Alpha Bus Battle
Back when this blog still had the pretense of normalcy, I used to have actual, orderly categories which made sense. I had one I called “pointless ruminations” which is pretty self-explanatory. It was filled with meandering posts that reflected a state of heightened creativity which unfortunately coexisted with an equally diminished sense of anything important to say. I felt like writing, I felt like pounding some shit out on the keyboard, but I could not think of anything worthy of noting. It’s probably what Hollywood writers experience daily; it best describes the creative force which drives the Industry for chrissakes.
My point being, this may very well be considered a “pointless ruminations” post because I’m feeling awfully wordy but I have absolutely nothing to say which can be construed as pertinent subject matter. Just a ridiculous whirlpool of thoughts log-jamming the pathways of my mind. Scary indeed.
You see, some days start out like pure Shit. Unadulterated, skunky, SHIT. Beginning the moment you leave the house to the moment you return. An incessant and veritable shitfest.
I think today ranks such for me.
First, the bus was really late.
There’s not much worse than waiting for a bus because buses run very loosely on any kind of set schedule. There are all manner of delays a bus can experience. Traffic tie-ups, incredibly slow geriatric riders who almost need to be carried on and off the bus while defibrillator’s stand at the ready, the idiot who doesn’t know how to fasten his bicycle to the front and holds the bus up for 5 minutes while he figures it out (I want to tell the bus driver “step on it, fuck him”), to the absurdly timid bus driver who drives like a complete pussy and turns a normal 35 minute ride through downtown into a 45 minute trek. Bus schedules are notoriously flaky, and for this reason, a “late” bus is a very anxiety-ridden endeavor. You stand there, and stand…and stand. And stand. Or, if it’s your thing, you sit and most bus benches are wretched gagfests that you wouldn’t even dare to touch with your ass. Bus benches are where people pass out, drool, vomit, piss, God knows what else. There’s a bus bench around town that is home to an incredibly repugnant homeless dude who is very overweight (never understood this dichotomy in a homeless person) and looks like he rolled around in tar and shit for an hour and his ass crack, Grand Canyon mammoth-wide, a dark and cavernous crevice of ickiness, slithers back and forth across the bench all hot day long. So if that’s your thing, please have a seat, but I prefer to stand, thank you. And I’m not a priss. I stood waiting for-fucking-ever while the morning rush hour droned by. Finally the bus pulled up and it was packed. I loaded myself in and it was standing room only. I tried to grasp a rail, but the bonsai driver didn’t know how to drive smoothly and his jerky procession threw me off balance. I looked like a complete spaz, and compounding matters was the fact that I was gloriously splayed out in front of the bus (because I couldn’t burrow in any deeper because of the dense crowd) and my less than graceful movements and herky-jerky off-kilter shit was visible to all. I felt like I was on the retarded stage and everyone could see and laugh at my antics as I tried to maintain my balanced dignity while the driver apparently delighted in firing the gas pedal at will.
I’m happy to report that after a couple stops and the exiting of a few more deadbeat passengers, I was finally able to make it to a seat which had the most cramped floorspace imaginable, and this from someone whose “vertical limitations” frequently leave me in a comfortable state of existence while others of normal or above-average stature may not be enjoying the free range of leg motion I do (when sitting).
I had the window seat, and some guy, after climbing the bus, came and sat next to me. Here you have two grown men, sharing a space which a couple of 6th grade girls would be hard-pressed to share comfortably. As a man, you must air out your balls and sit like a man. A man spreads ’em. A straight man does not let his knees touch. So you scrunch two guys together and you may get some “jockeying” so to speak…jockeying for space, for that precious Alpha space. Who will nudge the other out of competition? Which of the men will pussy out and retract his knee from the playing field? Who is the first man to relinquish his manhood and let his knees approach each other in a sweet swelling position? Well I wasn’t about to give up space, but at the same time, I’m not one to nudge. My knees were placed a realistically masculine distance apart. My gonads were not squeezed or suffocated, but conversely, I was not impinging upon my neighbor. Well fuck. Turned out my neighbor was crowding me…but I didn’t budge! The bastard was rubbing my knee with his but I refused to surrender an inch. A Battle of Men was underway. Who would surrender his space, his cock, to the male intruder, who would allow his manliness to be usurped by the careless and reckless spacial thoughtlessness of his neighbor? Well, his exit came before we could find out. He left the bus (he had a peculiar and creepy comb-over) and was soon replaced by another guy who was much taller and larger and my heart sank. I was exhausted from the previous battle, I was not up to another with this big bruiser. Defeat was mine. My knees trembled in anticipation of this assault….but.
The big dude sat down and never once made contact with my knee. A big guy, taller than my previous neighbor, was able to sit in the seat without making the slightest contact with my knee.
Which meant that neighbor #1 was freely and joyously letting his knee buffet mine and I misread it as masculine knee-butting one-upsmanship Alpha posturing… And with further horror I remembered that when he first sat down, he sat on a loose portion of my earphone strap that was resting on the empty seat. Realizing there was no loose play on the wire, I pulled it from under his ass and he looked at me in a not entirely irritated manner.
As chicks say. Eww.