Gregarious bus
Aug. 12th, 2003 09:18 amThis morning, I find myself surrounded by the sadistically gregarious. The freakin' bus driver apparently believes that we are her own private, captive audience, and regales the entire cranky, barely-awake crowd of nearly sixty with what best be described as free-flowing poetry about unruly bus passengers for the entire freeway trip. She actually calls it poetry at the beginning. Unfortunately, there are two mentally handicapped people on the bus (I don't mean that sarcastically; I mean, we really do have two very subaverage men on here), one of whom asks for more.
I'm tempted to report her. Thank Sony for headphones. Her job description does not include "torture the passengers."
The other sits in the back and talks to everyone willing to listen, trying to make small talk with a very big voice. He wants to know what I'm writing, and I tell him I'm writing in my diary in the hopes that that's a sufficiently private activity that he'll leave me alone.
However, he does manage to make one interesting discovery. There's a very pretty woman who sits back here with the rest of us who wears purple scrubs every day. I wondered if there was anything in the change of color from blue to purple and apparently there is. She's a mortician's assistant.
Cool.
Poor woman. I don't recall hearing her ask for his life story.
On the other hand, I got 1,300 words and this missive done on the bus, so that makes me happier. It's the first big block of writing I've done in three weeks.
I'm tempted to report her. Thank Sony for headphones. Her job description does not include "torture the passengers."
The other sits in the back and talks to everyone willing to listen, trying to make small talk with a very big voice. He wants to know what I'm writing, and I tell him I'm writing in my diary in the hopes that that's a sufficiently private activity that he'll leave me alone.
However, he does manage to make one interesting discovery. There's a very pretty woman who sits back here with the rest of us who wears purple scrubs every day. I wondered if there was anything in the change of color from blue to purple and apparently there is. She's a mortician's assistant.
Cool.
Poor woman. I don't recall hearing her ask for his life story.
On the other hand, I got 1,300 words and this missive done on the bus, so that makes me happier. It's the first big block of writing I've done in three weeks.
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