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back to the metro bus V

My mom finally called me this morning, "I worry about you when you don't post for a few days! Plus, I want to hear the end of the story."

Well mom, the truth of it is that part of the story is pretty much wrapped up. The bus came and took me to my destination. I didn't go home. I went to a friend's house and let myself in. When she saw me standing above her bed when she knew damn well I was working at that time she knew something hadn't gone as planned.

"Can I just lay down with you for awhile before I tell you what happened?" I asked, pathetically.

"Of course," she said, and made excellent bed company of herself, by rubbing arnica ointment on my knee and chest when the whole tale finally came out in gulps.

The bus got me to her house, just as many busses have got me to where I needed to go in the past couple of weeks. It turns out that the bus is not always convenient...on Sundays it really sucks rocks and I have to practically ride it all damn day, but it does work, and I have been getting a lot of reading done.

I really started this new "metro" category because I knew that once I started riding the bus again, I was going to have some new fascinating stories to tell about the craziness that is the King County Metro Bus System.

So far, nothing really to speak of. Just uncomfortable benches and a lot of waiting...but allow me to relate another story of past bus excitement:

Years ago, back before I ever had a car, I was riding the bus downtown during the daytime, really the most interesting time to ride the bus. I was sitting near the back, in the first set of front-facing seats after the wide open area in the back of the bus. The bus stopped at 3rd and James and this wild eyed black lady got on the bus, clearly high on crack or glue or something really drastic...talking to herself and getting all excited about something that no one else could see, as well as barking at other passengers.

The reason I say that she was black is because this story is a little bit about race. It was so amazing the difference between how the white people on the bus and the black people on the bus related to her. The white people on the bus all stared stiffly ahead, sneaking glances at the crazy woman, but doing nothing that might attract attention.

The black people on the bus all immediately and directly related to both her, and each other. There were three young black boys of about eight sitting all the way in the back of the bus and they were guffawing loudly, pointing and making fun of her. "AHHHHHH-ha-ha, she crazy!"

A lady in the forward facing seat across from me was sitting with her toddler in her arms and her husband next to her. She turned around and yelled at the young boys, "You best shut up! If she starts swinging and hits this child...WHOOO! You better just watch out!"

Then, suddenly, the lady decided that this was a good time to change shirts, and she whipped off her sweatshirt and bared her drug ravaged chest at the back of the bus while she readied her new sweatshirt. The boys howled. The whole back of the bus was in an uproar. Even the white people openly gawked.

"OH no," the lady with the toddler yelled, as she held her hand over her toddler's eyes, who clearly sensed that something extremely unusual was going on and was doing his best to gawk as well.

Finally the commotion died down, and the lady, who was sitting closer to me than any other passenger, and perhaps had seen my looking, accused me of racism. I can't remember exactly what she said, or what I said, but I remember it being something kind of stiff and white to be honest. Maybe I should have just said, "Shut up, you crazy-ass bitch!" and then she wouldn't have thought I was racist anymore. She might have started swinging though. I was protecting the toddler. Hehehehe.

Okay, so that's the end of the story about the night of the accident itself, but tomorrow I'll tell the tale of my car, and the aftermath of the accident, which is a story in itself.

Comments

Thanks Daniel.

Yeah, nothing like city buses for crazy tales. There oughtta be a book just devoted to bus stories.

Those benches really do bite your butt too.