My mission was clear. Take the bus to the Y, work out in the pool, take
the bus to an art supply store in Boston
to get some items for the weekend, then get back to town for an appointment I
had at 5:00 pm. I had plenty of
time - 5½ hours! I was rested up. I was ready to go!
Except I walked out the door without my headphones. No problem. I had a spare set in my purse. I had snacks, music
player, notebook, rolling walker. I was strong. I was rested. I was ready to go!
So,
my trusty walker and I set off for the Y. The bus was 20 minutes late,
but that didn't matter. I looked for my spare headphones and they
weren't in my purse. Damn! But I had two strengths of earplugs and
plenty of time.
I got to the Y, worked out in the
pool and it felt GREAT!! I soaked in the wonderful 3½ deep jacuzzi.
I showered and got dressed and set off for the bus stop. I had plenty
of time to accomplish what I needed to that day. I was raring to go!
That's where
it...got weird.
The first irritant was a woman at the bus stop, drenched in perfume and old
cigarette smell, deciding to bend down and inspect my walker while talking
loudly on her cell phone. I shot her a look and she seemed to
understand that I was indeed alive and human and that her face was a two feet away
from my knees and she was
yelling at them. She moved away.
Okay, that was a little weird. People are weird... I put in my medium-duty earplugs. The bus came 15
minutes late. That was typical. And o.k. I had plenty of
time!
The second irritant was the woman with the obligatory Urban Assault Stroller
parking it at the front of the bus and, upon noticing some friend in the back
of the bus, starting screeching at her about needing her to come over to her
house to fix her hair because Rosita did something to it and it was horrible
and she couldn't wear it down anymore even after it had been straightened and
look at it it was terrible and she needed her to come over right away and make
sure to bring the clippers...
All at top volume.
Loud shrieking woman after screeching her desperate story of hair 2 or 3 times.
The kid didn't even seem to notice, but everybody else on the bus did.
The woman finally left her kid in the stroller at the front of the bus, went to
her friend in the back row and repeated the above. Twice. I'm sorry.
Don't leave your kid! Just
don't. Motion to your friend that you need her to call you. You
have a kid! That's more important than your hair!!!
I put in my heavy-duty earplugs. I regretted the dearth of headphones.
I snacked on the almonds and dried fruit I had brought along. The bus ran it's
twisty, turny route through the meandering roads in my town as I kept checking
the time. Did I have enough time to make my transfer? It was going to be close.
There was a lot at stake. If I missed my connection, which wouldn't run again for an
hour, I'd have to stay on this bus to Cambridge and then
transfer to another awful bus to get to my destination.
Let me tell you why that was sub-optimal. The rule of this route is that there will
always be a screaming child or a loud crazy
person on it...
ALWAYS.
Sometimes it has both. Sometimes more than one of each. Sometimes
weird combinations of both such as the memorable occasion when a loud crazy
person disturbed a child so much that the kid started screaming or the time
when two loud crazy people - one at each end of the bus - had an uncoordinated
duet of cacophonous ranting (IIRC, one was yelling about the death of rock 'n'
roll and one informing the cosmos about the Illuminati). And no, shrieking hair disaster woman didn't count!
You may think I'm exaggerating, but I've ridden that bus well over 1000 times in
the past 17 years and the rule has only failed twice. It's a valid sample size.
That's why headphones are so important. As the screaming and/or ranting
intrudes slightly on my music or audiobook, I can just make a mental note that the rule
has been satisfied (of course) and I can then ignore the disturbance more
easily. Sometimes I even smile.
This day, I was a bit anxious that I would miss my connection and loathed the possibility
of having to stay on the dread bus without headphones. I kept watching
the road to the East for my connection and, miraculously, it didn't come until I had time to
slowly cross the street and sit on the only good bench (out of 4) in front of
the bus shelter.
That guy.
Someone was smoking in the bus shelter. Someone always is. Today, it was that guy.
Now my connection is usually a non-irritating bus. The people on it are
going to the quiet South side of town or going to Riverside T stop, so I let my
guard down and took out my pad to check my list. I checked the
time. I had plenty of time. Suddenly, a sound started in the back
of the bus.
THUD!
THUD! SQUEAL!
SQUEAL! THUD!
THUD! THUD! SQUEEEAL!
