Thursday, June 09, 2011

Bus Report #614

Last night's 22 Fillmore bus was one of the diesels, so it was hot, it was crowded and there was a lot to see.
Kids trying to pretend they were tapping their non-existent Clipper cards.
Two guys discussing a third friend's military experience: "It was either the army or he'da had ta go to prison."
I had my headphones on, listening to The Cuban Cowboys, then Orphans & Vandals, then Jorge Drexler. But I could still hear my neighbor's conversations.

Dramatis Personae: Snappily dressed girl with slight pompadour, to her friend, dressed head-to-toe in black, some of her clothes faded to different shades to make the over all look kind of shabby. For convenience sake, let's call them Mary Sue and Jane.

Mary Sue: I don't know what you know about 90s music, but basically a lot of it was really screamy female bands and stuff like that. [oh Mary Sue... You were still in diapers in the mid-nineties, are you sure you want to talk about things you don't really know about? -ed.]

Jane: Like what are some examples?

Mary Sue: Well, like for example this band The Gits? They were a 90s band, but like, a punk rock band. From Portland. [Incorrect. Seattle. - ed.]

Jane: I've never heard of them.

Mary Sue: It's sad because like, the singer's voice? It was really strong? And then like, she got MURDERED.

Jane: Oh my god, that's like, so RANDOM.

Mary Sue: Yeah. She was on her way home and like, went down the wrong street and she was killed.

Jane: Wow. So you like their music?

Mary Sue: Well, I haven't really heard more than a couple songs. But I have all their CDs!

I sat there and wished I hadn't just overheard their conversation. I think I lost some brain cells.

At Geary I switched to a very packed 38L. In the back of the bus I stood between a pack of teenagers and a woman probably not much older than the kids. The kids couldn't stop snickering about the woman, and staring at her.
She wore one of those unflattering, stretchy empire-waist shirt dresses, the top of which was stretched out over her lumpy, drooping breasts, the rest of it looking too upcycled and drapey to do anything for her.
She had both arms in the air, her hands clutching the poles. Her arms were all scratched up, her skin flaky, her underarms a mess of scraggly red hair. The kids just couldn't handle it.
To finish the look, the woman wore thick tortoiseshell glasses. The kind of plastic frames that didn't look good on me in seventh grade. Her hair was a mess, too. As though she had just rolled out of bed.
The kids laughed and stared. The woman did not notice.


Blogger John Marcher said...

I feel a little nauseous after that description.

7:46 PM  
Blogger Rachel said...

Sorry, John/That's what I was going for.
But put it out of your mind, think happy, non-nauseating thoughts.

9:43 PM  

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