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Bus Story: What a Difference Three Hours Can Make

October 28, 2010

Drizzly morning and I’m on the ole 54 three hours later than my usual time after a run to the airport. Absent are the typical players in my commuter drama, instead I seem to be on the bus of The Late and The Damaged. To my left is Beverage Guy. He has a can of soda in one hand and a large coffee in another. He alternates between them, slurping the coffee and emitting a low “urmm” sound when he drinks the soda. A few rows up is Really Late Lady. She has called work – loudly – about eight times, each call more obsequiously apologetic than the last. Next to her is a guy who might as well be Uncle Fester. And if she doesn’t stop talking on the phone, he’s going to do something Addams Family-esque to her, without the humor. Lastly, next to me is a woman with some sort of OCD, and she smells like salami (not appealing at this time of the morning). She is frantically comparing the size of her forearms and then reaching above her head, then writing in book, then testing her arms. Maybe there is something very understandable about the behavior, but only seeing it out of the corner of my eye is freaking me out. Late morning is a great time for people watching, but I’m a little overwhelmed by the volume. Let’s dial-down the Crazy, ‘kay?

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