I'm no help.

Today a drunk, homeless man sat in the seat behind an old man.  He repeatedly leaned over to him and muttered, "How old are you?  You 80?  You 80 yet?  How old are you?" to which he got no reply.  I was watching him a second too long because we made eye contact. His eyes narrowed and he glared at me and repeated, "You're no help...you're no fucking help..." until he exited the bus at the next stop.

The Puker

Last night I was standing at Third and Pine waiting for the bus when I turned and saw a man standing next to me waiting to cross the street.  He was standing completely erect and tall when out of nowhere, big chunks of puke fell out of his mouth and down to the concrete.  "Oh God!" I heard myself say as he stumbled down the street and into the night.

TMI

This blog has really gotten people to open up to me about their own bus experiences, but so far the most disturbing story came from my friend John Scharnberg, who  last night informed me of the reason he will never ride the bus again.  Apparently, he would ride the bus to school when he was 8 years old.  The same woman (who he described as "special, in the retarded way") would ride the bus with him every day, and each day she would tell him how good he looked.  Until one day, she got off the bus at the same stop as him,  put her tongue in his mouth and "wiggled it around".  There was more to the story, but at this point I was totally grossed out and walked away.  Also, he was taking a really long time to tell it.

Seattle Metro Citizen's Watch

Another update from my friend Lindsey: the men on her morning bus route that make her stand at 8 months pregnant did not offer their seats to a blind man on the bus yesterday.  This is an outrage!  I don't know what's happening on that #15, but I think it's time for some sort of Citizen's Patrol.  I will go under, deep under cover and crack this thing wide open, hopefully backed by a group I want to start called the SMCW (Seattle Metro Citizen's Watch).  They will wear intimidating outfits and keep peace and order on the bus.

But honestly, I probably won't get around to that anytime soon,  so  please be courteous to handicapped people, pregnant women and of course the sometimes acrimonious, but always seat-worthy elderly.

Also, if you think you are fooling anyone by pretending you are deeply enthralled in what you are doing on your cell phone and don't notice these people needing seats, think again.  I hope next time you don't move for a blind man he knocks your phone out of your hands with his cane and breaks it.

Real Stories of Metro Drivers

6/19/06 4:50 p.m. #358:

Upon reaching the stop, passenger was paying fare. I said, "Thanks, have a good one." Passenger became very angry, yelling, "What the fuck are you telling me to 'have a good one' for? You don't even know me, motherfucker!" I turned away and ignored abuse to avoid escalating the situation. Passenger said, "I'll kick your ass if you say shit to me" as he exited the bus.

2/7/07 1:40 p.m. #48:

Pulled into zone at 15 & 85 NW. A man put the bike rack down, climbed on, held on to windshield wiper, screaming, "Let's go bitch." Then he tried to crawl through driver window, grabbing my arm. He then got back on bike rack insisting on riding there. I called for help.

 

10/7/06 4:47 p.m. #140:

Began growling as he entered bus at [Burien Transit Center] and deposited large handful of leaves. Continued growling and tearing up schedules (one by one) in rear of bus.

2/18/07 11:28 a.m. #120:

One male got on and put a quarter in the fare box. I told him it was $1.25....At that point he took his quart bottle of punch and poured it into coin portion of fare box.

One More Night

Today was quite a ride!  Although I could have walked, I opted to wait for the bus with my good friend Israel, who after three or four cocktails was ever too eager to share with me his prepared karaoke acts to Phil Collins's greatest hits.  After patiently waiting through One More Night, She's An Easy Lover and some other song I finally boarded the bus only to have my least favorite driver greet me.  It may be because he has the voice of a little girl, but I think it's mostly because he's so dramatic.  After trying to kick us off the bus three times because of ambulances blocking 3rd avenue ("Again folks if you want to get off the bus now's the time!") he then went off the lines and we had to sit and wait for a push while scores of other buses passed us by. After 15 minutes, we finally get back on route and our dramatic driver needs to remind us of his hard work.  "Thanks to me and a lot of hard work we are back on track folks, I just need a towel to wipe the sweat from my brow!". 

Gross.

Bloody Transfers

After revealing my disgust for people eating greasy fried chicken on the bus, my friend Ismael suggested I give the offender a transfer as a makeshift napkin to wipe their oily fingers on.  It couldn't help but remind me of the time that I was running in the rain - as fast as my little feet could take me - to make the light, cross the street and get my bus.  The second I step/ran from the sidewalk into the street I slid on my heels as if on a banana peel, both of my feet flew in the air and I landed on my back. My head hit the concrete with a giant thud and I looked up to see a woman in her car mouth the words, "Oh...my...God.". 

Still seeing stars I heard a homeless guy a block away shout, "Hey, are you okay!".  I shook my head and stood up, determined to catch my bus.  As I boarded, I looked down and noticed both my wrists were bleeding.  I had no band aids, so when the driver asked if I wanted a transfer I meekly asked for two and spent the rest of the ride with bus transfers covering my bloody wrists. 

I know what you're thinking and the answer is yes, I would've made fun of me if I saw me on the bus.