It was hot in Seattle yesterday (but nothing compared to the 118 it was in Phoenix when I flew in last week). I’m blaming what I saw yesterday on the heat–because people here freak out when the temperature rises above 75 or below 40.
I was at the 3rd & Pine bus stop (of course) when I saw this guy. He’s a typical guy you might see from time to time: white tank top tucked into baggy shorts. The shorts were pulled up to just below his butt.
I’m not one to rant about how people should “wear their pants properly.” I just spend a lot of time thinking about how uncomfortable that would be, and how uncomfortable it would make people if I decided to start wearing my pants like that.
So I was thinking about the time, care, and dedication that it might take to wear pants that way when I noticed something unusual about this man and his pants-situation. Through his white tank top, I could see a dark outline of a thong. That’s right. HE WAS WEARING A MAN-THONG.
Before I even entered the bus, I could see that a woman was wearing some really shiny foil on over her hair. She was sitting on the front bench seat, which is where blind passengers often sit (this information is important for the story). When I entered the bus, I noticed that this foil was not only covering her hair, it was long and hanging like a cape off the back of her head. She was sitting so that it draped over the seat next to her.
Side story: Bryan works at a hospital. A little over a year ago he saw an ad for the above product. It was just a picture of the baby wrapped in foil and it said in large letters, “STERILE FOIL BABY.” He made about 30 copies of the page and brought it home. I gave copies to some of my friends and hung one in my then-office. I hope it’s still there because, for me, when teaching got tough, all I had to do was look to the Sterile Foil Baby to remind me that there are things to laugh about. Like Sterile Foil Baby ads.
Back to the current story:
She was holding a mirror in front of her face and applying mascara in a way that tugged up her eyelids and made the white of her eyeballs freakishly visible. She was just applying and reapplying this stuff, and I was suddenly totally grossed out by the idea of eyeballs and the fact that everyone has such disgusting things in the front of their faces.
A few stops later, a blind man entered the bus. She didn’t move. She just kept applying her mascara with her little mascara-caked wand. The people around her moved the shiny foil head cape from the seat beside her and guided the blind man to sit down. So he was sitting there, rubbing all against her foil—which, by the way, wasn’t quiet. She put away her make up and adjusted her foil.
She got off a few stops later. I watched her walk down the sidewalk. Her shiny foil head cape fluttered behind her.
Once the bus got going again, the blind man turned toward the guy sitting next to him and asked, “What was all that foil stuff?”
Half the bus broke out into a gradual laugh, and a few people tried to explain what had been going on. I’m not sure what exactly people said to him, but I did hear “space blanket.”
I already wrote about this on Twitter and Facebook, but I’ve got to get all the outlets covered on this one:
Yesterday when I was riding the bus, I saw a lady playing her flute in her car while waiting at a red light.
Let the image soak in for a moment. Here it is again: There’s a lady driving to work in the morning. She’s stuck at a red light so she’s decided to whip out her flute and play a little tune.
I’ve spent a lot of time replaying this moment in my head–for a couple reasons. The most obvious reason is that I take a ton of pleasure in moments like these that just seem so bizarre and ridiculous. The other reason is that I really want to understand why she was doing that. Maybe she takes lessons and really has no other time to practice. Maybe she was on her way to a morning recital. I don’t know.
All I know is that this may have been the highlight of my week, and I’m unsure what to make of that.
My new job is at a food bank. On the days that we’re open to the public, we open at 10am. On some days, I’ve arrived to work at 7:20am and there are people already lined along the sidewalk.
They are lined along the sidewalk for a chance to be some of the first in line to receive enough food for about three meals—and it’s nothing fancy. Some frozen chicken, beef, or tofu a day or two past the sell-by date, some slightly dented cans of tomatoes. Some toothpaste or tampons.
(Note about the tampons: On the day that we were distributing tampons, I’m pretty sure that I said the word at least 150 times in about an hour. Customers usually expect to see food, so there was a lot of opportunity to tell them what they were. Also, I was working with a 9 year old volunteer that kept forgetting what they were called. When I explained that the product was “for ladies” to a couple elderly Chinese women, one of them said to me, “No longer menstruating.”)
People have asked me how we know that the people really need the service that we provide. And, well, we don’t. Not everyone that comes through the line is starving; they still turn down some of the product. But the fact still remains that they must stand and wait in line and shop in that slow line for a limited choice of product, and I don’t know a lot of people who would be willing to cut out a hour of their day in order to do that when the grocery store is just a few blocks away. Maybe some people could afford to buy some regular groceries, but if they feel like waiting in line at the food bank is helping their life in some way—then fine. I’m glad we can give them that.
–
The main function of my job is to manage the volunteers. We have a very small staff and require a large amount of volunteers for daily operations. This = a really cool job.
(By the way! I found out that I beat out 5 other people trying to get this job. How did I find out? I found all the regret letters on my computer. And the whole time I figured I got this job because one other person just didn’t show up to his or her interview or did something totally obscene like challenge the interview panel to a wet t-shirt contest.)
