Nailed To The Seat

Those who ride Express bus 1 with me in the evening know I like to run for the back door as the bus approaches. I get all excited trying to predict where the bus will stop. "BAM!" I exclaim as the bus stops and the back door opens right in front of me. Laughter comes from the crowd of Kentites waiting with me at the bus stop.

Tonight was a little different. I was late running up to the bus, so I wasn't first on. In fact, I boarded the bus to find my favorite seats behind the articulation were taken. I was robbed. Each set of seats had one person, so I opted for the middle sideways seats. These seats are lame. If I fall asleep I might crash into the aisle. Everyone exiting the bus brushes against you on the way out when you're sitting there. It is better than standing, though.

Before I sat down, I quickly checked the seat for any foreign liquids, food, or other sketchy things I'd rather not sit in. The seat and surrounding area got the All Clear, so I sat down. No one was on the seat next to me.

The newer Metro buses have little seats. Between the little seats (which most asses don't really fit on), is a little metal trough to separate your ass from your bus-neighbor's ass. The trough also doubles as a spot for runoff water when the interior is hosed down, or when the ass next to you spills their Slurpee.

My routine is to sit down, turn on my iPod, then pull my phone out. Today when I fumbled for my iPod, I happened to look down at the trough and imagine my surprise when I saw this:

"GASP!"

It is a small woman's chewed off fingernail. It's also one of the grossest things I can think of. It was right there next to me. Actually, it was touching me. The crescent shaped, jagged claw was touching me. I gasped out loud and considered moving seats, but by that time I'd have to sit with someone and end up in the aisle. That didn't sound appealing. So I snapped a pic of it for you all and then used the tip of my wet umbrella to flick it into the aisle.

The nail, somebody else's discarded keratin and DNA, probably came off a high school girl on her way to the mall. She had grown unhappy with its length and decided - spur of the moment - it was time to get rid of it. She began gnawing on it like her mother told her not to do right there on the bus. She was listening to pop music in her iPod, staring blankly out the window. Once she got the nail completely detached, she swirled it in her stupid, teenaged mouth to get the proper angle, then she shot it out of her mouth like a disgusting missle. The saliva covered nail landed in the trough, and there you go. Bob's your uncle.

Whatever the case, I was grossed out until I moved it. I got grossed out again when I watched a woman step on it in the aisle and carry it off in the tread of her shoe.

Gross.

The SoundTransit 545 Pole Dancer

Nothing makes me happier than getting a crazy bus story e-mailed to me, especially if it has a video clip.

I have a friend named Karen. She's a great friend, and she lives on the Eastside where nothing exciting ever happens on the SoundTransit buses. It's nothing but a sea of Kindles and iPads, nice clothing, and good smells. She's been on the hunt for a good bus story for months now but has always come up short.

Until this last Friday night.

Karen took a Washington State Ferry ride in the afternoon and arrived back downtown in time to catch the 7:30-ish 545 to Redmond. (She's a busy gal.) Although there was hardly anyone on the bus when she boarded, she noticed a woman standing in the front of the bus up by the driver. Karen figured, "Whatever. She'll probably get off at the next stop or something."

This woman, who was around 55 years old and seemingly out of shape, likely went by the name Linda. It's important to note that she didn't appear to be on drugs or alcohol and she didn't look crazy.

Linda stood by the driver, creating a bottleneck in bus loading/offloading structure. She stood through downtown and onto the freeway. She just wanted to stand. The bus wasn't full by any means; there was roughly one person to a set of seats. Karen sat in the second forward facing seat past the front sideways seats, which provided an excellent view of Linda.

Once the bus got on the freeway, Linda began doing a dance of sorts. She was shaking her hips while gripping the rails on either side of the aisle. She threw in variations, where she'd grab the rails and plastic hand thingies over her head. Ultimately, she ended up with one leg up over the wheel well -- which is no easy task unless you're quite limber -- dancing on the poles.

As worried as she was about getting busted by a fellow passenger for filming Linda's sultry antics, Karen took this video:

I wonder if Bon Jovi's "Bad Medicine" was the pole dancing theme song in her mind.

As you can see, Linda's gotten tired from all the gyrating and has lost some steam. But if you look closely you can see her leg is still up, appropriately enough, where the fire extinguisher is located.

Karen gets an huge busworthy gold star for sending me this via e-mail and making me giggle when I saw the e-mail subject line: "OMFG. Pole dancer on my bus."

