A young woman, to a male friend: “I got two new diagnoses, on top of the three I already have: OCD and agoraphobia.”
Male friend: “Really? But you seem so normal.”
Young woman: “That’s the problem; most crazies do.”
Category Archives: overheard
“The Tiger Woods of the system”
According to my new, second-favorite* driver, that’s the 48, because it’s a “long drive with a short putt to the beach.” The thing is, a long drive with him at the wheel wouldn’t be half bad. The man kept us entertained over the loudspeaker for the entire (not-so-long) ride on Friday afternoon, announcing landmarks and businesses of note at every stop. At Union, the transfer to the 2 (“you know how those lake routes are”); at Cherry, Catfish Corner (“wouldn’t mind a piece of peach cobbler right about now”); at Jefferson, Medgar Evers pool (“it’s Black History Month–make sure you learn who that is“). Between stops, he also shared his other nicknames for the route he drives–“Dr. 48” and “the heavyweight of the system”– and reminded us that, courtesy of Metro, we were “rollin’ on big wheels.”
And yet again, I find an occasion to quote the bus chick pick-up artist:
A bus is like a massive, pimping SUV with 4000 horse power and lots of 45 inch wheels. Can your ride compete with that, b*tch? I didn’t think so.
*Smooth Jazz continues to hold the top spot.
Eastbound 4, 3:45 PM (or, “We do more before 9 AM…”)
Back of the bus: A group of teenage boys is antagonizing a fortysomething man dressed in work clothes and boots.
Boys’ ringleader: “Man, I make more in an hour than you probably make in a whole day.”
Fortysomething man: “I make 54 bucks an hour.”
BR: “Seriously? What do you do?”
FM: “Electrician. Journeyman.”
Random boy: “You work every day?”
FM: “Seven days a week.”
BR, calculating: “Dang–you’re pulling in some serious cheese.”
The bus reaches fortysomething man’s stop, and he gets off.
BR, to his friends: “I’d stop hustling for a job that paid like that.”
Speaking of passionate sports arguments…
Westbound 4, noon-ish:
A Seahawk hater and a Seahawk fan are arguing about the team’s chances against Chicago. The hater, who believes the Seahawks cheated their way to victory last Saturday (according to him, Romo’s bobble was the result of special teams players greasing the ball), claims they will lose badly. The fan is convinced of victory. In fact, he is so sure that the Hawks will make it all the way to Miami that he plans to wear “Crip blue” in their honor for the entire playoffs.
Says the Seahawk hater: “I guess you’ll be wearing it until Sunday, then, ’cause that’s the day those Seaturkeys are going down.”
Eastbound 14, 9 PM (or, second time’s the charm)
My brothers and I are returning from a cathartic evening of bonding at the Seahawks/Cowboys game. (Jeremy, ever in the mix, happens to know a Seagal. He also knew half the people sitting next to us in the crowd. But I digress.) The 14 is standing-room only–packed with Seahawk fans and regular riders–but oddly morose, given the outcome of the game.
Jeremy, to everyone else on the bus: “What about them Seeeeeeeeahawks?!”
At least half of the other riders: “Hawks, baby! Sea-HAWKS!”
A lone voice in the crowd: “Better not be no Cowboys on this bus.”
Westbound 2, 5 PM
Eastbound 4, 8-ish
A man and a woman who apparently know each other meet in the aisle on the way to their seats.
Woman: “Hey, stranger! You make it through OK?”
Man: “I just got back in town. I couldn’t take it.”
Woman: “Well, you better turn right back around. We’re about to get another d*mn storm. And I just got my lights back on!”
As they continue to talk windstorms and lost power, the man in front of me sits on a tube of toothpaste. He tries to clean it, then gives up and moves.
The seat, post toothpaste accident (note the tube in the crack between the seat and the wall)
Later, at Jefferson and 14th, a very drunk (the kind of drunk you can smell coming) man gets on, muttering to himself in a thick accent.
“I’m going to a celebration of my people, in Africa, where it doesn’t rain. Not like here. Here it rains every f-ing day.”
Through all of this, Smooth Jazz is at the wheel. Smooth Jazz makes everything aaalllll riiiight.
Montlake Freeway Station spoken word
Bus Nerd, on missing a transfer en route to a Memorial Day BBQ/Pistonfest on the Eastside:
“Oh 255
Why did you jive
With me?
Why couldn’t you be late
Like the 48?”
Frequently asked questions
One of the best things about riding the bus is that you get to talk to strangers. In my years as a full-time bus chick, I have gotten to know the people I share this city with in a way that would simply not have been possible from the isolated bubble of a car.
One of the worst things about riding the bus is that you get to talk to strangers. Strangers are often annoying, or pushy, or rude. Sometimes, strangers are nosy. Several times a week, I am asked one of the following questions:
Where are you from? [Seattle] No, I mean where are your parents from? [Seattle and Pittsburgh]
What’s your nationality? [American]
What’s your background? [Let’s see…I majored in English…]
What’s your last name? [Saulter]
You Creole or something? [Nope. I’m a fan of New Orleans, if that counts.]
Habla espanol? [Si, un poquito]
And the most popular: What are you? [A daughter, a sister, a friend, a writer, a human, a carbon-based life form…]
All those folks should have taken lessons in directness from the man I sat next to on the 4 today (P.S. – Smooth Jazz was driving). Before my butt had fully hit the seat, he asked, “Are you black or white?”
The answer, for him, and for all others I might encounter on a bus in the future, is: both.