These moments, these silly moments, are the ones most worth cherishing.
I was walking to the bus stop today after work when the clouds suddenly began to puke rain. Completely drenched within seconds. I was wearing white shorts and bright red boxers. Bad idea. The white quickly soaked through to reveal the brilliant red underneath (which sorta looked pink).
I bowled through the wall of water. Kinda exhilarating, that feeling of cold splashing onto your face. This was a nice break from the heat.
Still, as much as I like precipitation, I’m glad a bus was waiting right at the stop — fortunate, because there was no cover in the proximity.
There were a handful of seats left on the bus. I just happened to choose the one right next to an air-conditioning vent. Brrrr.
And then a leak erupted in the roof of the ghetto bus over my seat. I got a nice waterfall that flattened my hair.
The people around me were obviously stifling their smiles. Twitching cheek muscles do not lie. As a result, I tried making eye contact with a couple of them to see if I could make them break into giggles, but everybody avoided eye contact except for this one older Chinese lady, who did manage to crack a slight grin, before turning back to her daughter to talk about something serious, presumably about medical school. Smile, people, smile!
As the water started evaporating off of me, I felt frigid for the first time here in Baltimore. I hadn’t expected to go from sweaty to shivering in minutes.
The A/C and waterfalling were freezing me. I had to move. I asked this one black guy if I could take the seat next to him because of the leak. He snickered, which I took to be an affirmative. Yes, congratulations for smiling!
So ends that conundrum. But expectedly, one arose to take its place. As the bus shut its doors and departed the stop, one last straggler caught up and forced her way in.
The bus driver exploded in rage. She stopped the bus in the middle of the road and began violently gesturing her arms.
I’d like to point out that the straggler was a white college chick. The bus driver was black, middle-aged woman. No, I’m not just randomly mentioning these bits of information. They actually have bearing on the situation.
Ms. Busdriver delivered a lecture about her, er, love and compassion for white folks. She screamed at Ms. Straggler, first describing how today’s youth, especially prissy white youth, needed to be put into place with an organized nationwide round of vicious spanking. Ms. Busdriver proceeded to shriek about her conspiring white male bosses before going on tangents about her treacherous coworkers. Us passengers on the bus kept in silence, struck in a mixture of incredulity, fear, and amusement…but mostly amusement. Ms. Busdriver still had yet to start the bus back up. I did start to feel slightly bad, when the rant petered out into an exhausted lamentation about her monotonous hours on the wheel. I can only imagine how wearing her job would be. Research would probably demonstrate a correlation between driving back and forth along the same thirty-minute route for ten hours everyday and going insane. Ms. Busdriver ultimately concluded her statement with an ear-splitting wail.
Duly noted, I will not fuck with you, woman.
Ms. Straggler seemed to agree with that sentiment. For the duration of the diatribe, she cowered in her seat and nervously stroked her iPhone.
The bus ground to a halt at 29th and St. Paul, my stop. After the wail, the bus driver hadn’t spoken again for the rest of my trip. For that matter, the entire bus had stayed relatively quiet.
As I got off, I made sure to thank her for the ride. “Huh,” Ms. Busdriver grumbled.
Man, people are crazy.