The View From Back Here

From the back corner seat, I can look out the window and watch cars go by. I can see the sun coming up, splashing its rays across the sleepy morning sky. I can watch the trees innocently standing alongside the road, their leaves dancing in the highway gale. I can see the road shoulder that has been witness to tens of millions of cars and trucks passing by. I can watch rain clouds come and go, doing their best to wash us clean with tender, quiet drizzle.

Today I saw a window tagged with yellow mustard.

Guess the view depends on the day.

Got Milk? And a Medley of Snippets.

Because I've been working crazy hours lately, I've been on all sorts of buses. Well, really only the same four, but at all different times. I haven't seen any one thing that was busworthy but there have been some cute little snippets.

Metro was referring to a sports event or musical with this ad. Little did they know this ad could also mean the FREAK SHOW on their own buses. It's a show, that's for sure.

Remember I wrote about a man who looks like Taylor Hicks from American Idol in one of the first blog posts? I saw him again on the 150. There was one passenger per seat on that bus. Sharing seats on the 150 can be gross/dangerous, so we all try to sit alone. Taylor Hicks Guy sat in the articulation across from a homeless guy. When the first forward facing seat opened up, Taylor Hicks Guy started gathering his things to move -- but the homeless guy beat him to it. That guy snaked the seat and immediately put his head against the window to sleep. Taylor Hicks Guy lets out a big, melodramatic sigh, and proceeds to act bitchy all the way through SODO and into the tunnel because he didn't get the seat he wanted. He would look over at the guy, shake his head, and flip pages from his book loudly. I wanted to slap him, much like I wanted to slap the real Taylor Hicks.

I saw another guy on the 150 today get all huffy because he had to move his bag to let an elderly Asian man sit down. He was sitting in the very first seats, which are priority seating for handicapped people, elderly, and so on. I guess Huffy Guy (who I have seen before on the Kent buses) thought he was hot shit and could take up the whole bench with his messenger bag. He got off two stops later, so I don't know why he made such a big deal of it all.

Sometimes, when I'm waiting for the bus, I think to myself, "You know, I really hope there's a used Kleenex stuffed into some part of the bus near me. That would be perfect."

I stayed out a little late downtown and took a 10:00-ish 150 home. I was surprised to see the later bus was a lot more relaxed than the daytime 150s. I wasn't afraid at all.

On an early evening 150, a gent sashayed up to the stop wearing very tight women's jeans, Keds, and a Flashdance shirt. The shirt was black, it was shredded in the back, and it hung low on one shoulder. Not that there's anything wrong with dressing however you're comfortable, but a weave or a wig would have suited him better than his close cut afro. When the bus arrived, he dug the change from this change purse with a gold snap. He ended up getting off at the last stop in SODO, and I believe he was going to work over in Industrial Land.

I overheard a guy (who robbed me of my favorite morning seat on the Express bus) talking to a woman about how his ex-girlfriend was taking every cent he earned for child support. She won't even let him see the kid, and yet he is paying her $800 a month. His friend told him the facts: "Get a court order and they will make sure it's fair." During lulls in my iPod tunes, I could hear more bits and pieces of his story. The ex has a restraining order against him because he "kinda went off on a coworker in front of her." He did time for assault, drug charges, and all sorts of other things. That's why he can't see the child.

And finally, look at this point of view picture:

It was snowy this morning and very wet, so it shouldn't shock me that there would be a puddle on the 150. But not a milky puddle. It isn't coffee. I didn't see anyone drinking a protein shake. It had the same watery, runny, cloudy consistency and color of...oh God...breast milk. Please, dear readers, tell me my shoes are not slipping around on breast milk. There were no kids on the bus unless they were behind me and sleeping. And the source of the fluid had run forward from behind me. [Ugh.]

On that happy note, I have another 120 White Center story from Sabrina in the queue and will try to tell that story of rescue and adventure tomorrow night.

Yuletide Greetings on the 120

I am a lucky guy.

I now have a correspondent/informant on one of Seattle's nuttiest buses: The 120 to West Seattle and White Center. She's using the alias Sabrina - we don't want her cover to be blown. She's seen it all and is ready to talk.

Because even my 150 rides have been pretty peaceful lately, I'll share one of her most recent 120 gems with you.

Sabrina boarded the bus home from work and was sitting in the seats toward the front. In one of the front sideways facing seats was a woman with a walker. The woman wasn't old. She was was mobile and didn't need the walker at all. The woman was not all there and quite vocal.

Let's call her Tina. As in, "Tina" like the slang term for crystal meth.

