Ignore (Or Riding the Bus)
I walk out of the door of my house and start walking briskly up the street to the bus stop. It's chilly this morning. When I reach the bus stop I check my watch. The bus should be here within five minutes, I think. I start wishing I had put on an extra sweater. The bus arrives. Door opens. I flash my student pass to the driver and walk to my normal seat.
In some cities it's too inconvient or too expensive to own a car so you ride the bus or the subway. Here you ride the bus because you're too poor to own a car. The bus is the best way to observe first hand "the other half." I try not to look at anyone. I wish I had a car.
Yesterday that crazy lady was on the bus. She talks to everybody, or maybe to some imaginary person. Sometimes she seems to talk to the driver, but most of the time she doesn't look focused on any person in particular. She say's she knows what city council person so and so it up to. He's cheating the taxpayers. He's a thief. She also knows about the owner of the piece of property we're driving by. They're doing something illegal. She knows. She makes sure everyone else knows too. At least she can be ignored. She doesn't talk to you.
I like to sleep on the bus. I'm also paranoid about missing my stop. Somehow my body knows when to wake up. I've become used to the bus ride. I try to open my eyes every time I hear the bus doors open, just in case. I once woke up to find a child had sat down next to me. He was also vomiting on himself. The parent, sitting on the other side of the isle, didn't look to concerned. Thanks.
Things like that you just have to ignore. You've got to ignore the guy who thinks the only adjectives are four letter words. You've got to ignore the fat old man standing at the front of the bus with his pants sagging so low you can see half of his wrinkled butt. You've got to ignore the retarded guy singing snipits of Village People songs out loud. You've got to ignore the drunk guy they kicked off the bus at a stop, so he decides to walk across the freeway. How he made it, I don't know. There was a perfectly sober guy who was killed last week crossing at the same spot. You've got to ignore the stares you get because you're the only white guy on the bus.
Sometimes it's hard to ignore. Bringing my guitar on the bus is always risky. You might get a drug addict trying to sell you a cassette tape to "record your jams." I'm sorry, I say, I don't have any jams. Above all don't let someone try to play the guitar. Some drunk looking guy asks for the guitar one day, so I take it out of the case and give it to him. Holding the guitar upsidedown he plucks the strings in succession and then promplty gives it back to me. Tune it, he says. I tune it as best as I can, and give it back. He does the same thing, upsidedown again. It's still out of tune, he complains. I remember the rule, just ignore him. I put my guitar away.
Ignore.
They're not there.
Ignore.