I
and the few other people on the bus turned around to see a rotund woman
near
the back of the bus pounding on the window and squealing to get the
attention
of someone on the street. She appeared to have had a vague sense of not
being successful in attracting the attention of her friend and had
responded by moving to the aisle to jump up & down and squeal ever
more
loudly. And that was the weirdest part. She wasn't calling her
friends name. She was squealing a mixture of open-mouth syllalbles of no
apparent meaning: UM Om OH Oh OOH OOMM!
Well, maybe that was her friend's name.
She finally gave up and sat down. We all turned back in our seats.
I reseated my heavy-duty earplugs and we made it all the way to Riverside
with no further incident. I was starting to get tense. Than I
thought, "well, I'll be on the D line in the middle of the day with plenty
of time. It will be quiet and uneventful ride to Park
Center. I can relax."
The D Line runs through some of Boston's
richest suburbs. It stops and starts, sways and bumps, but many sections
of the route are through a lush green tunnel of trees. It can be a
calming ride...
I had to wait 20 minutes for it, but the D train was uncrowded. I sat in
the handicapped seat without having to evict anyone, arranged my legs for
maximum comfort, leaned back and closed my eyes... Ah. At last.
Safe for awhile...
No.
At the third stop along, three young women got on the train, screeching at each
other and into their cell phones about how she said that about her and NO she
said this and NO she really said that and she's No I DIDN'T and I saw her do
that YES SHE DID SHE
DID SAY THAT!!!!
They stood right next to me, shrieking at each other and their wireless friends
about some major teenage crisis over which a war of words had to be fought
RIGHT NOW in front of strangers on the D Line!
RIGHT NOW!! Each one
was tall and way too thin. Their upper arms were thinner than their elbow
joints. Their thighs were skinnier than their knee joints. Their
muscle mass was so low, it was hard to understand how they could remain
upright.
If it was an performance art piece where some victims of a third-world famine
were dressed in high-end American teen fashion and paraded around to make a
point, maybe I could tolerate it. But the screeching was singularly
unpleasant. I started to remove one of my heavy-duty earplugs to ask them
to move to the next car, but the momentum of the train gradually pushed them
like the wind pushes dead leaves and street flotsam. They drifted to the end of the car as they screeched,
jabbered and shrieked at each other and into their phones. I put the earplug
back in.
Suddenly, I had a horrible vision of a network of screeching anorectics
stretching out from that group of three - each 'friend' on the line being part
of another group of three anorectics shrieking on their cell phones and so
on. I tried to remember the mathematical series... N +
2^(n-1)? No, that's not it. We have 3 anorectics shrieking at 3
anorectics, each of which is 1/3 of a group of 3 more anorectics screeching
to...
I put the terrible image out of my mind. The screeching was fading as the
group was drifting into the other car. I leaned back again and tried some deep
breathing again. I was feeling unstable. It was going to be o.k. I still had plenty of time.
The
train stopped. The doors opened and a young mother pushed Boston's
Largest
Urban Assault Stroller (UAS)
into the car and parked it at my feet. It was the size of a large
armchair. Her two children looked old enough to walk - maybe 5
and 7 years old?
I tried to be charitable. I thought that maybe the kids could have some
sort of disease which meant they couldn't walk. I tried to think that
maybe they needed that many cup holders, storage compartments, metal bars,
straps and buckles for practical reasons... and I failed. Even pushed all
the way to the door, the UAS blocked almost half of the width of the train. It
blocked almost the full 4-foot width of the door.
The woman took out her cell phone and ignored her children. I closed my
eyes again. None of my business, none of my business, none of my
business. At least the kids were quiet. The shrieking of the anorectics
was much more muted now - like the twittering of a flock of nasty little birds
squabbling over crumbs across the street.
As it made its way to Boston, the
train filled up and more. More people encroached on 'my' space since they
were forced to accommodate Boston's Largest Urban Assault Stroller.
That was pretty much par for the course while riding the T, so I ignored it all
as best I could... but I was tense.
There's a new policy on the Green Line of not opening the back doors to let people off
because other people get on without paying their fares. That's fine, but
when someone using a walker is yelling at you to open the back door because she
can't go up four steps to get to the front of the train to go down five stairs
to get off, it's really your obligation as a driver to open the back door,
right? Fortunately, the driver finally understood what, "I'm
disabled! I can't use the stairs to get to the front door! OPEN THE
BACK DOOR!" meant and so I succeeded in getting off the train at Fenway.
