Dreadlocks and a voucher, Sarah makes faces, a bus driver’s ethos, and carrying a leg brace…

~Friday~  I was back on my 8:15 city bus schedule today, and it arrived at 8:22. In an unusual occurrence, eight people got on at the next stop, just down the street from mine. Usually 2 people, 3 at the most, get on at that stop, if anyone.

A man sat across from me wearing huge glasses, reading the newspaper. By huge glasses, I mean the actual surface area of the lenses were huge, taking up a good portion of each cheek around his eyes, and the lenses were so thick that they stuck out at least a quarter of an inch inside the frames, which were already thick themselves. My wish for him was that he kept doing whatever it took to be able to keep on reading.

The driver this morning was the one, of all the drivers, who has kept the bus the hottest in the past when it wasn’t even that cold. Although getting on the bus felt good, because it was rather biting cold this morning, after one minute in my seat I knew I couldn’t possibly wear my jacket the entire 10-15 minute ride to my office, and I took it off. Ridiculous.

There was a little bit of drama at the Gorman/Marcom stop, when three white kids—all with their hair done up in lightish brown or dirty blond dreadlocks—got off after having just got on at the previous stop. It was two guys and a girl, and one of the guys stood and talked to the driver for, what I would characterize, as too long.

He finally got off the bus and the three of them stood outside right at the door for a second, like they couldn’t decide if they should cross the street in front of the bus or wait and cross behind it. In the meantime, the driver seemed to be writing something, and then she re-opened the door, and handed some kind of voucher-looking paper to the boy she had been talking to, but indicating the girl in the group, said, “All she have to do is come up with a dollar to get back on.”

I met Anna, Sarah, and Brad for lunch over at Mission Joe’s, where when I arrived a guy they’ve told me about before, but who I hadn’t yet seen or met, was talking to them. This is one of those people who befriend you in a coffee shop, but that you turn out to not like, but whom it’s hard to get rid of afterward.

I figured out that this was said guy from the faces Sarah was making at me as he talked to Anna. So, after I got my Green Eggs & Ham lunch wrap, I joined their table and said to Anna and Sarah, “So, are we ready to start our meeting?” as if we’d had a formal one scheduled. “I have a question involving rhetoric and bus drivers,” I added, thinking surely that would scare most people away. And no, I didn’t just call you Shirley. But I digress…

To the guy’s credit, he said, “Well, I’ll let you get started with your meeting,” and departed.

My rhetorical bus driver question? So, if a behind schedule bus driver was supposed to have departed a stop at 8:21, and at 8:23 she says to the bus at large, “I’ll be right back, I have to use the restroom,” does this increase or decrease her ethos?

Just to prove that Salon members are not always all uppity and intellectual, here’s one of us getting downright kinky:

John licking Sarah's boot, which is crossed over Anna's boot

At the end of my work day, I walked up to the—by now infamous—sheltered stop near my work for the 5:30 city bus home, and a young girl—most likely a student—was sitting on the bench, and she held a leg brace in her lap. I put my laptop bag on the end of the bench, and she said, “Did you want to sit down?”

“No, but thanks,” I said, and then added laughing, “Shouldn’t you be wearing that brace?”

She laughed, too, and said, “Yes, I really should. But it’s so uncomfortable when I sit down, because I can’t bend my leg when it’s on.” I just ignored all that noise in my head about, “Ye-ah,” “D’oh,” and [forehead smack] “I could have had a V8,” and just said, “I hear ya.”

“What’d you do to it?”

“Actually, I was hit by a car, a hit and run, right up there on Beryl road by the post office. The driver was coming up to the intersection, where there’s a stop sign, and so my friend and I started to cross the street since the driver had to stop anyway, and evidently he got pissed, because he stopped and then when we were half way across the road in front of him, he floored it hitting me and taking off.”

“What???” I was thinking.

She went on to say that her three-hundred pound friend was with her, and although they didn’t get the license plate, they got a good description of the car, and the police actually have some leads on who it might be. Incredible.

I asked her if she got that leg brace at the Student Health Center on campus, and she said, “No, at Rex.”

The bus arrived and she took the first seat up front, one of the ones that you are required by law to give up for elderly and handicapped people if they need them.

I took a seat toward the middle-back of the bus, next to a black beauty. It was fun watching the guys around her thinking of any excuse whatsoever to interact with her in any way. Men. Pigs. Gay or straight.

One of them asked to borrow a cigarette from her, and about three of them tripped over themselves trying to be the one grabbing her gloves that she left on the seat and sticking their head out the door to call, “You forgot your gloves.” Such chivalry.

After a nap—instead of a workout, which I’m not proud of—I arrived at The Borough at about 10:30, 10:45. I sat at the bar by myself, had two drinks, spoke to no one, and then headed over to Legends after talking for a few minutes out front with AbbyLadyBug, who I knew was there, because I had seen her check in on Facebook.

For most of the time at Legends, I stood at the bar inside the dance floor area, which was being tended by Richard. I was really hoping to see the midnight show, but being the first Friday of the month, it was amateur night, so I watched five contestants trying to win some amount of cash.

I really hate contests in which the winner is chosen by applause, so when it came time for that, I beelined it out of there.

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