Always I’ve been kind of a putz, but lately I’ve been making a slight effort to make the world a better place, with emphasis always on ‘slight’. Haven’t yelled at my flatmate Dean in months, though he always deserves it. And when I’m out in the world, sometimes I offer strangers a pleasant “Good morning,” even in the late afternoon.
Coupla days ago, I spent several minutes chatting with a clearly unclear guy who’d been screaming at the transit center, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand anything I said, but he seemed to like my low, soft tone of voice. And I gave him five bucks. Ain’t I a mensch?
This morning brought another chance to be nice, when a youngish woman or oldish girl got on the #50 bus, and took a sideways seat at the front. After a block or so, she said to a man seated front row left, sorta diagonal from her, “Please stop staring at me.”
Couldn’t see the man from where I was sitting, and can’t vouch that he was staring, but the girl/woman was 16-20 and cute, and the man was a man, so yeah, he’d been staring.
“I’m not staring,” he said.
She said nothing more, but flipped him off, and held her hand and middle finger over her face.
It must be a curse being a pretty girl/woman, fending off ‘charming’ men and oglers all day, all night, everywhere you are. And the sideways seats face into the bus, so anyone sitting sideways is a little more “on display.”
I’d been pondering this for at least half a minute, and her hand and middle finger were still held over her face. Admiring the balls on that dame, I got out of my seat, and stood in the aisle between the perv and the girl/woman with her finger still flipped. My position, a large man wearing a large backpack, prevented any view either he or she could’ve had of the other. I grabbed a stanchion and said nothing, made no eye contact, simply stood in the aisle, looking out the front window, until the man rang the bell and got off the bus at 35th & Alaska.
Once he’d gone, I sat again, and when it seemed safe after a few blocks, I glanced at the girl/woman. Her hand and middle finger were down, and yeah, she was cute, and then — here’s the secret, men — and then I looked out the window for the rest of my ride.
♦ ♦ ♦
Another day, another ride. I stepped aboard the #128, and took my regular seat. At the next stop, a repulsive man came aboard, and sat directly in front of me.
Repulsive means: I could hear his wheezing, and to hear it over the noise a bus makes means he was wheezing plenty. He coughed, it sounded like tuberculosis, and then he coughed again. Also, I could smell him, and he stank of rot.
By common sense and a basic understanding of infectious disease, I should’ve switched to a different seat, pronto and far away. In my mind, though, I debated whether walking away might seem rude, so all I did was pat at my mask to make sure it was clamped tight to my face, and hadn’t slipped down under my nose.
For almost two full blocks, I stupidly rode behind that stinking, coughing, wheezing man, and it was only when someone across the aisle got up and moved that I followed. Instead of finding a new seat, though, I rang the bell and stepped off at the next stop, miles before my destination. Waiting for another bus is better than whatever infection was being spread. Nice is nice, but survival is better.
2/11/2026
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