NOTE: For the weak of constitution, there are a couple words that may be construed as offensive. If you are likely to take offense, there is also a gratuitous Mark Twain quote that will heighten your moral alarm. Proceed at your own risk.
At around 8:00 this morning I was staring at this very screen, wondering which blog to compose. I was lacking interesting subjects and hoping something interesting would pop into my head.
So… this post is being written at 10:45AM, and is all about the reason I had to wait almost three hours before you received the insight.
I’m going to lay a deep thought on you. Prepare yourselves, and get out your dictionaries. Here it is:
Buses are giant diesel-fueled spittoons-with-wheels designed to make your day less productive.
At about 8:05, I got a message from my boss. “Do you have the keys to the safe?” Apparently I did. Buried those suckers deep inside my apron pocket, so the Work Key Fairies wouldn’t find them and hide them under a couch cushion, and then The Fairy Brigade would perhaps see it in their hearts to make me a turkey and cheese sandwich. Or maybe it was because I’m forgetful and would leave a Volkswagen in my pocket, if it weren’t (1) a car, and (2)yellow. I’m not a big fan of yellow things. Even Big Bird. Call me horrible.
I have no car today. It’s my day off and Judi drove the car to work in hopes that, without it, I’d be coerced into cleaning the kitchen, and bathrooms, and washing the bedding. She may still be right, too, but I got a bit sidetracked.
So, after throwing on a coat, grabbing my umbrella (rainy day, folks), I headed to the bus stop so I could make the long journey into work.
Five minutes later, I was turning around, getting the work keys (they had mysteriously teleported themselves out of my pocket and onto the dining room table. Stupid fairies.), and re-headed to the bus stop so I could make a new, improved long journey into work.
I made the bus with one minute to spare. The wasp’s nest I mentioned in a post about a week ago was curled up in a wet, papery mess in the crook of a tree. I folded up the umbrella and boarded the bus.
A soggy thin man who smelled like cigarette tar boarded. Then, two Hispanic women, apparently headed to work. They spoke in hushed tones the entire journey. Given my recent studies of Spanish online, I knew they weren’t talking about cheese, cats or lawyers.
Then there was the silver-haired crewcut guy who left his motor running. In the space of three minutes he talked said “GodFuck” (not sure, but it may be a metal band) and referenced the film Cocaine Cowboys II. He never really stopped talking to nobody-in-particular, the entire time he sat there. Eventually he coughed, snorted, cleared his throat and spat. On the bus floor. Bob Fosse couldn’t have choreographed it better. This was Broadway-level spitting, folks. I bet the guy’s name was Tony.
Eventually I got to work, delivered the keys, spoke with a friend of mine about today’s elections in Egypt and made my return trip, this time much less eventfully.
Except one thing.
I realized that the entire time I rode, I had been holding my umbrella as if I were toying with an 18″ bus boner. And then, since it was the bus, I decided I’d go ahead and just keep holding my umbrella that way, so I could keep the row of seats all to myself.
What’s a bus boner, you say? If you don’t know, you probably don’t want to look it up online. Then I realized “Ooh! that may have been what Mister GodFuck had been doing.” He wanted personal space. Well, it worked.
You learn things from the darnedest places. The whole thing set me back about 2 hours.
So the takehome lesson for the day? Here comes the Mark Twain quote (avert your eyes, if necessary): “persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.”
So, that was how I spent my morning. And try to enjoy your own Tuesdays until you’ve sucked the moral out of it.