#9 and #10: Your Parents

Dear Baby X,

I saw you when you were just a glint in your father’s fly.

It was mid June, late on a muggy spring night. I was waiting for my bus at the Port Authority. I was bored and, there, across the way, I saw them: your parents. They were young, reckless, and obviously inebriated. I was impressed by their perseverance in remaining upright. In some ways…your father more than your mother…

Your father had your mother pinned against the wall. I never knew that the human tongue could travel that far down another’s esophagus. Perhaps this is a talent you will possess as well. One can only hope.

Your mother was groping at your dad’s khakis, which seemed to get tighter the more they made out. It’s a wonder of science that his pants didn’t split. See what a miracle you were conceived from?

Other people were watching, but trying to look like they weren’t watching. Your parents can sure put on quite a show! They could’ve charged admission.

In approximately nine months (or, if your mom doesn't lay off the booze, perhaps sooner), your parents will meet up again, each with their respective new boos in order to curse witness your entry into the world. Here's hoping that all of your parts are where they should be and that you don't have to ride a short bus for the rest of your life. That last sentence will make more sense to you once you learn about birth defects in school...

So, Baby X, I just wanted to present you with a picture of your moment of conception. Not many people get to see this. If not for your parents' skankiness, I would not be able to give you this precious, precious gift.

Sincerely,

A fellow passenger on the 167

P.S. 157 more to go!

**Illustration (arrow) done by Ryan Haase. Thanks Ryan!

 

 

#8: It's Pat

No, really! It drives my bus:

#7: Who You Calling "Bitch"?

You know your day is going to suck when you get called a bitch before 9 AM.

So this morning, I’m loving life cause, well, it’s Friday and I got fun plans later tonight. I hop aboard the short bus without a care in the world.  I plop down next to this woman whom I’ve noticed before largely because when she listens to her music it resembles the onset of Parkinson’s: little tics here and there. She doesn’t full-on bop, mind you, no, she does one head nod every 20 seconds or so. It’s unnerving.

All of a sudden I hear Jamie Foxx’s whiny scream:

“She giiiiiive me mooooney!”

What the—?

“When I’m in neeeed!”

I turn to my left. Yes, the woman is full-on listening to her music and I can hear EXACTLY what she’s listening to.

“Go ’head girl, go ’head get down!” Kanye West’s voice is crystal clear.

So I get up and move across the aisle to avoid listening. I mean, I love Kanye, but I’m not trying to hear him via earbuds the size of a midget’s nipples when they’re not in MY ears.

All of a sudden I realize that you can actually hear every song this woman is listening to. And by now, I’ve moved across the aisle so there’s an aisle AND a seat between us. And the bus is LOUD. I mean between the shocks, the poor insulation and the groaning massive engine, it’s like being stuck in a box with Monica Seles and Chynna scisorring (let me apologize now for that mental image).

So I lean across the aisle and I say (very politely), “Excuse me, would you mind turning your music down?”

She just stares at me blankly. I take that to mean, "yes."

Two minutes later:

“Iiiii’m every woman! It’s aaaall in meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME?!?!?

Now, don’t get it twisted. I’m down with Whitney. It sure as fuck is all “in her” and then some (except when she’s in rehab), but for the love of god, I don’t want to hear her like that. Hasn't she been through enough?

So again, I stretch across the aisle, “Uh could you turn it down again?”

The woman looks over at me, “You can hear THAT?!?” with an attitude.

“Yeah, you’re listening to Whitney Houston’s, ‘I’m Every Woman’,” I reply.

Then, it was like a light switch went off in her Tabasco and crack addled brain,

“Whatever,” she snapped, “Whatever. Shut up, you annoying bitch.”

Ohhhhh HELLLLL NO. No, she DIH-NT (watch 00:18 seconds in)

“I’M an annoying bitch? Me?!? YOU’RE the one with her music loud enough for a deaf person to hear,” I shouted at her.

“Just cause you’re miserable and don’t wanna go to work doesn’t mean you have to bother me,” she said. Yes, she actually word vomited that shit.

“Who said I was miserable? And what the fuck does that have to do with turning your damn music—“ And then I stopped. I realized the woman was clearly not playing a full deck of cards and, instead, I just started laughing.

I learned a while ago that when faced with crazy, act crazy.

She didn’t really know what to say to my laughing so she actually didn’t say anything in response (score one for me), but she did proceed to listen to some of the worst shit ever produced at top volume. I mean the bus driver was looking over at me as if to say, “What the fuck?”

Because I really am the spawn of Satan with a death wish, every so often I would look over at her and when she looked at me, I’d just start laughing.

