I left work 5 minutes early at the urging of my co-workers so I wouldn’t miss the bus. They are disturbed by my abrupt new habit; I can tell.
Suddenly I’m paranoid that I will miss the bus, so I run to the NE spot (again, my brain nearly explodes determining which corner this is) and wait for about ten minutes. An Hispanic woman and her loud, high-pitched, chatty child stand uncomfortably close to me. The child keeps moving into my space, back and forth, back and forth, while tugging on the strap of her backpack like a bungee tether. A hunched-over man joins us and asks if the bus is coming (it’s clearly not; he is looking the same direction we are), and promptly disappears behind the other side of the wall.
A moment passes, and then angry, tourette’s-like, repetitive machine-gun mutters of “cocksucker!” blurt over the wall. Why do possible schizophrenics always say “cocksucker”? Is it a thing they all agree to say, for maximum discomfort? The Hispanic woman and I exchange a look, complete with simultaneous widened eyes, giggles and embarrassed raised eyebrows. I decide I like her. But not her child, who keeps trying to step into traffic.
I look at my cellphone clock. The bus is over ten minutes late. A blur of green: It’s the Culver 6! Going up the street at a different corner. I’m at the wrong stop! I book ass to the other corner and hop on. I am so happy that Schizophrenic Cocksucker and Annoying Child are not going to be my “regular” companions each night after work. This time I ASK for a transfer and get a slip. I use it as a bookmark.
We drive up to Wilshire/Veteran and I get off and stand around for a while, trying to read. I have to keep reading the same passages over and over though because my mind is wandering, wondering when my transfer will arrive and fearing I’m not at the correct corner; but I am, and the bus comes, and NO ONE’S ON IT!
WOOT! Bus all for me! The driver is a younger Asian guy; he seems nice. I show him my transfer slip. Am I supposed to put it in a slot? There are slits for dollars and coins, but no electronic reader thing. He says to just give it to him, so I do. I’m a quick study. Tomorrow I will be at all correct corners with correct transfers and everything. I’m actually excited about tomorrow’s sojourn.
Bus all to myself doesn’t last; at the very next stop, like 10 people get on. Hey, some of them are white. How about that. Probably because we’re in Westwood. I sit by the window and read. I get through about 30 pages; not bad. The woman behind me is talking en espanol on her cellphone. I can’t read anymore; her words, foreign though they may be, are cutting through my brain. I wish cell phones were banned on the bus. Fun fact: Eating food is banned.
Someone to my right uses the phrase “my nigga.” I stare hard at my book, seeing nothing.
A woman gets on and sits next to me, but I’m not bothered ‘cuz my stop is coming up. I get home about an hour after I left work, which is 15 to 20 minutes later than if I’d driven, but for some reason I don’t care at all. It feels good to walk up my street. I must remember to bring a sweater for the evening ride next time.
My husband and I wonder if there’s a way to ride to work that doesn’t require a transfer. We input different addresses but no cigar. Tomorrow I will rule the bus system!
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