Monday, July 16, 2012

Hush that puss, everybody move to the back of the bus.

Public transportation is like real-life People at Wal-Mart. You see and hear the craziest shit every day, and it's always different. The randomness pleases my love of chaos and I rarely, if ever, have to put on my headphones or bury my face in front of my Kindle.

A few months ago, this guy, wearing a business suit with dirt on the cuffs of his pants, was ass-up drunk and yelling racial slurs at the bus driver who had about had enough of this guy's shit. Finally, another gentleman too decided that this asshat needed to be elsewhere, so he pulled the little wire thing and pushed the guy out in front of the Kroger in Belle Meade. Now, for anyone unfamiliar with Nashville, Belle Meade? Well, it's the old money section of town. The fact that I live five minutes away from the heart of Belle Meade has some people thinking I'm rich.
So rich that I can afford this gif.
Anyway, so guy is shoved off the bus, and of course, everyone is asking aloud, "Should we call the cops? I mean, it is public intoxication." Being a woman of unthinking action, I went ahead, pulled out my phone, and found the Kroger's number on Google search. I asked to speak to the manager, who thanked me for my assistance. As we pulled away, we saw the guy, trying to get around a very large, not very welcoming manager dude. Seriously, the manager looked like the owner of that pawn shop in Pawn Stars. I didn't get to see the ultimate show down between Drunky and the Hulkinator, but I'm fairly sure the latter won. It kind of saddens me that the only people who were to witness this epicness were snobby blue-haired ladies and senile old men. Alas.

Last week, I was sitting on the bus, waiting for it to leave the depot, and I saw this flicker of yellow moving frantically out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look to see this guy with bloodshot eyes staring at me like he wanted to gnaw on my jaw bone or something, so like a sane person, I smiled and waved. Of course he started screaming at me, violently flailing his arms about, ever so often pointing at the seat directly in front of him. I walked calmly to the front of the bus where the door was open and poked my little head out.

Me: Yes?
Guy: You didn't say hi to me when you passed!! BITCH!!
Me: Oh, okay. Hi!
Guy: WAIT! I need a bus pass.
Me: Good for you!

Luckily for my snarky ass, the bus driver had already called the cops who are stationed at the depot

Other times, it's more tame. Like listening to the dude who apparently won the lottery and got enough money to buy a used F150 because it was his dream car. And you know what, no, I'm not going to shit on that dream. I still want a Gremlin, even though I'm fairly sure they rate just above a damned Edsel on the quality side of things.
But the lack of enthusiasm this guy had about winning the lottery was odd. It wasn't like he wasn't calling everyone he knew to let them know the good news. But it was like listening to fucking Eeyore, only more depressing. I wanted to go up to him and shake his hand and throw confetti, but I figured he might think I was crazy so I pretended to watch my fingers move. And what was even more disconcerting was that the other people he called? Yeah, they seemed about as fazed as he was, if not less so. And of course, he put them on speakerphone, so I got to hear the droning, obligatory-sounding, "Oh, that's great. What are you going to do with it?" responses. It's like they were all on downers or something. Hell, maybe they were. Maybe it was like that Family Guy episode with Mr. Fargus who was so crazy happy all the time that he was dangerous and nearly killed a kid? I don't know, but I had more questions than I had answers. And now, so do you.

You are welcome.

There was also a time when an entire group of women dressed as fairies boarded. With wings and glitter and wands and everything. Nashville doesn't have any cool conventions (unless you count the Southern Women's Show, where they have firemen who strip to their undies which is nice ... and they also have other stuff that's for sale; I got a really good deal on a Lancome bundle a few years back) and it wasn't Halloween, so I couldn't figure out if it was a dare or a political statement or a bachelorette party. No one really talked to them, either, but they chittered to themselves softly while the rest of the passengers just stared at them. I was too far away to engage, which I'm still kind of sad about to this day. See? SO MANY QUESTIONS.

Then it can get downright grotesque. It hasn't quite gotten as bad as the guy who ate the face of the man in Florida, but then again, I'm not in Florida, for which I am thankful. Not only am I not surrounded by Disney-high children and grey-hairs, I'm not under the rule of Rick Scott and Three's parents are at least eight hours away. But I digress. Last year, a guy vomited everywhere. There's not much more to that story except that a little girl had an existential crisis of sorts at age four. And another time, a guy sat next to me and he smelled like he had just waded around in a vat of Axe body spray.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT BREAK: people that have penises, I am here to tell you that Axe is terrible. It reeks. The scent is akin to bug spray mixed with frat boy pretentiousness. Or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, stop it. Hell, I'd take CK One or Curve over this shit. At least they were trying to be classy. And don't even get me started on the stupid, sexist commercials. And also, people that have vaginas: stop trying to make them feel better about smelling like they are prepared to stay pest free at camp. Be that bitch. See below:

Ahem. The Axe offender. So he sat next to me and I visibly gagged when his smell assaulted me.

"I get that a lot," he laughed casually.
"And you don't think you should change that? You like offending people with your stench?" I scoffed, getting more and more ill the longer he lingers there.
"I like the fragrance," he said defensively, a pout peeking through his otherwise straight face.
"Well, then, you'll like that smell as you wank on your own. Can you get up please? I need to move."

I think I may have killed that guy's soul a bit that day. But it was for the good of everyone around him, most importantly me because seriously, that was some of the rankest shit I have ever smelled. And that's in comparison to burning hair. Shudder.

And then today. Oh, today. It's hot, right? Like, the damned ice sheets in the Arctic are melting? So one can understand people going to extremes staying cool. I'm sitting there, minding my own sweltering business when this guy across from me unzips his pants to display his nethers and starts fanning his balls. Like you do. At first, I can't really believe that I am witnessing what is actually going on and I'm fairly sure my face contorted in ways that can only be described as macabre confused puppy.
Honeslty, I just want an excuse to use this gif. His expressions are just priceless.
It's not a pretty sight. Not enough brain bleach exists in this world to unsee what has been seen this day. I tried avoiding looking directly at it, although it's like a train wreck or Showgirls. You just keep watching.

Three has the car tomorrow to get new tires and brakes* so this means I have to ride the bus both ways tomorrow. This isn't an abnormality, and honestly, I kind of like riding the bus. I don't have to deal with idiot drivers, which means I arrive to work a lot less twitchy, and I can read/write/listen to music/ignore public displays of balls/etc. to my heart's content until we arrive at the downtown depot. But now I'm all worried that I'll see this guy again. And I'll have to keep myself from asking him, "So are your balls hot today, too?"

I may just bring my headphones and sunglasses with me tomorrow.

* And shit, do we need it. Chiquita sounds like a Tin Lizzie.
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