I have started a new category: Metro Transit Musings
1.) I hear a loud thud behind me, a woman has dropped her purse and it has landed on the bus floor. The man next to her assists her as she struggles to reach down and get it. She laughs and says, “My stomach is in the way.” She is pregnant. The man takes notice and congratulates her, asks her what the gender is, she says she doesn’t know, it will be a surprise. He says, “You know as a Christian, I really admire that, I really admire you bringing another life into the world.” The pregnant woman says, “Yes, it’s really exciting.” He continues, “You know God said go forth, be fruitful and multiply and I really believe that. People who don’t have babies, they’re just being selfish.” I can hear the shift in the conversation, the pregnant woman and I are both thinking the same thing: “Uh-oh…this guy is a little crazy.” The man continues on: See, he has a daughter…and the mother of his daughter didn’t even tell him she was pregnant. They were going out, she disappears, and nine months later she calls him from Denver to tell him about the baby. Well, than the mother goes crazy, turns out she’s a bi-polar, manic-depressive type and she’s admitted to a mental hospital. They took the baby away and put her up for adoption. He feels that’s the right thing to do, give the baby two parents…what does she think? What does she think? I exit the bus before I hear the pregnant woman’s reply.
2) I’m heading home after a full nine hour day, I’m excited because I caught the #8 during peak traveling time. Instead of waiting every 1/2 hour the bus comes every 15 minutes. Turns out this particular bus only goes to Capitol Hill, dropping me off at the Group Health Medical Center on 15th Ave. I hike back to the bus stop, sulking, feeling slightly stranded. A gigantic drunk man is passed out on the only bench at the bus stop. He is stretched out, arms dangling over the edge of the bench, legs splayed wide apart. He is snoring in wild, drunken, abandon People are walking by, they point at him, make comments. I wonder if I should be worried: I don’t find it all that unusual.
3) On my birthday, only yesterday, I took my favorite ballet class in the morning. Before every class I evaluate how I feel so I know how far I can push it. Last week I didn’t feel well, so I mentally made the decision before class that I would live ten minutes early–right before the dreaded petite allegro my most hated part of class. The petite allegro involves short, quick, beating steps at an insane speed. A year ago a local choreographer in F.C. made the comment: “Tall people are inherently slow, they just can’t move very fast and are usually a step behind in choreography.” It really offended me…I should have said, “Actually your choreography is really uninspiring and it’s everything I can do to keep up–what with being bored stiff and all.” Anyway, the only time I can hear this comment ring in my ears is when I’m struggling to beat my legs in the air super, duper fast. It rarely happens. And this has always been the case, even in my teenage prime, I despise the petite allegro–in the past I usually feigned a mild injury that meant sitting out for a few minutes until we could get to my real love: jumping. Anyway, on my birthday I decided I would go all out–who cares if I’m 28, I’m still spry! So I had this fantastic class, worked so hard I almost puked. I came out of the class buzzing with that kind of cardio rush you can only get when you’ve been gasping for breath. I boarded the bus, humming, my face bright red and sweaty. I looked like a crazy person trying to hold it together. The bus got so warm I got off the bus early and strolled into downtown on foot. Walking felt better anyway.
4) Early Saturday morning, I am transferring to the #5 from the #3, and it’s cold. Somehow I ended up in Belltown at the bus stop in front of the YWCA. People stagger in and out, an ambulance pulls away–probably hauling off a travesty of the street. An overweight teenager in pink terry cloth sweats, flip flops, g-string hanging out, is walking towards the YWCA. She is holding a baby. The kid looks nervous, like he knows something is up. His Mom is talking to him, convincing him of something, trying to coax the hint of smile he has cautiously spreading across his face. All the baby is wearing is a diaper. I watch them enter the YWCA. Than a drunk, angry, staggering man locks eyes with me. He stumbles over to me, I try and stand my ground…I realize it’s a losing battle and anger him even further when I move away. I gain some distance, the bus shelter is long and covered and spacious. I think about earlier this morning, when I was approaching the bus stop by my house, there were two police cars on the corner. The police were frisking a skinny lady, asking her questions, putting handcuffs on her. When the #3 swooped up, I was relieved to be removed from The Scene. A woman on the bus asked me: “What happened?” “I don’t know, they’re interviewing this lady, I tried to give them space.” “Oh, well, I like to know what’s going on…I’m nosy.” I thought: I’m kinda nosy too…but I’m still not immune to people being arrested on my street, ambulances parked in front of the apartments on the corner, cracked out people climbing onto the bus stop next to my house. I guess I just don’t want to know.