I got out of work (on time) so got the bus (on time). Things were looking good. I’m one of two people to get on the bus. Like molecules in water, we split throughout the bus. As the bus makes a couple of stops more people get on. Three. Four. Five. All splashing into their own area of the pool. Six. By my estimation, there are at least 30 other places to sit without going near another gentle molecule. But this number six, she’s not playing in the deep end.
She sits right next to me.
I’ve hit the loony lottery!
Now, if that weren’t odd or bad enough, she wasn’t just a ‘you stay on your own side of the little seat hump divider’ type. She was definitely a ‘I call the hump’ type.
Not being the type to shy away from physicality, I shifted, ever so slightly, to regain, not the hump, the hump is no ass land, but just my portion on the seat I’ve rented for the next eight to twelve minutes.
Once she’s realized I’m not interested in a takeover, hostile or otherwise, she shifts and slithers in her seat to find a comfortable locale.
Wherein she must have unclogged a pocket of aroma. It was a combination of steak-ums and mascara. As if that wasn’t unsettling enough, once she gets her shifting into high gear she begins chattering and singing in a tone reminiscent of the horse that died in Dean Wormer’s office in ‘Animal House.’ During the sonata, curiosity finally gets the best of me. I look up from the script I’m going over and turn toward this lady. And immediately regret my curiosity. Look what curiosity did to cats! What made me think I’d make out better?
Have you ever seen a baboons butt? If, for some reason you haven’t or have blotted the image from your mind, let me refresh it for you:
Her hair was that red. And that was the most subtle thing about her. Have you ever seen a drawing by a three year old who has ADD and just loves color? Increase that pictures colorful cacophony by a factor of six and you’ll have a pretty clear image of Ms. Picasso.
She turned and looked at me. I think. Her focus was a little off so it was tough to determine if she was looking at me or her invisible friend. Whomever she was addressing she was adamant about getting her information out.
“Higher arches don’t help.”
I think that’s what she said. She could have said something about hierarchy donning kelp. It didn’t matter because I’d already come to the conclusion that she was talking to her invisible friend. It’s just that I’d taken his place in line at this time.
Her whining continued unabated and unintelligible until she reached her crescendo.
“Did you know that a million bugs, no, a million and three bugs, a million and three, live under your toenails? Million and three.”
I look at this woman and smile as put my script away, adjust my bag, and push the button to signal to conclusion of my visit to the wonderful world of wacky.
“A million three, huh?” I say as I deftly slip my legs past hers making sure to make no contact. “Well, butter my scrotum and call me toast.”
I slip past her and begin to walk to the front of the bus. I hear here singing a new refrain as the door opens and I begin my exit.
“He’s weird. He thinks he’s toast.”
We’re all toast lady. It’s just that some of us are a little more burnt.