Aint That Right, Bus Driver?
On the bus ride through the rain and cold tonight, all the way from the Central West End to Southtown, I found myself locking smiles and bumping fists with this woman who was keeping herself amused by leaning into the aisle, over and over again and shouting through toothlessness: “Aint that right, bus driver?”
And each time, without the slightest bit of hesitation, the driver would reply rather matter of factly from behind the fourth of the way wall of plexiglass that separated herself from the rest of us: ”That’s right.”
And each time afterwards, the woman would wrap her arms around her own waist and
roll back in the seat laughing, seemingly pleased with herself for having elicited one more positive response from the person in charge.
In response to that bit of repetitive interaction. . .for the whole twenty-minute ride home, between spasms of laughter and fidgeting, I could feel that oddly familiar sensation moving through my skin, sensation that can only be described as being caught between the wish for someone to make it stop and waiting for it to start all over again. This went on until I pulled the bell cord for my corner…though at times she would mix things up with the obsessive repetition of news flashes and singsong bits of wisdom: “Everybody thinks Popeye was strong, but really he was a sissy,”
“Read my lips; catch my drift,”
and “Stare too long, you’re doing it wrong.”
At one point, she stopped to unwrap a very large sandwich and fondle it in anticipation, all the while casting her weary eyes down at its wrapper like a prized catch, the bag emblazoned with the name of the priciest gourmet grocer in the Cental West End , most likely anticipating the moment when the rain would let up just long enough for her to leave the bus and enjoy it.
But for now, she had found a warm place to find refuge from it all, no doubt thanks to the means of strangers, the first one with money enough for that sandwich, the second letting go of a transfer pass that paid for the ride. . . followed by the brown-eyed girl behind the wheel. kindly and obligingly saying those same two words over and over again. That’s right.
A loaf of bread, a jug of vitamin water and thou. . .
It was so very wet and cold on the walk to my place and I could feel the rain pelting my pant leg as I gripped the handle of the umbrella to brace against the elements. In a matter of minutes, I could see the stop on the street running perpendicular to my own ride. As I approached it, I realized I would have to raise my umbrella enough to clear the height of a man for whom I could not yield the right of way without taking someone else’s eye out.
And aside from the sound of his laughter as I passed, accompanied by that of the wind and rain, all I could hear in my head was the echo of the broken record lady.
“Read my lips; catch my drift.”
Now safely inside and sitting in front of my laptop…bowl of soup on the table. .. tea. ..and jammies. ..
I still have a very playful earworm that is slowly eating its way through to my teeth.
Aint that right, bus driver?
That’s right.
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That’s right.
TessiluStudio Holiday Gift Give-away: Two Fine Starving Art Prints Can Be Yours Including (whee!) Postage, a $36.00 value :
