Public Transportation Story #69

Public Transportation Story #69:

Sitting at the bus stop. Chilly morning, half awake. Burly Black dude in his 30s saunters up to the stop. He wears a black hoodie and leans stiffly against the shelter. About to light up a smoke. He puts a white plastic bag next to his feet. I stop paying attention.

A few minutes of day-dreaming later I see him changing position and I notice he dropped his Marlboro Reds. I make eye contact with him and point at the pack on the ground. Immediately, I get the death stare.

I look at him and the pack, just meaning to be helpful. Sneering stare now. Perhaps he thinks I’m somehow calling him out for littering. He keeps staring a hole through me. I’m too tired to explain. Finally, he looks straight in my eyes and grunts: “It’s empty.”

A minute later he picks up his plastic bag and walks off. Which is a bit odd. People don’t usually wait at a bus stop and leave before a bus arrives. The only other people at the bus stop are a mother with her young daughter, whom I know by sight, and someone who looks like the mother’s sister travelling with an enormous suitcase. Next to me sits a Hispanic kid duded up to the nines in hip-hop clothing. Sharp, replete with woollen condom hat and custom kicks.

All of us stare after the Black dude who is now randomly crossing and re-crossing the nearby intersection. The kid next to me takes his right earphone out of his bling-studded ear and says to me, very slowly: “Looks – like – this – gangsta – has – no – respect!” He goes on: “Must be an Eastsider!” And then: “I’m a Southsider, man, and I got respect!” He gets up from the bench, picks the pack off the ground, and carries it to a trash can. He sits back down and turns to me: “I’m only 15, but I bet I have more respect than this gangsta.” And he double-fists himself on the heart.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/5 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Public Transport Story #43

Another item found in my notes:

Dec 22, 2011: An elderly African American woman with dreadlocks a meter long told me on the bus line #96 this morning that I looked just like Graham Chapman from Mony Python.

I said that I didn’t remember him or knew what he looked like. “It’s the eyes,” she told me.

She went on to say that the dead Norwegian pet parrot was “my idea” and that they had originally wanted to use a toaster. “I” died, she said, about 20 years ago from throat cancer and that “my” ashes were spilled somewhere when Terry Gilliam tripped over “my” urn.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/5 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Public Transport Story #35

I found the following in my notes today:

I love the humanity and short stories of public transportation.

May 13, 2011, today’s new acquaintance: Louis, truck driver, originally from Newark, NJ. Black polo-shirt, day-glo swim trunks, black sneakers, black socks. Mid 50s. Below, summary of friendly chat with Louis on Light Rail between Roosevelt/Central Ave and 24th/Van Buren stops after he asked me whether he needed to swipe his day ticket anywhere on the train. (Answer: No, man, you’re good).

As told by Louis: “Had a layover here in Phx for 12 hrs today. Need to get back to the terminal now to catch my Greyhound bus to LA. Going to pick up my truck there to drive a load to Chicago. Don’t have a home no more in this country, I live in my truck. Everything I got here is in my truck or in storage at Greyhound. It’s just 5 bucks a locker. Spent day downtown wandering around, checking shit out, drinking some wine – need to catch some zzzs on the bus ride over night. Been married 8 times. Yeah, tell me about it. Got 7 kids, oldest is 37, youngest 3 yrs 2 mo. I make 800/wk, that’s take home. I send 700/mo to the Philipines to my new wife. Met her on filipinocupid.com. Must have interviewed like a hundred women. Took me 18 months to find her because I was looking for someone who wanted to stay in the Philipines. You know, 98% of women there only want to come to the US. My monthly wire transfer triples in the Phillipino village where we built a 3-bedroom house. It’s got all the amenties of a Western home in the suburbs. When I married my wife 4 years ago she immediately became the 3rd richest women in her village. My wife is as tall as my nipple, that’s from the floor. Ha! She weighs 78lbs. She’s real tiny, like a 9yr old American girl, but she’s fully matured. She gave us the most beautiful boy you can ever imagine.” He showed me pictures of his house there, his wife, and his youngest son. Ran off the train turned around, smiled, and said: “If I dropped a 100 bucks on my seat, you can keep it.”

Total travel time together – 6 minutes. So much said, so much more to imagine.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/5 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)