Editor's Note: I'm moving all my favorite blog posts from the MySpace page. I'm using the original post date so I know when I wrote certain posts. The only changes made are typographical or grammatical.
MToast likes to hear my bus stories and has been needling me to put them up on the page, so Toast, these little tales of vehicular weirdness are for you.
Who rides my bus, the 47 Roanoke? Well, quite a few folks, but it's the memorable characters you want to hear about.
The DragonLady is a surly woman who sits up front in the handicapped seats. She doesn't move for anyone. If you got on the bus holding a lung in one hand and your bus pass in the other, she wouldn't move over for you. She's got the looooooonnnnnnnngggggest fingernails I've ever seen. They are painted a myriad of colors and have little jewels, cartoons, stars, swirls, you name it. I wonder what she does for a living. Just what the hell could a person DO with nails like that?!? And I'm sorry, but her hands ain't that great looking. So she's not a hand model.
Jolly Esperanza used to get on the bus down in the West Bottoms, but she's recently moved and she's much happier. She picks the bus up at a much safer location. She is the nicest strangerlady I've ever seen. She's always in a good mood, always says hello and my day is made better just by her getting on the bus.
Her polar opposite is Cranky Sporty Lady. A scrawny pale woman in loose-fitting grey or washed-out blue sweats. She sits in the back of the bus and scowls.
Graphic Girl gets on at the stop right after mine because I'm too lazy to walk to her stop. She wears business-casual lingerie tops with slacks that should grab her butt but don't. They just hang off her ass. I call her Graphic Girl because she looks like a graphic artist. She's trying for that hipster downtown look and missing by inches but enough to notice. I can smell near miss on her like last year's trendy perfume.
Graphic Guy gets on a stop or two after Graphic Girl. Same deal, except he's ably managed the downtown hipster look. He watches Top Model and that makes me NOT want to have a drink with him.
Lost Beat Lady looks at her photos when she rides the bus and is always about one second behind whatever is happening.
Hipster Waiter sat next to me. He is dangerous-cute. Bad call on the occupation, though. He works for KMBC. He has lots of interesting tattoos and I bet he's a camera guy. He's lean in a white shirt, black jeans, one silver ring and cool shades. It's 100 flippin' degrees out and the dude does NOT sweat. He's in BLACK. He's the kind of smartsexyinteresting guy I'd hit on in a club if I were still doing that sort of thing. I just know he has interesting things to say. Let's start with the tats and the job.
Tattooed Mama is new. She has a big heart tattoo on her right bicep and her hand is clutching the industrial size Big Gulp cup from 7 Eleven. It could hold an entire liter of soda. She has electric blue finger nails and is reading something but I can't tell what book it is.
BeeBopGeek Boy is wearing the latest pair of futuristic deafphones and bobbing his head erratically in time to whatever is being piped into his lobes.
The Smiling Schizo has only ridden twice but he makes every trip memorable. The first time he sat in the back talking to himself in an off-beat intelligent way. I thought he had one of those StarTrek earpiece phones and was talking to someone in a Blockbuster trying to pick out a movie. He kept talking about Eddie Murphy. I knew he was a bit off when he mentioned Eddie Murphy and William Safire in the same garbled sentence and said "We're on the Red October! We're turning right, is everyone with me? Second turn SAT. Right turn SAT." He smiles the entire time. The second time I saw the Smiling Schizo he was telling passengers to "Talk to your parents. Talk to your children. Most of those brothers look like that. National Shirt Shop. None of those brothers look like that. None of those girls look like that. If I can get one thousand in plastic I can get five thousand in plastic. Ain't nuthin' but big business." His monologues are the verbal equivalent of Chex party mix.