I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to clear away the rising sense of
panic. That didn't work.
I needed to eat. The almonds and dried fruit I brought along for the trip
were long gone. I thought I was so frazzled because of low blood
sugar. I went to the Panera near the art store.
I stood in line between the straps, reading the huge, pastel menu boards.
Soup and salad. That sounds good. Good. Chicken Broccoli and
a the...
Roasted Turkey Fuji Apple. Sounds good. I'll sit and relax before I have to make decisions
about frames. I have my dimensions written down, I still have time.
My turn to talk to the super-friendly, super-smiling counter staffer
came. As I placed my order and asked my food allergy questions, her eyes
flicked momentarily to the left and then back to me. Her fake smile
became just a tad wider. I turned to my left and saw a young, well
dressed man about 6 inches from my left shoulder. He was rubbing his
chest and stomach in ever greater circles while keeping his eyes fixed on the
menu board. His hand rubbed and circled and... touched my walker. I
fixed him the death stare because at this point the world was on my last nerve
and I snapped, "Do you mind?!". He started, noticed his
hand, removed his hand and stepped back. I motioned to him to get behind me
- back and to the right - where the line was. He did, but...
What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened? Was he crazy? Was he a walker
pervert having a moment of ecstacy? Was he autistic?
What. The. Fuck?
It
might have been at the moment when the word 'Felliniesque' first
entered my
mind. I made sure I could get the salad without the veggies I'm
allergic to, finished ordering and was given a GPS unit so the waiter
could
locate my table to deliver my food. The unit was about 4 inches square
with a huge
number on it. My number was 43.
[Too bad it wasn't 42. Now that would have made some sense!]
I found a small table with a comfy chair in the corner of one of the
weirdly-shaped seating areas and closed my eyes. I would eat, relax, go
to the art store, select my frames, then go back home before my appointment. I
still had enough time. I could do this... after I ate.
A middle-aged preppy guy came into the seating area and made a big show of
looking around at each table. He then sat down at the table next to
mine. I could see that the table already had some small items of no
consequence on it, along with a GPS unit with a large number on it.
What kind of moron sits at a table which is so obviously occupied? It's
not like the GPS unit was petite! Within a couple of minutes, a
frazzled looking woman came into the area, marched up to her table and told him
it was her table. She was friendlier about it than I would be!
The guy blithered for a moment (Really? He didn't know? Was he that
stupid? Was he crazy? Was this his way of picking up women at
Panera? Really? Was he autistic?). He got up... and moved to
the next table along. That table also had a GPS unit on it along with a
few pieces of paper and items of no value. I had a brief impulse to
let him know he was sitting at yet another occupied table, but forced myself to
look away. I had to not notice. I had to not care. I
had
to.
My food came, it was good and I could feel some minor stress relief
start. I rested for as long as I could, but I did have that appointment
at 5:00, so had to keep moving.
The art store was uneventful except for one staffer who was moving across the
aisle I was in, saw me, stopped in the middle of the aisle and required an
"Excuse me!" to get out of my fucking way.
I don't understand this phenomenon but it happens often enough to me to be
irritating. I was taught to defer to handicapped people, not block their
path. But that's just me.
I kept moving, made my purchases and walked back to the stop for my return
journey. Which, by some miracle, was filled only with the usual
irritations of a just-before-rush-hour outbound train: people a little too loud
on their cells, guys gesturing a too widely, teenagers not hanging on
and jerking this way and that as the train moved...
I was pretty frazzled when I got to Riverside, but all I had to do
was take bus to a bus to about a block from my home.
I still had almost an hour. I could still make it.
I couldn't remember the schedule, so asked the old guy waiting at the stop when the next one was due. He told me about 15
minutes, so I walked to the nearby World Wide Bus station to buy a soda. I was
thirsty after all that stress.
I still had time. I could still get home to dump my stuff before heading back out for my appointment.