Even though I really care about my job right now, it’s still a little awkward. It takes me awhile to warm up to people that I see regularly (on the other hand, I’m pretty good at talking to people/customer service on a one-time basis). Plus there’s the whole starting a job in the middle of 4+ projects.
And what the heck is with professional jobs and all the MEETINGS? HOLY HELL, THE MEETINGS!
Despite the meetings, I enjoy the challenge of learning a new job, and the challenges of working with the limited resources and funds that the nonprofit has. Then there’s also the perk of interacting with such an interesting mix of volunteers (they range in age from 7 to 94). This is what I’ve been wanting to do.
This is what has been going on in my life.
–
On an unrelated note:
A few weeks ago, I was riding the bus to work. There was a man sitting in front of me holding a box of doughnuts. He turns to the man beside him—they didn’t get on the bus together and didn’t seem to know each other—and says, “Tell me. What’s your mother’s favorite doughnut?”
The second man responds without hesitation, and the first man nods with recognition and approval. And that’s it.
Yesterday I was waiting for the bus when a guy in a wheelchair rolled on by. Attached to the back of his wheelchair was one of those hula dancers on a spring–except this one was Homer Simpson in a grass skirt.
–
A few days ago I got off the bus at 3rd & Pine and was walking toward Pike. A guy approaches me and tells me that he just moved here from the Mississippi Delta. Immediately I was thinking that he’s about to ask me for money–he’s in a new city, blah blah blah. It happened to me before: I was walking home from work (this was a summer that I worked in a sandwich shop downtown), talkingto my niece on the phone, when this guy just starts walking beside me and immediately goes into a spiel about how he just got here from Portland and has no money, etc. I motioned to him that I was on the phone, but he kept talking–then he got pissed that I wasn’t listening to him and cussed at me. And then my niece had to listen to me yell at a man on the street about how I’m on the phone and how does he expect me to give him money when he can’t even be respectful enough to wait until I’m off the phone.
Anyway, this guy from the Mississippi Delta: He didn’t ask for money. He said that he was looking for some friends, “you know, someone cool to kick it with. Just lookin’ for someone to kick it with. What’s your name?”
I told him I was busy.
Do you solicit friends on the street?
–
I got a haircut the other day, and on the way home I saw two of my former students on the bus. I tried to make eye contact as a hello as they passed me on the bus aisle, but that was unsuccessful, so I let it go. I wasn’t in the mood to turn around and stare them down until I got my hello.
Anyway, when I was off the bus and it passed me, I looked up in time to see them both staring out the window at me. It was weird.
I had to be at work at 6am for meetings. I won a $25 gift card for being “outstanding.” That was cool. The meeting ended at 8, and when I got home I found an email inviting me to an interview at this other job that I really want.
Okay, so I had to get up at 5am, but the day seemed to be shaping up pretty nicely. Plus, the sun was shining and it was just a nice day.
I ate three (meatless) tacos and then went jogging (well, I didn’t go jogging immediately after eating the tacos—I waited about an hour). I blame this obvious mistake for anything unpleasant that happened later in the day.
I had to be back at work at noon. I didn’t mind because I would get off at 8pm instead of the usual 10:30pm.
At about 7:40pm, the electricity at work went out.
Have you ever been in a grocery store when the electricity goes out?
At first it’s kind of fun (but only if it is still light outside). Then it turns into chaos and confusion.
After about 20 minutes, we had to start shooing customers out. Then it was a bunch of standing around, not really knowing what to do. And then people starting panicking about all the perishable food.
And then at 8:05pm I found out that “no one leaves the building.” So I finished what I could do of my job, wandered around the creepily dark store for a bit, and then helped the meat department put all their meat away (I think part of me only wanted to help the meat department because it I am still participating—for some reason—in Meatless May and handling trays of raw meat was sort of satisfying).
And then people started pulling other things out of coolers on the sales floor and putting them into shopping carts. So people had all these carts full of packaged sausage or carts full of fruit smoothies and were pushing them into larger, colder coolers in the back.
Some coolers on the sales floor were covered with trash bags and tape to keep product from getting too warm, and some other coolers were covered in layers of cardboard in attempts to just keep it freaking cold.
At about 9:30, the lights came back on. And luckily, I was allowed to leave. I didn’t have to help put everything back.
And then, when I finally got on the bus after waiting for what seemed like a half hour, the bus driver had a 5 minute argument with a man over bus fare. The man, a homeless man I see all the time, did not really understand how his disability pass worked. This bus driver wasn’t having any of it and told him he was committing fare evasion and could either pay the $2 fare or pay a $124 fine. (At this point I was ready to just pay the fare for the man so we could just get the bus moving, but I use a bus pass and had no change). The man told the driver that she needed to read her rule book.
She said the bus could sit there until he paid up. (This is what I was thinking: JESUS CHRIST I SPENT OVER 11 HOURS AT WORK TODAY JUST GET ME THE HELL HOME). The man wanted his 75 cents back–he had already placed it into the fare box–and the bus driver had to fill out a form so he could go downtown to pick up his 75 cents. When she handed it to him, he said she could shove it up her bottom. Then he got off the bus and, from the sidewalk, yelled at her some more.
