Bus Report #139

You know you are crazy when: you recognize a former 22 Fillmore bus rider waiting in the bus shelter for a 38 and you tell yourself, excitedly, "It's Hy-Plains Beef Guy! It's Hy-Plains Beef Guy!" and then you notice he's wearing his same hairnet over his same oddly-shaped man-bouffant.

This week I've been coming in to work early and leaving a little later than usual, which means sitting with Carmen in the morning and Ramon in the evening.

Yesterday Ramon and I got on a crowded 22 Fillmore and sat in the back, where the seats face each other. After a while his phone rang and he took the call.
The Confederacy of Dunces man sat down beside me. He turned so he was facing me, his huge sunglasses on even though it was getting dark, and he said, "Hey, it's you. I always sit next to you."
I replied, "That's right, I didn't recognize you without your book. How's it going?"
"Aw, pretty good, I'm almost done."
We rode a few blocks in companionable silence, Ramon still on the phone, The Confederacy of Dunces Guy humming to himself.
At Valencia, a large, heavily tattooed (neck, hands, arms), sweat-stinking man got on. He sat across from me, and proceeded to crack all his knuckles. Then his hands. Then his neck, which he cracked by wrenching his head with his hands. It was a little alarming.
Ramon and The Confederacy of Dunces guy got out at Church and Market.
The tattooed dude smiled at me. There was something sticky on the floor, and we both stared at it.
"I think it was a kiwi fruit," I said.
He looked down. "Let's hope so," he said.
He got out at Oak and Fillmore. "You have a good evening," he told me, politely.

This morning it was raining. The 22 Fillmore was late, but when it did come, Carmen had saved me a seat. She dried it off for me with a tissue. We chatted all the way to her stop.