I
came back to the bus stop to find the old man talking to
a English tourist. He was sitting at one end of the bench; she was
sitting at the other end. I sat down in the middle because I needed to
sit. As I had approached the bench, I had given them that significant
look and a moment to adjust their relative positions, but
the woman didn't look to willing to get closer to the old guy. I soon
found out
why. He was spouting an endless stream of paranoia and
half-truths. Obama is the worst thing that has happened to our nation in
the last 50 years, he wasn't even born in the United States, the
military has been gutted, Mitt Romney is the only hope our nation has,
yada yada
yada.
Now, you'd think I would just avoid any more
stress, but when he started quoting made-up numbers as facts, I shot a
look at the Englishwoman and corrected him. After telling him that the
vast majority of the U.S.'s debt was accrued by the Bush Administration
and quoted him the debt when President Obama took office (~
$11 trillion).
First, he called me a moonbat, whatever that is. Then he told me he didn't say anything
about the debt and then, when I told him that yes he did plus I didn't
have discussions with people who responded to facts with insults,
continued his string of disconnected, paranoid lies. I could list the
ones I heard, but you can hear them repeated endlessly on any Fox 'News'
commentary show. It was my fault that I said something to him. I felt
bad that the Englishwoman was getting an earful from such a nasty crazy
person.
This crazy guy thinks I'm a 'moonbat'.
I put in my heavy-duty earplugs which spurred him to claim that I was afraid of 'the truth'. I paused only long enough to
repeat that I didn't have discussions with people who responded to facts
with insults and attempts to change the subject. I waited for the bus. The bus came. The ride was
uneventful except for 'Dad', a washed out vagabond in a customized
baseball jacket who stood in the aisle up front and kept up a running
monologue at the driver. The driver ignored him and so did I,
mostly.
When the bus got to my stop, I said, "excuse
me"
to 'Dad' and, instead of standing aside or getting off the bus so I
could
get by, he patted me consolingly on my bare arm. I drew back and
hissed. Literally hissed. I simply could not take one more lunatic
touching me, touching my stuff, getting into my space, attempting to
pour their insanity into my ears or any other interaction. I pushed by
'Dad' and got off the bus. I checked the time and walked across the
street, figuring the dread bus was my best bet for getting home. It
usually wasn't too bad from this stop to the stop near my home.
I had 35 minutes to get home, dump my stuff and head out again for my
appointment. I hoped I had time.
I waited 10 minutes for the connecting bus. Someone was smoking in the bus shelter. Someone always is.
The
connecting bus came and was very crowded. I
called out for a volunteer to give me their seat near the front and
someone did. I sat down and immediately heard, "Does that thing work?"
from my left. I looked over at an older woman who was
nodding toward my walker... and got a faceful of booze breath. The
alcoholic cloud was at least 80 proof. I
glanced at the older man sitting next to her who was sipping something
from a
bottle wrapped in a paper bag. I sighed and looked away. I had 25
minutes. I could still do this maybe.
Wait, she asked me if my walker worked? WTF? Of course it works! Huh? Oh yeah. She's drunk.
O.K.!
Just ignore the drunk woman and her drunk husband. I looked up to see
an aging frat boy standing in the front aisle with his neat plaid
backpack blocking the part of the aisle his butt wasn't. This guy was
known to me. He also rode the commuter rail and was invariably in any
pinch point on either the train or any bus. I think he liked people
brushing by him, the perv.
At my stop, I brushed past
him and pushed his backpack out of my way with my good shoulder. I still
could make it home and then back out for my appointment.
I
walked home without further incident, dumped my stuff, washed my face,
took several deep
breaths and walked right back out the door to go to my appointment. I
would be damned before I stepped on another bus that day.
I had 15 minutes. I could make it on time by walking.
As
I walked as fast as I could to my appointment, I passed a drunk
older woman waiting at the bus stop near the local grocery store. With a
cigarette dangling from her lips, she was describing some... health
problem or something to another drunk woman by framing her crotch with
her hands and jabbering excitedly. The cigarette bounced up and down in
her withered lips.
I just tried to get away as quickly as possible as she mimicked
opening her.... well, you know.
Felliniesque. That's the only word for
it. Felliniesque.
Epilogue: I actually had to catch a
bus the next day for a medical appointment. I really was anxious about
having to deal with Bus People again. As I opened my front door to
leave the house, one of my admirable neighbors was walking by hawking
loogies onto the road, sidewalk and lawns with every third or fourth
step. Simply lovely.
Nope.
