I’m a bus rider. I take the glamorous King County Metro number 358 to the city five days a week. I do this because a.) Parking garages are structures of the devil, 2.) Rush hour traffic. (Do I really need to elaborate on this?) Plus, my company pays for my transportation if I take the bus and I never have to pay for gas or parking or industrial sized bottles of Xanax to quell the anxiety caused by driving in rush hour traffic.
I’ve written about some of the crazy shit I’ve witnessed on the bus before. Remember the cunty racist and the heroin princess? Good times.
So although I see a lot of strange shit on the bus, nothing really actually happens to me on the bus. Well, Internets, that shit changed a few days ago.
I hopped up the front steps of the bus on Pike St and sat myself down in the very first seat behind the driver and to the left of an average lookin’, middle-aged fella. Several minutes go by and suddenly his head snaps to the left as if he’s just noticed me sitting there and he says, “Hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine thank you. How are you?” I replied rather generically.
Oh Internets, how I wish I had left off the ‘how are you’ part.
“Nasty.” was his response.
“What the fuck ever, dude.”, I thought to myself. Nasty mood, I assumed. Oh no, no, no, no my friends. This guy was feeling nasty in a different kind of way.
Now this next part happened rather quickly and amazingly lacked any violence on my part. For reals. I can’t believe I didn’t smack the ever-loving shit out of this guy. But violence on metro transit lands you in the pokey straight away and the last time I went to jail I think the bartender had called in sick because 5 o’clock came and went and not one cocktail was served, so I didn’t want to end up there again.
“You could help.”, he says.
My spine stiffened and I jerked my head to the right and in a most annoyed way said, “Excuse me?”
“You could help.” , he said again and glanced at his gross old man crotch.
Yes, I know I said he was an average looking middle-aged guy before but I’ve got creative rule here and now I say he had a gross old man crotch.
“For a few dollars, you could help.” he told me.
Now, I could always use a few extra dollars so I thought about this proposition for a minute. No I didn’t.
“Don’t fucking talk to me you sick fuck!” I yelled at him. Every head on that bus that wasn’t wearing headphones snapped up to see what was going on. I’m certain that the fury and disgust showed on my face. And in their heads they were probably chanting like children on a playground instigating a brawl; “Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight.” Or maybe not.
I have no idea what made that dickhead think I was the type of woman who would be interested in his skeevy proposition. I mean, I was wearing a fucking business suit and I can assure you it was not advertising that kind of business. It wasn’t even made out of latex or anything. All I knew was that the only person getting off on that bus, was me; at the next stop.
Fucking perverts.
I seem to be having trouble with my link thinger soooo…..
Cunty Racist is here: http://sugar-free-thoughts.com/2011/03/16/sometimes-the-beatings-just-arent-severe-enough/
Heroin Princess is here: http://sugar-free-thoughts.com/2011/01/12/it-happened/
Sugar Free Thoughts 