Palm-Reader

This is a story from when I still rode the bus...

So it's a Tuesday evening, and I've left work a few minutes early to catch the 11x home. I'm sitting on a bench at the bus-stop right in front of the Adam's Mark Hotel, when I am approached by a middle-aged Asian man, wearing a business suit. Assuming he is a tourist, I ignore him. (I am constantly asked for directions by tourists.)

The man stops in front of me, smiles, and tells me that I have really good energy.

My "weirdo alarm" sounds. I laugh nervously and bury my face in my book, hoping this is the extent of the conversation.

But, it isn't. The man lingers, I try not to make eye contact, and he finally asks if he can sit down next to me. There is another bench, completely unoccupied, right next to the one on which I am sitting; I am wary.

The Asian man sits down and won't stop talking. For about 2 minutes, it is small talk....What do you do? This weather is nice, isn't it? Then, out of nowhere, he asks to read my palm. At this point, I'm knee-deep in the situation, so I accept.

He holds my hand, palm-up, in his, and follows the lines of it with his finger. I nervously look around, hoping the bus will come or someone else will need the bench.

"You have a very long life line," he says. "You have traveled much in your life, and you are well-liked by your peers."

Flatterer.

"But you seem to have trouble in relationships. Trouble opening up...trouble...connecting."

This is true. I am flabbergasted, but pretend not to care.

"But you will find love someday, that is sure. You will be happy." I am expecting him to say that I'll fall for a late-40's, dark-haired man with an accent. I think, "Please don't hit on me...please..." If my hand wasn't in his palm, I would have crossed my fingers. I crane my neck, hoping to see the bus -- and there it is!

I stand up, my hand still in his, and thank him for the very accurate palm-reading.

"Can I get your number?" he asks.

Shit. "My bus is here. I really have to go. Thanks again."

"Oh, no, is okay. I'll get on bus with you."

Oh, no! indeed.

I board the bus, looking a bit frightened, and the Asian man follows. He insists on getting my number, and won't leave me alone until I hand it over. He's even got a pen and a piece of paper handy. 314.303.1343. Close enough that I can pretend he wrote it down wrong, if we ever meet again.

"And an email?" This one I pull out of my ass. The poor girl at meghanrocks84@hotmail.com will be surprised when she finds an email from a fortune teller...maybe it'll just go to spam.

I scribble this down and the man abruptly stands and disembarks.

Bus Hiatus

I've stopped riding the bus. There are many reasons for this (see It's Snot What You Think...), but the biggest are that it's expensive and time consuming. I live 3 miles from my building, and it takes me about 35 minutes to get there on the bus. This time includes waiting for said bus, which is either 5 minutes early or about 15 minutes late. It costs me $3.50/day (with a discount pass) to take that 35 minute journey. There is a parking lot about 3/8 mile from my building that charges $2.50/day to park....and I certainly don't spend $1.00 in gas to get myself ~2.5 miles. So I'm driving.

I know, I know...the environment...blah blah blah. I care about it, but I also care about my free time...free time which adds up and allows me to do better things with my life, like take out the recycling or work in my yard. Plus, on days when it isn't hot as fuck, I bike to work, which is free, takes me only 15 minutes, and doesn't negatively affect the environment at all. Huzzah!

But me announcing the end of my bus affair was not the point of this post...the point of this post was to say that, even though I don't have an immediate connection to the weirdos on public transportation anymore, I still have stories....

Please see next post. :)

Master Sperm!

So I get on the bus this morning and Sal is talking to the Bus Ladies about the woman in Texas who hung her children and herself in the tiny closet of their mobile home, because her husband/lover/whomever left her.

Sal: I don't know how you could do such a thing. I've been trying to have kids for years. I'd give my arm for a son.

Bus Lady #1: Maybe you're too old...maybe your stuff doesn't work.

Sal: Yeah, I'm approaching 40. I'm no spring chicken.

Bus Lady #2: You need you some Master Sperm!!

Heh.

The conversation went on from there, but nothing topped a woman shouting "Master Sperm!" across a crowded bus.

Dream Girl

"If I wasn't married, and you found me attractive, I'd ask you out!"

