Bus Report #296
Friday there were a bunch of kids in the back of the bus, and they started to fight. Not a big scary fight, just kids fighting over seats and candy, things like that.
The kind of fight that no one else was paying attention to.
The sort of mean driver pulled the bus over and walked to the rear of the bus.
She shook her head, gravely, at the kids.
"No fighting or I'll put you off," she said.
To which one of the kids responded, oddly, "but SHE started it!" and pointed at a little girl who couldn't have been any older than 10 or 11.
It was funny. The driver just shook her head again. "No fighting," she said. And I swear, the kids were stunned into silence, at least until we got to Church Street.
At Church, a man got on the bus and started patting his pockets, looking for change. This happens all the time on the bus: people spend forever looking for change (that they probably never had to begin with) and hope that the driver will just wave them by.
The sort of mean driver was having none of it.
"Get out," she said.
Yesterday morning the weird guy with all the plastic bags was on my 22 Fillmore. He carries several double or triple bagged plastic bags, and has a weird habit of carefully putting his plastic bags on one seat, and then moving to a seat a few rows away.
It would be scary if I thought he had anything in there other than old newspapers and magazines. But he doesn't.
He put his bags down next to the annoying woman who gets off at Carmen's stop, and then went to sit in the back of the bus.
Last night on my 38, there was a very vocal, very drunk, and possibly crazy man sitting a couple seats away from me.
He was tall and very thin, with a ratty coat, a fleece scarf and blue-tinted sunglasses. He had a can of Olde English in a paper bag in his hands.
He wouldn't stop talking.
He reminded me of the guy who used to live under the stairs when I worked at WordsWorth. That guy, I can't remember his name (maybe George?) was barely lucid or understandable but every now and then he would catch your eye and say something that made perfect sense. It was unnerving.
Anyway, on the bus, this man went on and on about the election, and how important voting was, and about Jesus and how he had been in the war... And on and on.
The kid sitting behind me was trying to impress his girlfriend.
"Man, this would never happen in New York or Chicago," said the kid, who probably had never even been to New York or Chicago. "Man, there people would be all like, shut the fuck up already."
Of course, I couldn't see why he couldn't just tell the guy to shut up. I mean, the guy wasn't really bothering anyone. Most of the other passengers nearby were reading, listening to headphones or doing crossword puzzles. I was listening to his ranting, and smiling, because he was funny.
After some more bitching, the kid asked the guy where he was headed.
"Fort Miley," the guy said.
Somehow, they started to talk about the football game, and the crazy guy told the kid he used to play football.
"They called me Touchdown Davis," he said.
I liked that.
The kind of fight that no one else was paying attention to.
The sort of mean driver pulled the bus over and walked to the rear of the bus.
She shook her head, gravely, at the kids.
"No fighting or I'll put you off," she said.
To which one of the kids responded, oddly, "but SHE started it!" and pointed at a little girl who couldn't have been any older than 10 or 11.
It was funny. The driver just shook her head again. "No fighting," she said. And I swear, the kids were stunned into silence, at least until we got to Church Street.
At Church, a man got on the bus and started patting his pockets, looking for change. This happens all the time on the bus: people spend forever looking for change (that they probably never had to begin with) and hope that the driver will just wave them by.
The sort of mean driver was having none of it.
"Get out," she said.
Yesterday morning the weird guy with all the plastic bags was on my 22 Fillmore. He carries several double or triple bagged plastic bags, and has a weird habit of carefully putting his plastic bags on one seat, and then moving to a seat a few rows away.
It would be scary if I thought he had anything in there other than old newspapers and magazines. But he doesn't.
He put his bags down next to the annoying woman who gets off at Carmen's stop, and then went to sit in the back of the bus.
Last night on my 38, there was a very vocal, very drunk, and possibly crazy man sitting a couple seats away from me.
He was tall and very thin, with a ratty coat, a fleece scarf and blue-tinted sunglasses. He had a can of Olde English in a paper bag in his hands.
He wouldn't stop talking.
He reminded me of the guy who used to live under the stairs when I worked at WordsWorth. That guy, I can't remember his name (maybe George?) was barely lucid or understandable but every now and then he would catch your eye and say something that made perfect sense. It was unnerving.
Anyway, on the bus, this man went on and on about the election, and how important voting was, and about Jesus and how he had been in the war... And on and on.
The kid sitting behind me was trying to impress his girlfriend.
"Man, this would never happen in New York or Chicago," said the kid, who probably had never even been to New York or Chicago. "Man, there people would be all like, shut the fuck up already."
Of course, I couldn't see why he couldn't just tell the guy to shut up. I mean, the guy wasn't really bothering anyone. Most of the other passengers nearby were reading, listening to headphones or doing crossword puzzles. I was listening to his ranting, and smiling, because he was funny.
After some more bitching, the kid asked the guy where he was headed.
"Fort Miley," the guy said.
Somehow, they started to talk about the football game, and the crazy guy told the kid he used to play football.
"They called me Touchdown Davis," he said.
I liked that.
posted by Rachel at 9:02 AM
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