Sometimes Public Transit Makes Me Think I'm Going Mental.
I'm sitting at the bus depot. A jittery middle aged man sits besides me and blows cigarette smoke into my face. I clutch my bagpipes, safe in their backpack and try not to breath in the noxious fumes.
Another middle aged man, with a beer belly but muscular legs, paces in a circle around the bus turn around area.
"Not good enough," he says to himself. "Just not good enough. STILL not good enough," he wrings his hands and paces, repeating these lines over and over.
"Talking to yourself," says the jittery smoker, to me, presumably, "That's what gets you in trouble," he shakes his head.
I don't answer.
"I think I should get a dog," says the smoker, "One of my girlfriends, her dog just had puppies. Cockiepoos. I'd like a dog, then it would be nice to have some companionship. You know, not to come home to an empty house. Yes, a dog. A small one like that, you know."
I don't know if this requires a response from me. I think of asking him, what about your girlfriends, aren't they companionable? But I know this type of conversation is one sided anyway.
I get on my bus. I am the only one on the number two. We pick up a middle aged bleach blond who is overly fond of hot pink. She wears an mp3 player, and bobs her head to the music. After a while she grows distracted and starts a conversation, although at whom she is directing it, I'm not sure; the bus driver, or some unknown figment of her psyche.
"My mom signed the papers, you know," she says gleefully, "Oh, no, she didn't want to, but now I have the money," she giggles.
"Oh, my lawyer told her to. He said she HAS to. Now that will show those nurses. Oh, they didn't like me, but now they can't say anything. That one nurse, she almost cried when she heard. I could see the tears in her eyes," she chuckles, "Oh, my mom, she signed the papers."
A couple gets on the bus at the hospital with a crabby toddler in a stroller. The man is tall and skinny and looks like he has blotches of shaving cream stuck to his face. The woman is short and obese. I try to entertain the small child with amusing faces, but she stares at me sleepily and fusses in her stroller. The parents, meanwhile, discuss the child's health.
"They said it's contagious?" asks the woman
"Yeah." said the man
"Well, how come we don't got it?" asks the woman.
"Dunno"
"Well, maybe it's just contagious for kids," says the woman.
"Well, that's not what contagious means, is it, that means everyone?"
"I don't know," sighs the woman.
Some time passes. The blonde continues to mumble about her mother and her nurses and her lawyer. The kid drops her bottle several times, shrieking when it falls. The mother sniffs the air suspiciously.
"You smell that?" she asks the woman
"Yeah," says the man, "burning"
"What is that?" asks the woman.
"I don't know." He looks at me, as though wondering if I know
"It must be them buring dog corpses again," he says and winks at me and smiles. I couldn't have heard him right, maybe he didn't wink after all. Something's weird in transit yet again, and the world is too surreal. I walk the rest of the way home.
Another middle aged man, with a beer belly but muscular legs, paces in a circle around the bus turn around area.
"Not good enough," he says to himself. "Just not good enough. STILL not good enough," he wrings his hands and paces, repeating these lines over and over.
"Talking to yourself," says the jittery smoker, to me, presumably, "That's what gets you in trouble," he shakes his head.
I don't answer.
"I think I should get a dog," says the smoker, "One of my girlfriends, her dog just had puppies. Cockiepoos. I'd like a dog, then it would be nice to have some companionship. You know, not to come home to an empty house. Yes, a dog. A small one like that, you know."
I don't know if this requires a response from me. I think of asking him, what about your girlfriends, aren't they companionable? But I know this type of conversation is one sided anyway.
I get on my bus. I am the only one on the number two. We pick up a middle aged bleach blond who is overly fond of hot pink. She wears an mp3 player, and bobs her head to the music. After a while she grows distracted and starts a conversation, although at whom she is directing it, I'm not sure; the bus driver, or some unknown figment of her psyche.
"My mom signed the papers, you know," she says gleefully, "Oh, no, she didn't want to, but now I have the money," she giggles.
"Oh, my lawyer told her to. He said she HAS to. Now that will show those nurses. Oh, they didn't like me, but now they can't say anything. That one nurse, she almost cried when she heard. I could see the tears in her eyes," she chuckles, "Oh, my mom, she signed the papers."
A couple gets on the bus at the hospital with a crabby toddler in a stroller. The man is tall and skinny and looks like he has blotches of shaving cream stuck to his face. The woman is short and obese. I try to entertain the small child with amusing faces, but she stares at me sleepily and fusses in her stroller. The parents, meanwhile, discuss the child's health.
"They said it's contagious?" asks the woman
"Yeah." said the man
"Well, how come we don't got it?" asks the woman.
"Dunno"
"Well, maybe it's just contagious for kids," says the woman.
"Well, that's not what contagious means, is it, that means everyone?"
"I don't know," sighs the woman.
Some time passes. The blonde continues to mumble about her mother and her nurses and her lawyer. The kid drops her bottle several times, shrieking when it falls. The mother sniffs the air suspiciously.
"You smell that?" she asks the woman
"Yeah," says the man, "burning"
"What is that?" asks the woman.
"I don't know." He looks at me, as though wondering if I know
"It must be them buring dog corpses again," he says and winks at me and smiles. I couldn't have heard him right, maybe he didn't wink after all. Something's weird in transit yet again, and the world is too surreal. I walk the rest of the way home.