One fine day as I was riding a bus, onto it stepped an attractive 30-something white woman. I’m old, but still notice such things. Her hair was tidy, she was wearing nice clothes and makeup, and she sat a few rows ahead of me, then started talking to herself like an insane woman would.
It started with, “Don’t tell me about Clyde. I know all about Clyde. I know more about Clyde than Clyde does.” She did a few minutes of material about a stolen bicycle, then segued into a long consideration of her private parts. “I got the boobies, and the snuggest pussy in the world.” She continued with a generally favorable review of her body, until she rang the bell and stepped off at Alaska Street.
I’d wager ten bucks that her monologue was a show. She’s an attractive woman with a clever method for being left alone on the bus, feigning insanity to prevent men from hitting on her.
Nobody hits on me, but I do the same thing, only without being attractive, and I’m a little less showy about it. I’ll talk to myself about my penis or balls, just to make it less likely that anyone might approach and say anything or, horror of horrors, sit beside me on the bus.
♦ ♦ ♦
On a different evening, I was riding the #128 on Roxbury Street, where that route turns south onto 8th Avenue, only this driver didn’t turn. He drove the bus through the intersection, slowing and stopping only after passengers shouted that he’d missed the turn.
Such mistakes do happen. City bus routes are rarely straight shots on a main drag; there are always odd twists to connect with big apartment buildings or neighborhood business districts. Maybe that driver had driven the #60 bus the day before — it goes through that same intersection without turning. But the #128 is supposed to turn.
The driver’s solution was to ask a few passengers to get off the bus, and guide him as he switched into reverse and backed up toward and past 8th Avenue again. Backing up far enough to turn.
Trouble is, Roxbury is a busy arterial, traffic never stops, and eastbound cars come over a hill just before the intersection. Putting a bus into reverse and backing into that kind of semi-gridlock seemed unlikely to me, even unwise.
But what do I know? I’m the guy who flunked out of bus-driver school. So me and two other guys got off the bus, and tried guiding the driver and waving off oncoming traffic.
After a few minutes, it was clear this wasn’t working. The cars came at us so quick and constant, the bus had only reversed a few feet, but we needed to go back half a block.
The driver asked for other suggestions to get back to 8th Avenue, but he’d picked the very worst intersection to forget to turn. For the next half a mile, there are no roads turning south at all, and no chance for a bus to turn north and loop around. Buses are big, and the streets off Roxbury on that stretch are small.
The driver’s GPS displayed the existential impossibility of his dilemma, so he advised anyone who wanted off at the next few stops to walk instead. A few people got off and walked.
Then we drove further east, and the driver detoured onto 4th Avenue, skipping four stops on his route. It was fine entertainment for me, but must’ve been a big butt-pain for anyone waiting at any of those missed stops, especially if they needed to be somewhere at a specific time.
Being retired and anti-social, I never need to be anywhere at a specific time. My cat and the internet didn’t even notice I was a few minutes late.
12/18/2024
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