Every time a passenger walked by, Tina would rise to her feet. Surrounded by her prop of a walker, she would roll her upper body and loudly exclaim, "Merry Christmas, Bitch!" She didn't say it in a typical Metro threatening way; Tina dropped the greeting just like Dave Chappelle. There was extra emphasis on the Bitch part of the greeting.

She'd watch the person find a seat, then sit down herself. She said it to every rider getting on. Considering it's a busy articulated bus, that's a lot of people boarding. It wasn't long before the passengers started laughing about it. They waited for it. They said it with her in their heads.

Maybe you're saying, "Wow! That's so festive of Tina. She was just spreading the holiday cheer!" It was late February.

All good things must come to an end. Tina's stop came, and she walkered her way down the aisle and out of the bus via the adaptive wheelchair platform. Once she'd cleared the platform of the bus (that she didn't need anyway), she turned to the driver and yelled, "And a Happy New Year!"

The entire bus erupted in laughter.

Thanks for the great story, Sabrina. I'm sure there will be many more.

Chaka Khan.

I am sitting across from a younger Chaka Khan. She's sipping a to-go coffee, making notes on a printed PowerPoint, and practicing a speech aloud.

I know it's been a tough month or so, what with the whole Whitney thing and all. You've been doing more interviews lately than you've done in years. I'm sure one presentation on human resource management won't be too difficult to pull off. Rufus gave you plenty of firsthand experience with that niche.

Feel free to use this captive bus crowd as your practice audience. You'll do fine, Honey. You're every woman.

The Near Ass Beating

I love telling the stories of all the crazies on the bus. They're so entertaining. It's always exciting when it's about other people. Tonight's post is about me and how I almost got my ass beat at Convention Place waiting for the 150.

It was a beautifully sunny Saturday afternoon, and I'd just gotten off work around 4:00. I was walking over to Convention Place to catch the 150 home. At the entrance to the bus station I witnessed two street people asking a third one where their money was, and then slapping him over the head. I walked past them and down onto the platform.

For those of you unfamiliar with Convention Place, it is the start of the downtown tunnel system. It isn't underground, but it leads into the underground track area. There are two Rent-a-Cops walking around, but they don't do anything if someone gets attacked. A while back some girl got beat up in the tunnel by a group and they never stopped it. It made CNN.

So, I'm waiting for the 150. It is scheduled to arrive in seven minutes. "Nice," I think to myself. I'm quite tired, not feeling well, and I really just want to get home. I had been standing there for a few seconds, when the two street people who were harrassing the guy above ground came down from the elevator. One of the guys walked with a bad limp and had a cane. The other was able-bodied, tall, and actually had a clean appearance.

I need to give them aliases so I can write more clearly. Let's call the guy with the cane Charles and the other guy Darrell. Those could have been their names.

As they approached me, I didn't think much of it. I was the only one on the platform. The platforms in parallel lines, and are separated by bus pathways. Even if you wanted to go to a different area, you have to walk around -- you can't walk straight across to a new area. Darrell directed Charles to sit on the bench because certainly his leg was hurting.

Then Darrell walked up to me.

Darrell: "When's the next bus?"
Me: "The 150 is coming soon."
Darrell: "That's not good enough." [Mean look. Walks closer to me.]
Me: "The 150 is due in seven minutes."
Darrell: "That's not good enough." [Stares at me with scary blue eyes, blankly.]
Me: "I know, I wish it would come sooner." [I shrugged, motioning to the schedules behind a plexiglass box.]

I turn to face forward, and Darrell comes over to stand very close to me. I thought he was checking the schedules behind me, but no. He was standing very close to my right side.

A few seconds pass. Charles makes it to the bench and sits down.

Darrell: "You fucking talking to me?!"
Me: [Looks over and up to him slowly.] "No, man. I didn't say anything."
Darrell: "You fucking talking to me?!" [He leans down about 9 inches from my face.]

Suprisingly, like most Seattle street people, he wasn't super drunk. He did smell a little like hard liquor, but he appeared to be sober.

Me: "Uhm, nope. I didn't say anything."
Darrell:  [Chuckles.] "Hey, man! I'm just kidding with you! Haha! Remember that actor in that movie? What's his name? De...De..."
Me: "DeNiro. Right, right. Taxi Driver."
Darrell: [Stops laughing, gets in my face again.] "You fucking talking to me?!"
Me: "DeNiro is a great actor. And apparently so are you. You're kinda freaking me out."
Darrell: "Oh, yeah." [Backs off a little.]

