#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.