock other passengers in the face with my cargo. You've no manners. You may argue that it's difficult and too complex a task to be bothered with holding a baby, and collapsing a stroller at once. Hey guess what? It's just as difficult trying to maneuver around some large, industrial sized carriage, blocking the bus aisle... particularly when crowded. You know what else? You should collapse the stroller BEFORE the bus appears at your stop or plan accordingly if you're traveling with baby and carriage in-tow. Rest assured, both our mornings (afternoons and evenings) will be a little less stressful and hate filled.
xoxo Coffey

August 17, 2007

Delusions of Grandeur

I'm someone to aspire to or towards rather. Who knew? All this time, I've been lamenting over having the worst karma of anybody in the nation, only to learn that someone considers me a gem. See, this morning I lugged a backpack, my tote bag, my sunglasses, and a cup of coffee down the street. A balancing act I struggled to conquer and win. I fought to open and then put on my shades with one free hand. I finally had to stop in order to accomplish that particular task, because I kept jabbing myself in the eye and mouth with said shades' handles. Needless to say, I made it up the street to the bus stop, shades on face and coffee still in-tow. I won the battle. Not a drop of hot coffee seared its way through my slacks, burning my ample thigh. I felt triumphant. Anyway, two other men were standing there when I approached the stop. One of them greeted me (before telling his partner to "look out" under his breath so he would move out of his and my way so as not to er block?), "Hello beautiful, how are you this morning?" I responded by mumbling "Good morning" with something akin to a smile, but was more like a sneer. Either way, it sufficed. I stood a couple of feet away from the men, and because I'm not particularly fond of myself, I listened to my greeter talking rather loudly to his acquaintance (and also cursed myself for forgetting my MP3 player at work) ...
"...Yeah, yeah. I was wondering what happened to you! I didn't see you at work for the past couple of dayz! Yeah..."
I couldn't hear what dude numero dos was mumbling, because my ambitious greeter proceeded to hijack the discussion, blithering away rather boisterously. He continued...
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! I'm trying to get me a little something better. Trying to find me a job so I can get me a little something like that. (juts his chin in my direction) Here what I'm sayin'?"
*sigh* I didn't hear dude numero dos's response. I was just glad to see my bus making its way down the street. I honestly didn't know whether to feel flattered, amused, or disturbed. It's official. I have DOUCHE MAMA stamped on my forehead. No amount of exfoliating will remove it, or so it seems.

