|Photo by blmurch, via Flickr|
The day in question started off good enough. I was on the way uptown to babysit for my BFF. Since I had serious arse ache from sitting too long at work, I decided to walk several blocks to the East Side and catch the 6 train uptown. A coworker mentioned that if I just walked a few blocks more, I could catch an express bus that shot right uptown with only a few stops. She gave me specific directions and explained that a separate machine was used to purchase the ticket for the bus.
I was already happy just to find the bus and the machines, since I don’t have the best internal GPS. But then I was overcome with feelings of “all is well with the universe” when an attractive man in a suit offered me his ticket when he saw me fumbling with the machine. I was clearly not “in the express bus know,” and he took pity on me. I grasped the ticket and smiled, excited for the free bus ride. But boy, did I end up paying for it.
Squeezed between old people with stale breath and teenagers with noxious BO—the kind of stench that warrants a parent discussion that it’s time to use deodorant—I held on to a germ-infested bar and closed my eyes to block out the “others.” The first two stops glided by, and I was starting to feel giddy at the prospect of getting uptown quickly, above ground. At the next stop, a man who thought he was cool but looked like he just stepped off the set of a Miami Vice remake, barged on. He wore a cheap suit and dark shades and immediately started to barrel towards the back of the bus. That’s when I heard the annoying commuter strike.
“What do you THINK YOU ARE DOING?” a woman’s voice raised above the rest in an impossible-to-take-seriously overdramatic voice (think of Meryl Streep’s rendition of Julia Childs.)
“You PUSHED me!” she continued her outrage. Then, “You should be ASHAMED of yourself.”
I couldn’t help but giggle, as the woman’s voice conjured thoughts of the funny British sketch comedy program “The Catherine Tate Show” and her character Derek Faye, who routinely and dramatically screams out, “How very dare you!” (If you haven’t seen it, check it out here).
“DRIVER…STOP THE BUS” the woman called out, at which point my fellow New Yorkers started to lose patience, murmuring ‘what the hell’ and shifting in their seats.
“Look lady, it’s a crowded bus, it’s called ‘Riding the Bus 101’ here, maybe if you’d moved over more, I wouldn’t have pushed you,” said Don Johnson.
A sound like an injured animal spread across the bus as people reached their heads up to see what the ruckus was all about. “So now you’re going to INSULT me in addition to ASSAULT me!”
“Give me a break!” “Shut up!” “Get over it!” were the responses from various riders. But the woman would not be deterred. She continued to scream at the driver to stop the bus, which he did. An overweight MTA officer waddled over and asked Don Johnson to “step aside,” while the complainer (I could now see her: 60s, dress suit that looked like my grandmother’s couch upholstery, a tight bun and bedazzled in gold jewelry) stood red faced and indignant as people shuffled off the bus, shooting daggers at her.
Don Johnson took one look at the officer, laughed, and ran away as the complainer screamed “STOP THAT MAN!” The fellow passengers were told that the bus was now a crime scene and had to wait for another bus. No express bus came, so I got on a local, which stopped on every street from the 50s to the 70s. To make a long story short, I would have arrived uptown faster walking.
So to the bedazzled annoyer in question: Beware. Should our paths cross the next time I take the express bus, I will personally boot ya butt off if you start up with your shenanigans. YOU should be ashamed of yourself for preventing a crapload of people from getting home after a long, hard work/school day. That’s right! How very dare you!
Abbreviations for those who aren’t “with the times”
OTT: Over The Top
BFF: Best Fartin Friend
GPS: Global Positioning System
BO: Smelly FN Body. Slap on some roll-on. Seriously.