When we pulled into the Port Authority, I stood up in preparation for getting off the bus. I looked over at her. I smiled — huge. Then I waved. She looked perplexed. Mid-wave my hand gesture turned from the universal sign for hello to the universal sign for “Fuck you.” Yes, I gave the thing that crawled out of Paris Hilton’s cooch, the middle finger.

I reeaaaaaaaaaally don’t like being called a bitch — especially before coffee.

“FUCK YOU!” She yelled, and then for good measure added, “BITCH!” while I proceeded to laugh, even taking time to say, “Have a great weekend” to the bus driver, who (along with the rest of the bus) totally heard the talking Culo explode.

You see, folks, take notes. The beauty of this scenario was that no one on the bus heard me say anything. And, since they’re all focusing on getting their shit together in preparation for getting off the bus, they didn’t see me give her the finger, either.  So to everyone else, she just looked REALLY FUCKING INSANE.

I’m not gonna lie. My ass cheeks were tightly clenched as I wound my way through the Port Authority because I was not entirely sure she wouldn’t catch up to me and beat me. Mental note to self: Make shank this weekend.  But I did not run. I didn’t even walk quickly. One might even say I sauntered. And I never looked back. Not once. 

But I’m totally taking a different bus on Monday.

7 down, 160 more to go!

NOTE: Turn the volume all the way up and you can slightly make out the music. Remember, the bus is loud, and my phone is not some state-of-the-art recording device so the fact that you can make out anything, should tell you how loud she was.

#6: Hooked on Phonics

I’ve heard a lot of drivers say a lot of crazy shit: from the ones who’ve asked me if I’m French (because, yes, I look like this) to those who actually employ the bus intercom system to yell at a car in front of them:

“YOU! IN THE DODGE! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT! I HAVE A TOOTHPICK FOR A DICK AND YELLING INTO AN INTERCOM LIKE THE EPIC DOUCHE THAT I AM IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN GET OFF!”

Um, OK, I made up last sentence, but the first part is totally accurate and has happened. Twice.

But I digress. For the most part, though, drivers don’t do much except for drive the bus. I mean they are somewhat responsible for the lives of 50+ assholes, and if they fuck up their admittedly stressful, yet relatively simple job, well…that’s a lot of shit to explain.

So imagine my surprise when Hooked on Phonics started reading while the bus was in motion. In my delusional mind he was reading to further his career — material like the “How to Make Change” or (my personal favorite) “How to Read a Bus Schedule…and Share the Information” pamphlets that I’m sure the union only offers their most promising drivers (aka The Few. The Lame. The NJ Transit Bus Drivers.) But, in truth, he must’ve been perusing something scintillating like an article on new developments in toilet paper, which is obviously far more important than…watching the road.

I wanted to say to him, “Can I get you anything else, perhaps? A cocktail? A snack? Pillow? Or how about…Perez Hilton’s mouth? Cause you’re gonna need it for the huge cock of justice that I’m going to make you blow after we get into an accident."

161 more to go!

#5: Your Driving is Making Me Ill

Man, talk about starting a Monday off on the right foot! We were just coming out of the tunnel and all of a sudden I felt this Vince Neil-like presence hovering above me, swaying and saying she felt “awful" (video below). I was afraid that I was going to lose my shit if this woman vomited on me as I was envisioning this woman’s head turning and spewing on me because she was standing right above me and there was nowhere for me to go. I wasn’t going to sit in the dude’s lap* (pic above) sitting next to me. And I was in the front seat of the bus. I was completely stuck in her projectile cross hairs.

While visions of puke danced in my head, the woman was literally unable to stand any longer and thankfully she plopped down on the stairs. The bus driver was mumbling something inaudible, while keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the woman.

When we arrived at the Port Authority the woman stumbled off the bus, somehow managed to walk onto the escalator, and then sat down on the floor when she got off. I asked her if she wanted me to get help. She nodded. I ran and grabbed this dude I always see standing guard. I literally yelled, “Hey! I need your help. There’s a woman who is ill!” He came to look at her and said he would get the police. I was standing there with her until she told me she was OK, that she could wait by herself, but she thanked me.

I hope she's feeling better, and am grateful I arrived spewless to work. #5 down, 162 left!

*Originally, my blog for today was going to be on the tightness of this guy’s pants, hence the reason I took a picture. He may reappear at a later juncture, especially because I still haven’t gone Nancy Drew and solved "The Mystery of How This Man Sits Down." But, seriously, folks, if you had the choice between getting exorcised on, or climbing into this, which would you choose?