Thursday, February 4, 2010

On da Bus: The Hard Knocks Version

Some day, I am going to write about how wonderful taking the bus is. I am going to tell you about all the wonderful, charming people I meet and I will impart the wisdom I'm gaining just from being on the 102 Eagle River Express every single day, twice a day. But not today.

Today, I am going to rant and rave and seem really ungrateful that I even
have a ride to my job. (If you understood my job situation at the moment, you'd understand my ungrateful attitude. Just sayin'.) So here it is, dear readers. My open letter to the fellow bus riders of Anchorage.

Hello fellow transit users,

I've been among your throng for a month now, and I gotta say, most of the time we're together, I think you suck.

To the busters who put their bags on the seat next to them and don't move them when the extra seats run out, prepare yourself. The day of reckoning is coming and when your backpack and it's contents end up in a dirty snowbank on the side of the Glenn Highway, please know you've been warned.

Hey you, the college kid who wouldn't get up and let the old lady sit when we got on at the last stop last week? Remember that? She nearly fell each time we slowed down and I kept grabbing her and keeping her upright? I remember you. And when you end up in a dirty snowbank on the...well, you get it. You've been warned.

Hello, crazy drunk bastard sprawled out on the bench at my afternoon stop. You're right by my office building in the heart of Midtown. Where the hell did you and your fellow inebriates come from? Is there some crazy drunk guy cave behind the Holiday Gas Station that I don't know about? Please don't take my attitude for anything other than it really is....I don't want to talk to you. No, seriously. I don't want to know about your favorite corner to pee at or where you can buy your plastic bottle of Vodka.


OH? You see my cup of coffee? Well, just so you know, I'm a smart girl and I keep the lid popped off in case you try to grab my backpack again, I can toss it in your over-zealous face. Not only is it a delicious blend of espresso, chocolate, and milk, it's also a deadly weapon that'll be tough to explain in the homeless camp tonight. Getting schooled by the crazy girl at Stop 18 won't win you any cool points, I promise!

Also, be aware that when you approach me and gawk, I'm studying the exposed parts of your face and where I can lodge my fist if you whistle at me one more time. I may not look like much, but after a day in my office, I'm a raging ball of messy hair just waiting for an excuse. Really really. And I just saw you peeing on the trashcan on C Street, and I gotta say, you need to find another angle, brother. Whistling at random transit users will not do you much good.

Well, hello there, crabby bus driver. When I say "good morning," the expected response is "good morning" or even a nod. Hell, I'd settle for a "get the hell on the bus, Sunshine" from some of you a-holes. Are you deaf? Or are you a stick-up-the-arse jerk? Both should preclude you with working with the public as a bus driver. Oh yes. That's right. You drive a bus. Not an Indycar. A buuuuus.

I think you forgot for a must have been having flashbacks to your Nascar/Formula One days the way you speed toward oncoming traffic like you do. Even cooler is the way you slam on your brakes and make all of our backpacks fly off our laps in unison. That's a cute trick. I have a feature on my cellphone that remind me to take my Dramamine before each commute now. Thanks. Thanks a lot!

Hey, "Scream into the Cellphone" guy. STFU. No, seriously. Don't talk about how mad you are that nobody picked you up from jail and now you're having to take the bus home because you're freaking me out. In a big, big way. Just stop talking before I pop the lid off my coffee. Just sayin'.

And finally, to the Downtown Transit Center dwellers, Thank You. Thank you for making me feel like a Hobbit who just stepped into Middle Earth each time I have to pass through you to my bus. (You freakin' Orcs.) I'm not kidding...some of you look like you might enjoy the coffee to the face, and you scare me. Period. I fear for my life each time I get there and that really says something. Riding these buses, I have seen some s*#t, but nothing compares to the Transit Center. You freak me out. End of story.

And though I'm learning to walk with a little "grit in my eye" I have the lamest "mean face" on the planet and you make me feel inadequate. So just stop. Take a shower. Drink a glass of water. Eat a muffin. Something. It's like walking through a pack of rabid dogs with a steak taped to my back and I have no idea what I've got that's got you interested. You can have my bus pass if you really want it. My romance novel, too. No, seriously, just stop walking two inches behind me while singing your ABCs and we'll be cool. You're all a brand of crazy that I just can't compete with and I know when I've been bested. Well played, sirs.

And to the nuts-o broad who laughs at the back of the bus for no damn reason, over and over again: At first, you freaked me out...then I thought you just wanted the attention and I wished the sign above your head would miraculously drop.

Now, I kinda like you. I think you're probably taking in the scene just like I am. You remind me just how ridiculous we all are, and how miserable we must look riding home. Maybe you noticed my goofy pink backpack and my non-matching gloves. Or was it a joke one of your other personalities told you?

Either way, keep on rockin' in the free're one of the good ones.

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