- Sal, busdriver (10x S. Grand Express)

It's funny to think of people being loyal to a bus. But when the bus driver makes a note to memorize your name and occupation on the first day you board the bus, it just makes you feel special. And I do feel special, every time I hop the 10x in the morning.

"Hi, Megan. How are you today?" Sal asks like we've known each other for years. "How is So-and-so?"

Sal went to school with the guy who owns the bowling alley where I play in a league.

I tell him that I haven't seen So-and-so since I started the new league, and Sal makes a small complaint about not being able to bowl more often. Wife, kids, job that requires you to wake at 2:30am.

Then he moves onto me:

I bowl in a league. I rent a house from a friend. I used to work construction, but am now an interior designer. Sometimes I carry a switchblade for protection. I ride my bike everywhere I possibly can. Etc.

"Wow. You're really a jack of all trades, aren't you Megan?"

"I suppose so."

"Really. You are one of the most interesting people I've talked to."

"Heh. Thanks, Sal."

"If I wasn't married, and you found me attractive, I'd ask you out!"

"Well, you wouldn't be the first bus driver to do so..."

The Specter of Death

Today, while waiting for the 10 bus at Gravois and Jefferson, a large black women emerged from the 7-11 across the street. She wore a floor-length black cape, black gloves and carried a large black tote bag. A floppy straw hat sat atop her head.

Now, this in itself was a bit unsettling, but it got better -- she began to sing/wail. She started off quiet and grew louder. I assume it was some sort of hymn, but I really couldn't tell. I just know that as she walked out into traffic, I had the sudden urge to run for my life.

Also, some asshole touched me on the bus.

It's Snot What You Think

There was once a time that I would board the bus and sit as close to the front as possible. I don't do that any more, and this is why....

I catch the 10 bus at the Adam's Mark every evening on my way home. Around 5:30p, I board, sit behind the driver, and pop in my ear buds, so as not to have to talk to other passengers. The bus is fairly empty, as it always is at my stop, but by the time we get to the civic center, it's starting to get crowded. I scoot to the seat directly behind the driver as other patron file onto the bus.

Not a big deal, I think. No one boards the bus after the civic center.

Wrong.

At Russel, two men board the bus looking rather...well...I couldn't tell if they were drunk or handicapped or a little bit of both. One of the men, who I will call Slobbery McGee, carries booze in a bag and a large wad of cash. He is seeping large quantities of mucus.

The first man pays his fare and walks to the back of the bus. (All seats are taken, so he stands.) The second man, Slobbery McGee, passes the driver without paying and stands next to the first, towards the back. Now, people not immediately paying is a normal thing, so the bus takes off. When the driver realizes McGee hasn't paid, he demands that the cheapskate come to the front.

Fine. No big deal.

The guy gets out his money and proceeds to spill it all over the floor. He pays his fare, and walks to the back again, leaving a few large bills behind.

Trying to be a good samaritan, I said, "Excuse me, sir. You seem to have dropped your money."

This was a big mistake. Slobbery walks back up to the front, and I hand him his soggy cash. Then he grabs the bar above me and proceeds to hunker down for the ride. Because I'm sitting, my face is about crotch level, so I look up and away. And that's when I notice it....a gushing stream of green slime pouring out of his nose, across his lips...and towards me and mine! To make matters worse, the guy starts breathing heavily, blowing snot raspberries all over me.

I gag and look helplessly as other passengers grimace and snicker.

Half a mile later, we approach my stop. I'm nauseous and covered in mucus, and just want to get teh hell off the bus and into the shower.

But the ordeal isn't over.

"Excuse me, sir, but this is my stop," while trying to stand. He doesn't budge.

"Excuse me! I need to get off the bus!"

Still nothing. The man is an oozing statue.

The bus is now stopped and I'm still trapped. I end up having to climb out under his arm, covered in seepage.

I must have spit 20 times on the three block walk to my house. I couldn't swallow because I was so disgusted.

Ugh.

Your Epidermis is Showing

The first entry into my original bus diary:

Extremely large man, smelly, hole in crotch of sweatpants. Briefs.