On the Bus

I caught a South-bound 12 at Hennepin & 4th St downtown around 6:15 tonight. At the next stop, the driver stops a little after the official MCTO sign, which ticks off the Angry Rider Lady waiting right under said sign. Had she any powers of observation, she would have realized that Driver was pulling up to a spot accessible to the wheelchair bound rider waiting for the 12. Angry Rider is clearly unable to notice anything except the 10 feet (horrors!) that now lie between her and the entrance to the bus. Driver is about to lower the lift that will allow the wheelchair and its owner to board the bus when Angry Rider bounds up the stairs. Angry Rider is lucky she didn’t lose a foot in the moving parts of the stairs/lift, I’ll say. Driver reprimands Angry Rider that wheelchairs have priority when boarding. Angry Rider looks surly and confused. “Priority” is a big word; perhaps Angry Rider is not so much a part of the Scrabble and crossword puzzle set, if you get my drift.

By this time, the wheelchair-bound rider is on the lift and boarding the bus. Only, she’s not in a wheelchair. She’s in a massive scooter thing. The kind advertised on late night TV. The wheelchair rider requests that the driver raise the seats blocking wheelchair seating on both sides of the bus. Her plan is to execute what, in driver’s ed class, is referred to as a “Y” turn. Essentially, she wants to turn her scooter 180 degrees so she will be facing the front of the bus.

What commences is truly a sight to behold and retell over and over again. Scooter Lady scoots back and forth across the width of the bus in her attempt to turn around. Unfortunately, she only scoots back and forth across the same patch of bus floor. Over and over again. Each time catching the plastic “bumpers” of her scooter on various bus protrusions. Still she perseveres in her quest to face the front of the bus. Eventually, she is traversing this path at such a frantic rate that she is ramming the walls of the bus sufficiently to cause the entire bus to rock back and forth. And then the most amazing thing happens.

She gets off her colossal scooter and LIFTS it into place. I kid you not.

While this is happening, I am growing increasingly nauseated by the waves of stale cigarette smoke emanating from Angry Rider. She is sitting directly behind me, and the scent is truly disgusting. I ponder changing seats, but for some reason worry about offending Angry Rider Lady. I am too Midwestern for my own good.

Also at this time, audible over the crash! bang! of the scooter demolition derby is a cell phone conversation taking place just outside the open bus door. It goes like this:

(In a high, sob-choked voice)
“I know you don’t care about me!”
Pause
“Listen, I know you don’t care about me, but I love you. I don’t even want to talk to you because I know you don’t care about me.”
Pause
“Fuck You! Why don’t you care about me?!”

And so on.

Now that the scooter is more or less parked and hopefully secured, Cell Phone Talker Who Loves, but is Not Cared For has boarded the bus and ended his (His! I was certain from the voice that he was a woman!) conversation. By the time he reaches his the back of the bus, he has dialed up the paramour who has spurned him, and the conversation resumes in the same fashion.

By now we are a mere 4 blocks away at 8th & Hennepin. Onto the bus steps Ugly 19 Year Old Girl with Cell Phone Attached to Ear (Who I Used to Think Might Be Mentally Disabled). She sits across from me and continues her phone conversation in the loud, clear, proud voice specific to someone who really wants you to be impressed that they own a cell phone.

Some excerpts from her conversation:

“Seriously, I only associate with, like, high class people.”
“Yeah, he’s getting his PhD in, like, computer programming, so I guess he’s okay to hang out with me.”
“Yeah, that guy was really nice & funny & cute. But he’s still in ‘regular’ college. I mean, one day he’ll be done with school and then he can make a ton of money, but until then… I mean, I don’t want to hang out with low class people.”
“You know, I’m just very picky about who I let hang around with me.”

This is the point at which I must provide some constant details about this lady of society:

She dresses in rumpled black pants and polo shirt (with Chotchkiesque company insignia) everyday. The wardrobe is strictly restaurant bus-person issue.

Dangling around her neck, from a coordinating Chotchkie’s lariat no less, are a set of keys.

Her messy hair is held back from her face with baby barrettes.

She carries the world’s largest sporty backpack, complete with laces, numerous exterior mesh pockets and neon yellow accents.

Clearly she is one Classy Lady.

However, Chotchkie’s conversation does have competition for my ear. Besides the “I love you, you don’t care about me!” exchange which persists from the back of the bus, a few folks behind me simply can not get over the fact that Scooter Lady got off her Scooter and lifted it into place.

I realize that not all disabilities or ailments are apparent, so I’m willing to cut Scooter Lady some slack. But I have to admit, I was thinking the same thing. I just kept it to myself. Because I am Midwestern. And sober. Well, at least at that moment I was sober. And didn’t understand why the drunk guys were more interested in making loud comments like “I bet she doesn’t even need that scooter.” – didn’t they realize that the violence and duration of the bumper car display we witnessed was equally, if not more interesting, fodder for conversation?

By the time Franklin Ave was in sight, I had enough of the stale smoke, ridiculous (and ridiculously private) cell phone conversations and taunts to Scooter Lady. I took my leave of the 12, ran a few errands and continued home on blissfully quiet, scooter-free 28L.