Adventures In Public Transportation: An Anthropological Study
My adventure begins at approximately 10:47 am, 18 October 2007. I wait for several minutes for the 3 outside of campus and after much sitting and sweating and pretending I'm busy with my cell phone to avoid the guy with the soul patch next to me, I finally board the bus. All goes well until about five minutes into my trip. A sudden outburst interrupts from behind me: two women shouting at each other-- "SHUT UP BITCH I'M GONNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU, YOU SKANKY ASS BITCH FROM HELL, WHAT DID YOUR MOMMA TEACH YOU? MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK YOU, BITCH! FUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUU!!!!!" and another voice shouts back "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN'? BITCH, YOU DON'T EVEN MOTHERFUCKING KNOW! WHAT THE FUCK? FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU WANNA PULL A KNIFE ON ME? FUCK YOU!" etc. etc. It literally erupted out of nowhere! One of the women ran to the front of the bus and practically jumped out of it once it came to a stop. The other one turned around without realizing the first woman had already gotten off, shouted to about 25 innocent bystanders, "FUCK YOU! I don't need this motherfucking bullshit anymore. Fuckin' bitch, thinks she's gonna motherfuckin' kill me. (to bus driver) OH, she's gone. nevermind. Uh, sorry."
The bus drama continues later that afternoon as I'm on my way to history class. Approaching my usual bus stop I see a raggedly-looking man, about 38 years old, with one (yes, only one) very brown tooth staring at me like he's trying to flag down a prostitute. Great, I can already tell this'll be a fun wait. All I can hope for is that this guy isn't waiting for the 1, as well. But lo, of course he is. He starts out my asking me basic enough questions: Do you go to school? What are you studying? Would you rather study art or science? etc. Then I get uncomfortable as he playfully whaps my hand with what looks like a rolled up black sock. Yeah. WTF? I just give the dorkiest, big, toothy smile and hope that he's either retarded or insane. I hardly hear what he's saying half the time because he has a very thick accent, although I can't tell what kind, and he speaks so quietly. We're on the bus now. I go on before him, which sucks because I sit down first so he can take a seat right next to me if he wants, which he does, of course. Creepy Man continues to try and talk to me, continues to flamboyantly strike my hand with his sock, and eventually musters the courage (or inanity) to ask me, "Are you married?" Um, no...
He hits me with the fucking sock again.
I look directly at him and say, "NO."
"Canistrrghaldkhgasd?"
"Excuse me? You're not talking loudly enough."
"Canlskdftisialdsafjdsffghhh???"
"I still can't hear you." I lean in.
"Can I take you for good food or drink or something some times?"
OK, I'm puzzled. I'm pretty sure the only feminine indicator on my whole body right now is my breasts, which are unavoidable and pointless to even attempt to conceal. Why do I look like I would be interested in this middle-aged car salesman? (Yes, he gave me a business card, which I promptly threw away when I got off the bus.)
What I should say is, "I'm not married because a) it's illegal and b) I'm nineteen years old. And you know what? You're fucking creepy."
But I'm not capable of being mean to strangers, even when that means enduring the harassment of creepy used car salesmen.
When my stop finally came up I just about launched outta that bus.
Ish cabibble.
My adventure begins at approximately 10:47 am, 18 October 2007. I wait for several minutes for the 3 outside of campus and after much sitting and sweating and pretending I'm busy with my cell phone to avoid the guy with the soul patch next to me, I finally board the bus. All goes well until about five minutes into my trip. A sudden outburst interrupts from behind me: two women shouting at each other-- "SHUT UP BITCH I'M GONNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU, YOU SKANKY ASS BITCH FROM HELL, WHAT DID YOUR MOMMA TEACH YOU? MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK YOU, BITCH! FUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUU!!!!!" and another voice shouts back "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN'? BITCH, YOU DON'T EVEN MOTHERFUCKING KNOW! WHAT THE FUCK? FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! YOU WANNA PULL A KNIFE ON ME? FUCK YOU!" etc. etc. It literally erupted out of nowhere! One of the women ran to the front of the bus and practically jumped out of it once it came to a stop. The other one turned around without realizing the first woman had already gotten off, shouted to about 25 innocent bystanders, "FUCK YOU! I don't need this motherfucking bullshit anymore. Fuckin' bitch, thinks she's gonna motherfuckin' kill me. (to bus driver) OH, she's gone. nevermind. Uh, sorry."
The bus drama continues later that afternoon as I'm on my way to history class. Approaching my usual bus stop I see a raggedly-looking man, about 38 years old, with one (yes, only one) very brown tooth staring at me like he's trying to flag down a prostitute. Great, I can already tell this'll be a fun wait. All I can hope for is that this guy isn't waiting for the 1, as well. But lo, of course he is. He starts out my asking me basic enough questions: Do you go to school? What are you studying? Would you rather study art or science? etc. Then I get uncomfortable as he playfully whaps my hand with what looks like a rolled up black sock. Yeah. WTF? I just give the dorkiest, big, toothy smile and hope that he's either retarded or insane. I hardly hear what he's saying half the time because he has a very thick accent, although I can't tell what kind, and he speaks so quietly. We're on the bus now. I go on before him, which sucks because I sit down first so he can take a seat right next to me if he wants, which he does, of course. Creepy Man continues to try and talk to me, continues to flamboyantly strike my hand with his sock, and eventually musters the courage (or inanity) to ask me, "Are you married?" Um, no...
He hits me with the fucking sock again.
I look directly at him and say, "NO."
"Canistrrghaldkhgasd?"
"Excuse me? You're not talking loudly enough."
"Canlskdftisialdsafjdsffghhh???"
"I still can't hear you." I lean in.
"Can I take you for good food or drink or something some times?"
OK, I'm puzzled. I'm pretty sure the only feminine indicator on my whole body right now is my breasts, which are unavoidable and pointless to even attempt to conceal. Why do I look like I would be interested in this middle-aged car salesman? (Yes, he gave me a business card, which I promptly threw away when I got off the bus.)
What I should say is, "I'm not married because a) it's illegal and b) I'm nineteen years old. And you know what? You're fucking creepy."
But I'm not capable of being mean to strangers, even when that means enduring the harassment of creepy used car salesmen.
When my stop finally came up I just about launched outta that bus.
Ish cabibble.