August 03, 2007

Bus Tales: The Crazy

Yesterday was a scorcher. It was one of those hot days that made you sweat even if you were standing still. The concept of there being shade was nonexistent. There was no escape from the heat. I swear that my blinking made beads of sweat form on my forehead. So I tried to do it from behind my large sunglasses sporadically, as I hate to sweat. One interesting thing I noticed is that oppressive heat tends to bring what I refer to as The Crazy out in full force. It's like night of the living dead. Walking corpses trudging down the street with glazed-crazed looks in their eyes.
Several years ago, while en route to a gallery exhibition, a friend's car broke down in a questionable neighborhood. That day stands out in my mind as if it happened only yesterday because it was in the middle of the afternoon, and it felt as if it was a thousand degrees. I remember having to remove my watch because any thing that made contact with my sweaty skin made the heat that much more unbearable. We sat there for almost two hours, after having pushed that heap of junk over to the side of the curb (it broke down smack dab in the middle of the street, at a green light). We sat, and we sat, and we sweated, and sat. No air conditioner, no cold beverages. Just the windows rolled down, to no avail because there was no wind to speak of. Suddenly a shirtless man ran down the street, right by the car, waving a rather large knife in the air. Yelling and cursing. At first I thought the heat was making me hallucinate but alas, my mind was not playing tricks on me. I remember sweat trickling, glistening down his brown back as he ran like a crazed lunatic, ready to cut a mofo. Needless to say, we quickly rolled the windows up in that hot car, locked the doors, hunkered down with alarm and fear and with 'O' mouths, we said a silent prayer to ourselves. After having mouthed a collective "What the EFF??" Anyway, her parents finally came and rescued us in an air conditioned car. We never made it to that exhibit. I did go home and write a poem about it though.
So yes. yesterday it was that kind of crazy inducing heat. I boarded the bus and it was a relatively quiet ride, until this visibly drunk (or drugged up?) man boarded from a stop on Albany Avenue... stumbling and full of The Crazy. See, people afflicted with The Crazy always seem to single me out at some point during one of their spells. So I hastily put my ear plugs in and turned up the ol' MP3 player (not that that ever helps). He ranted and raved. Stumbled down the aisle, yelling for "change for a dollar!" He made his way to the back. Because I hate myself, I paused my MP3 player to listen and heard him slurring his way through some incoherent anecdote to some young girl in the back. Something having to do with a White woman being on her cell phone and her legs splayed... wide open. I think I heard him refer to the white woman by some unsavory name. The young girl in the back chuckled nervously, in that "please go awaaaaay" fashion. Unfortunately he stumbled his way back up towards the front and continued ranting. I rolled my eyes, silently hoping he wouldn't say anything to me. There was a young man about 19 or 20 years old, with cornrowed hair sitting next to me... sort of perpendicular actually. He looked annoyed as well. Man afflicted with The Crazy sat directly across from Cornrows. I forgot to mention that I had a large Panera Bread bag sitting next to me in the seat. I heard Man Afflicted yell in my direction: "YOU NEED HELP WIT' DAT BAG!!!" I ignored him and turned the music up louder. "HEY! EXCUUUSE ME. HEY! I SAAAAAID, DO YOU NEED HELP WIT DAT BAG!!!" I continued to ignore him, and stare out the window. Out of my peripheral view, I saw him lean closer... "NO!" I said quickly and turned away. "WHY?? You don't need help?? FINE THEN. Who CARES" and he proceeded to try to cuss me out, but his poisoned brain matter made his thoughts disjointed. His coded language indecipherable. "YOU CAN DO WHAT'CHU WANT!!!" He continued. Just then, Cornrows muttered, "You need to leave that junk alone and stop bothering people." "What?!" Man afflicted challenged. A bit taken aback. "I said, leave that junk alone" Cornrows repeated. "Maaan, I ain't oon no junk. I was just trying to be nice and ask her if she needed help with her bag! I ain't on no junk! She can go 'head. I don't care!" "Man, shut up" Cornrows said. Man afflicted started muttering something about Louis Farrakhan. *sigh* Who knows? Who cares? Why me? Luckily my stop came up shortly thereafter. But I do know that Cornrows' verbal smite towards Man Afflicted with The Crazy was a welcome reprieve.

April 28, 2007

Bus Tales: The Tell-Tale Toofs

This past Friday, as I boarded the A3... en route to work I noticed it was more crowded than usual. Unfortunately and much to my chagrin, I had to be a standee. I turned and scanned the passengers, seeing if I could spy an empty seat... noting that a few jackasses were merely taking up seat space with their cargo. Shrugging, I decided not to bother and decided to be fine with standing. Now, I realize a lot of times when composing these particular tales, I relay just how unsavory the A.M. (and P.M. in some cases) smells are when I board the bus... the stale, wet potato chip, dank basementy, bad breath stench that swaths me in a shower of stank. Unfortunately I have a sensitive nose that's sensitive to unpleasant odors, and sniffs them out like a police pooch sniffs out hidden crack dens and marijuana gardens. Such is my woe, nothing was out of the ordinary in that regard hence, this bus tale lamentation. In any event, I pursed my lips and accepted the unpleasant wafts of b.o. for I knew I didn't have a long trip to endure. Suddenly, the bell tolled and several people got off in front of The Hartford financial/insurance company on Asylum Avenue, which left several seats free. I hurriedly made my way to a seat towards the middle, and plopped my ample behind and purse down behind a woman, wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt. Suddenly, said woman turned around... nose turned up her nose in distaste... looked at me and complained, "you smell like mint CANDY or MINT or something..." as she sniffed her dissatisfaction with my minty fresh ( and ripe for making out) breath! Startled, bemused, and annoyed, I scowled at her with my best "bitch please" look. She continued to leer at me, like she wanted me to give her an explanation as to WHY my breath smelled so minty, so early in the A.M. I pursed my lips as if to say "turn around" ... She did. I couldn't help but notice during this weird standoff that her breath wasn't so minty fresh, and I'm 110% certain I spied all of three teeth (or toofs) ... making up an macabre and incomplete grill.