I should stop here and explain a few things.

• I've been wanting to beat someone's ass for years. I have never been in a physical altercation of any type, with the exception of getting in someone's face once. I wasn't in the mood for fighting this day, and even if I was, I wouldn't be stupid enough to go up against someone who is about 6'2" and has been in fights before. I want at least a 50/50 shot of winning.
• If someone attacked my family or friends, I would throw down. I know it. But this guy...I was more shocked than anything. Element of surprise, you know.
• Darrell wasn't playing. The scary blank look in his eyes told me he was waiting for me to respond in the wrong way so he could punch me.
• I have years of experience in diffusing similar situations from living with my stepbrothers. They were a rough bunch. I have always been able to talk my way out of fights and de-escalate anger. That's why I haven't ever been hit.

So, Darrell has backed off a little. There's silence. He's still standing at my side, slightly behind me. Bad vibes galore.

Darrell: "You talking to me?!"
Me: "Yeah, DeNiro! You talking to me?!"
Darrell: "You talking to me?!"
Me: "Are you...talking...to ME?!" [Laughs.]
Darrell: "No, I SAID YOU TALKING TO ME?!" [Leans down in my face again.]
Me: [Holy shit.] "Oh, I thought we were playing DeNiro. Okay. Uhm, no. I'm not talking to you."
Darrell: "You talking to me?!"
Me: "No. And now you're super freaking me out."
Darrell: "Did you fuck my wife?!"
Me: "What? Your wife? No, dude, I didn't fuck your wife."

I am looking him right in the eyes, but in my peripheral vision, I see his left hand rise up. He's getting ready to punch me. It will be a hard punch. There's no one to help me. I could pivot and run, but he'd chase me, potentially catch me, and get pissed. None of my verbal strategies are working on this guy. He's fucking nuts. My choice is to stand there and appear to not be scared. People can smell fear like dogs.

Darrell: "Did...you...fuck...my....WIFE?!"
Me: "No, sir. I can honestly say I didn't fuck your wife."
Darrell: [Stares at me, then laughs.] "Ah, man! I'm just messing with you."

And Darrell backs off a little. I'm done with the game at this point, and I think it's fair to admit I'm really hoping the 150 is ahead of schedule. In fact, I'm pretty scared.

Sometimes having ADHD is a bad thing. But sometimes it's okay to have one hundred thoughts going your head at once. I am excellent in a crisis situation because I can quickly think of escape options, weigh decisions, etc. Here are some I had during this whole adventure:

• I just can't believe I'm going to get beat up.
• If he hits me, it's going to be hard.
• I hope he only hits me once.
• At least the plexiglass schedule board will cushion my fall. If I take steps to the left, I'll be in front of the iron railings.
• If I bleed on these jeans, I'm going to be pissed.
• $250 for a Krav Maga class really isn't so much in the long run.
• I could totally outrun this guy. I'm wearing my Keens.
• As I pass Charles on the bench, I should beware his cane might trip me. I will need to hurdle it.
• Hitting someone back is an instinct. If I do hit him back, I need to hit and RUN.
• This dude's got Hep C, HIV, or other blood-borne nastiness. I need to avoid his fluids.

Darrell: "You got my money?"
Me: [Laughs.] "I don't have any money."
Darrell: "No. YOU GOT MY MONEY?"
Me: "No, I really don't have any money."
Darrell: [Grabs the upper front of my jacket and turns me toward him.] "Do you have my money?"
Me: [Pushing him back a little.] "Dude, I never have money."
Darrell: [Still has a tight grip on my jacket] "Ahhh man! I'm just kidding! You're such a good guy!"

And with that, his lips pucker and he starts leaning down to give me a big ol' friendly smooch on the cheek. Just like I was one of his street buddies. This was what I needed to gather some strength. I pushed him off me with my right arm and was able to take a few steps back from him. It actually was a pretty good push.

"Dude! I did not fuck your wife and I am certainly not gonna fuck you. Now you need to back off!"

Darrell started laughing, extended his hand to shake mine, and told me I was a good guy. He asked me if I needed money, took out his wallet, and was going to give me cash until I stopped him. Apparently the game was over. He walked away and sat next to Charles. As they chit chatted, I continued waiting for that bus. As the 150 rolled up, I walked above ground and smoked a cigarette. There's no way I was getting on that bus with this psycho on it.

I caught the next 150, about ten minutes later, and enjoyed a relaxing ride with some G.I.s in their early twenties who were going to Southcenter to hit on girls.