saturday afternoon i was on the last leg of my trip back from pittsburgh. i have come to accept the saab prop planes that make the thirty minute jump between chicago and madison, from the continual turbulence to the hasty drink service, i have replaced my hatred with a somewhat neutral feeling, kind of a dull hum that turns off my brain for that half hour. i have even resolved my distaste for the bus that takes me TO the little bird, soft jazz muzak and all. i am the fucking zen master. i have won, transit. you have lost.
however, saturday was especially busy. we took the seats at the front, sat down and watched as the bus seats filled up, more people boarded, and we trembled as the aisle filled all the way to the front. a young mother drug her screaming little hosebeast onto the bus.
instant migraine
the wailing ball of pudge kicked and screamed his way past two old ladies who only smiled and fawned over him. "i'm sorry but that's just so cute" they warbled. you fucking birds, you old withered up pieces of flesh, you stale-sweet-sour smelling fleshbags- YOU are the reason this child will continue to be a brat. there is a reason this kid screams and won't stop. he knows he can get away with it. and you, with your gaudy flowered canvas purses, are encouraging him. the mother moos her apologies. no apology in the world can free up enough space so that i can reach my aleve. save it for someone who thinks it was a good idea you got knocked up.
i watch a family of mutants shove their way in and settle in front of me. one is clutching a pillow in her hands, chubby little fingers clenching the pillowcase that reads "sleep sleep sleep..." over and over again. the adolescent manchild is directly in front of me. braces, an easy fifty pounds overweight, and worst of all, a mouthbreather. even with the soft jazz blanketing the garish scene, i can still hear the mouthbreathing. his armpit stains loomed just above my head, his knobby knee CENTIMETERS away from mine.
before you assume that i am a complete asshole, please bear in mind that i don't do well in crowds. in fact, if i can manage to stick around, i will "act out" or "emotionally drink". now imagine that the bus hasn't MOVED yet and we are waiting on some irresponsible prick who seems to think his being late should affect everyone else on the flight.
also imagine that a mere twelve hours earlier you were standing on a side street in pittsburgh buying a case of beer, slid under a grate, money handed through a slot, to attempt to erase the events of the evening.
eventually the bus begins to move and with the motion comes the slow undulation of the mass trapped in the aisles. i see the knobby peach-fuzzed knee begin to sway and clench my teeth. closer and closer it comes. i try to strategically position my knees so that i am out of the other knees trajectory. a slight bump ensures that my efforts are futile. peach fuzz collides with the hole in my knee. the little cow glances down, braces framed in an apologetic smile. the sun catches the silver. something inside begins to churn. and then for the first time it strikes me
i am not scared of planes, but the worst thing i can POSSIBLY imagine is dying on a plane with this group of people.
not too many times in my travels have i thought this.
but the idea of being dashed apart and fused together and burnt to a crisp with that lot sent a shiver down my spine that is not altogether impossible to recreate by simply THINKING about it.
however, saturday was especially busy. we took the seats at the front, sat down and watched as the bus seats filled up, more people boarded, and we trembled as the aisle filled all the way to the front. a young mother drug her screaming little hosebeast onto the bus.
instant migraine
the wailing ball of pudge kicked and screamed his way past two old ladies who only smiled and fawned over him. "i'm sorry but that's just so cute" they warbled. you fucking birds, you old withered up pieces of flesh, you stale-sweet-sour smelling fleshbags- YOU are the reason this child will continue to be a brat. there is a reason this kid screams and won't stop. he knows he can get away with it. and you, with your gaudy flowered canvas purses, are encouraging him. the mother moos her apologies. no apology in the world can free up enough space so that i can reach my aleve. save it for someone who thinks it was a good idea you got knocked up.
i watch a family of mutants shove their way in and settle in front of me. one is clutching a pillow in her hands, chubby little fingers clenching the pillowcase that reads "sleep sleep sleep..." over and over again. the adolescent manchild is directly in front of me. braces, an easy fifty pounds overweight, and worst of all, a mouthbreather. even with the soft jazz blanketing the garish scene, i can still hear the mouthbreathing. his armpit stains loomed just above my head, his knobby knee CENTIMETERS away from mine.
before you assume that i am a complete asshole, please bear in mind that i don't do well in crowds. in fact, if i can manage to stick around, i will "act out" or "emotionally drink". now imagine that the bus hasn't MOVED yet and we are waiting on some irresponsible prick who seems to think his being late should affect everyone else on the flight.
also imagine that a mere twelve hours earlier you were standing on a side street in pittsburgh buying a case of beer, slid under a grate, money handed through a slot, to attempt to erase the events of the evening.
eventually the bus begins to move and with the motion comes the slow undulation of the mass trapped in the aisles. i see the knobby peach-fuzzed knee begin to sway and clench my teeth. closer and closer it comes. i try to strategically position my knees so that i am out of the other knees trajectory. a slight bump ensures that my efforts are futile. peach fuzz collides with the hole in my knee. the little cow glances down, braces framed in an apologetic smile. the sun catches the silver. something inside begins to churn. and then for the first time it strikes me
i am not scared of planes, but the worst thing i can POSSIBLY imagine is dying on a plane with this group of people.
not too many times in my travels have i thought this.
but the idea of being dashed apart and fused together and burnt to a crisp with that lot sent a shiver down my spine that is not altogether impossible to recreate by simply THINKING about it.
Who's on "The Mask" this week?
[Edited on Jun 17, 2003]