On a side note: I was annoyed with both the driver and the homeless man for this. 1. The bus driver had warned the man about this before and explained how his pass was no longer valid, and it’s part of her job to make sure people pay the fare. But I felt like it became a pride issue for her more than a “play by the rules” issue. 2. The homeless man was doing what he thought was correct, but he had had the rules explained to him before. He couldn’t remember, though–or, he’s just used to bus drivers giving him free rides.
So I guess the moral of this story is: Do not eat three fake-meat tacos and then go jogging. The day will only be downhill from there. You need to eat tacos made with real meat.
Today I was waiting for the bus. (You likely already know which direction this story is going)
A man sat down next to me on the bench. After a few minutes, he turned to me and asked me a question. I wasn’t sure what he said, but it had something to do with money and paying and accounts.
I turned to him and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
He said something else and I couldn’t understand.
“I am not sure what you’re asking.”
“Let me spell it for you.”
“Okay.”
“C-O-N-S-O-L-I-D—“
“Consolidate?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t say anything else.
“What about consolidation?”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Sort of.”
“Can you explain it to me?”
I did my best. He was looking very intently at me. He had several of his bottom teeth missing, and the remaining teeth were crooked and brown. I kept looking at them, and I wondered if he noticed and if I was making him feel self conscious. When I finished talking, he asked me where he could go to get his debt consolidated. I told him that I don’t know very much about consolidating debt and that I don’t completely understand it. Maybe he could try asking someone at a bank.
“Is it legal?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Even if you have debt collection?”
“Probably.”
“I need to talk to an attorney, huh?”
“Oh, maybe.” (At first I thought he said “Antonio” instead of “attorney.”)
I’m not sure what it was about me that made him think I would know something about consolidating debt. Maybe it’s because I look like a college student. And college students have a lot of debt. Or maybe I just look poor.
Today the woman sitting behind me had a 2 minute phone call. In the course of those two minutes, she called the person on the other end:
-sweetheart
-sweetie
-lambchop
-my angel
I’m glad the conversation ended there, because I imagined the pet names gradually getting worse. Examples:
-muffin
-strawberry muffin
-my angelic angel of angelness
-my sweetly seasoned and topped with mint jelly lambchop
-lamb loin
You get the point.
Later, an old man sat down next to me and started talking. He wasn’t talking to me though–I could tell because he had his faced turned the other way and his hand gestures suggested that he was addressing the bus aisle floor. I thought maybe he was practicing French, but then I realized he was speaking English. I only caught snippets of what he was saying:
-always the same
-So, enjoy!
-I don’t mean to be offensive, but
—
I might have to write a collection of stories about the bus people I meet. And I’ll call it that: Stories About the Bus People.
On Thursday I ran into a woman who lives at the transitional housing program where I volunteer. We crossed paths in the middle of a crowded bus; we sat catty-cornered and across the aisle from each other on some bench seats:
She tells me that she just met with her probation officer; her probation officer is a maggot. Her probation officer doesn’t get that Washington isn’t her home. Her probation officer is a maggot. Her probation officer is holding her back. Her probation officer is a maggot. She hates her probation officer and if she had it in her, she’d find out where her probation officer lives and go after her probation officer’s kids and family.
So we’re heading north on I-5 and she’s repeating how you go after people’s kids if they fuck you over. I’m sitting there looking at her. I’m unsure if I should smile or scowl, so I’m working hard at having a neutral face. The man next to me is clutching his laptop case and giving me sidelong glances. She’s still repeating her revenge-mantra.
“Here’s a tip. If someone ever fucks with you, you go after their kids.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever use that advice.”
“I hope you don’t. The best people in the world don’t have to. But if anyone ever fucks with you, go after the kids. It’s true! Why do you think kids get kidnapped? Most of the time it’s not because someone wants some kids! It’s to get to the parents! You go after their kids and family. You go after their kids and family.” She ends her statements with hand gestures—like she’s placing emphatic periods at the ends of her sentences.
Then we are silent. I stare out the window. As we reach her stop she tells me that her hair is greasy. She hasn’t showered yet. I tell her I’ll see her on Tuesday. The man with the laptop case is still giving me sidelong glances as she exits the bus.
Today I’m waiting for a bus when this man comes walking towards the bus stop.
Okay, not the most interesting opening sentence. Here, let me describe him:
He’s a very skinny man, wearing work boots, jeans, a neon yellow construction vest over a hoodie, and a hard hat. His hair: shoulder length and wavy brown—but stringy. If hair had a voice, his hair would be raspy.
He comes up to me and starts talking about how he had a scary moment earlier. He was in a store and all this Valentine’s Day merchandise was out. He thought he was having a flashback to Valentine’s Day!
He has one large tooth sticking out of his top gums. It’s brown and misshapen. I wonder if it hurts when he eats ice cream.
“I hope this ends soon! I can’t take any more of that!” he says.
“Hopefully!” I say.
He sits down on the sidewalk. He says a few things—to no one in particular. I do not feel like being friendly, so I gaze at the label on my drink.
