Only Me
I will often take the train to the Castro when I get off work so that I can visit my sister. She works at the Wells Fargo in the Castro Safeway, Gafeway, and since we are both busy this seems to be the only time for me to visit her. Friday, I left work and headed for the Castro. Shoot, I left my head phones in the office. Not really a big deal, but headphones are the universal symbol for, "don't talk to me," on public transportation. I shrugged and went on my merry way. I was pretty excited anyway considering I got to see the hot ass IT guy pass by my cube on his way out for the night, so the head phone catastrophe didn't seem to be that big of a deal. With a smile on my face, I kept on walking down 7th street all the way from work until I got to the muni station. I noticed a little bit of perspiration under my right arm, which was odd, as I have been using Certain Dry for over a month now. It gently closes your underarm pores while you sleep so I haven't perspired out of my armpits in over a month. I highly support this product and recommend it to men and women alike. The small spot of moisture under my arm should have been a sign of things to come. I pressed on.
I boarded the train and realized that I was the attractive person on the train. That doesn't really say much but if you had seen the other passengers you would understand. I hate when this is the case because that means there is no one for me to scope out. Suddenly, I am being scoped out, which is fine when the scoper is attractive, but this wasn't the case. I pressed on.
I got off at church station, met my sister and shared some delightful conversation over an Americano at Starbucks. The scent of fried chicken filled the air as it always does at the Starbucks next to Safeway. Danielle only had a fifteen-minute break, but precious and few are the moments we share together. I left and headed for the 33, Americano in hand. Again, on I pressed.
The city hum of the Castro seemed to dim and was instantly replaced with sirens as I walked down the street. It seemed odd to call out a motorcade for me on such an ordinary day, but who am I disappoint my fans. Wait, these were the sirens of police, ambulances and fire trucks. Surely this was not for me, as Cher was nowhere in sight. As I passed a man lying on the ground in front of the 24-hour fitness being put on a stretcher it had become very clear what all the commotion was about. I made a mental note never to join a gym as such activity could be life threatening. I took this as a lesson learned and continued forward.
I walked past Urban Eyes, stopped and then turned back to go in. I ordered some new sunglasses and then left feeling quite confident as the moisture under my right arm had gone. I finally made it to the 33. The bus was coming and I was just about to miss it. Generally I don't run for public transportation as I find it demeaning to the self, but the 33 comes less than once a day so I thought it smart to pull up my knickers and make a break for it. Luckily, some man in front of me started to run for the bus. I slowed, and let him catch the bus knowing that now I could make it without having to run. All the while I was on the phone with Ian.
I got off the phone and balanced myself in the aisle just past the back door of the bus. All the seats were taken and I don't care to sit by most ordinary people so I found standing to be my best option. I noticed a man standing at the back door with a woman. They had a sort of Prozac happiness about them that I found eerie. I decided it was their conversation that I would overhear on my ride home.
"I not a yellow face," screamed the driver. I don't know about you but when an Asian driver screams at the top of his lungs, "I not a yellow face," as he barrels up Market Street you take notice. Then you worry for your life. The man at the back door smiled at me. I looked the other way. The last thing I needed was for this middle aged gay man to think I was looking back at him when really my eyes were just glazed over while I was starring off into the night sky.
"I not a yellow face." Ok, what the fuck is going on? I have no idea, but the bus driver is screaming random shit. I'm starting to panic and the small bit of moisture that had formed under my right arm had come back for a visit, this time visiting my left arm as well. With an Asian man yelling, and more middle-aged gay men starring at me I was really staring to freak out. The kind of stare that you get from a middle aged gay man makes me paranoid. You can just tell they haven't had any in a while. Maybe it makes me think back to the time I was peeing at the urinal in the Metro and a man leaned over and asked me if I would take a check. Who knows? It's the sort of objectification that I willfully write off from hot people. When it comes from less than ordinary people it just freaks me out.
On we went. I deduced that someone, either on the bus or someone who got off when I got on, had made some racial slurs to the driver. How sad I thought. I was over it before I even boarded but the driver was not. Then the woman with the man at the back door got off the bus. That's when I realized that the two were not friends at all. This was the type of guy who couldn't help himself and feels that he absolutely has to talk to everyone around him with in a five-foot radius. Then he said something to me. I pretended that English was not my native tongue and ignored him. Just then someone got off the bus causing me to have to move closer to Mr. Friendly. He said to me, "I think he's trying to catch up." I couldn't avoid this comment, as he looked me right in the eye as he said it. It took me a minute to realize he was talking about the driver. Apparently he was falling behind schedule, big surprise on the 33.
These are the kinds of things we usually keep to ourselves, but Mr. Friendly just couldn't help himself. "Probably, this bus comes once a year," I responded. He looked as if he was taken a back by my sarcasm and then tried to come up with something clever. He couldn’t. I walked past him and took my seat in the handicapped section. I felt this was warranted, what with the large puddle of moister underneath both of my arms.
The bus stopped, and Mr. Friendly walked all the way to the front door to get off when he had been perched in the stairwell of the back door this whole time. He would. He went up to the driver and told him that he was a good man and that we all supported him. Then he asked the entire bus for a round of applause for the driver. I just realized that I must be on the wrong bus. I meant to get on the 33 but instead I caught the bus to Crazy Ville. My mistake. Mr. Friendly then used the front door area of the bus as some sort of open forum. Like it was open mike night at the Apollo. I cracked a smile, not at the free entertainment that was happening before me but because this is something that would only happen to me.
Finally Mr. Friendly got off the bus. Thank God, now I can finally ride in peace and enjoy the rest of my ride home. Just as the bus started to move a crack head girl from the back screamed. "I have to get off this fucking bus, I just can't take it anymore." Amen. I felt the same way and was most likely screaming the same thing in my head at that very moment. I, however, was not cracked out and kept this to myself. Crack head gets up and heads for the back door. Smelly-hippy-height boyfriend follows her. She stands in the stairwell to get off the bus. The boy friend tries to console her telling her that there are only three more stops. BANG! The bus driver slams on his breaks and crack head girl hits her crack head up against the glass of the door. Ok, that was some funny shit. Now she's crying and the boyfriend is trying to console her. This was my anti-drug. My cell phone rang. It was Caron. Normally I always take Caron's calls because she is completely ridiculous and cracks me up. This time, I would have taken anyone’s call, even a blocked call. I just really needed some compassion at this point. "Caron, I'm on the scariest bus ride of my life." Caron went on and on about something important to her. I have no idea what she said.
"Last stop! Everybody off." Great. The bus driver stops just across from Amoeba and tells everyone to get off. I suppose I'll have to walk the rest of the way home. I almost called him "yellow face" as I got off the bus, not because I'm racist, but just to see what he would do. Instead, I wished him a good night, got off the bus, and walked home.
I really wish I hadn’t forgotten my headphones.
I boarded the train and realized that I was the attractive person on the train. That doesn't really say much but if you had seen the other passengers you would understand. I hate when this is the case because that means there is no one for me to scope out. Suddenly, I am being scoped out, which is fine when the scoper is attractive, but this wasn't the case. I pressed on.
I got off at church station, met my sister and shared some delightful conversation over an Americano at Starbucks. The scent of fried chicken filled the air as it always does at the Starbucks next to Safeway. Danielle only had a fifteen-minute break, but precious and few are the moments we share together. I left and headed for the 33, Americano in hand. Again, on I pressed.
The city hum of the Castro seemed to dim and was instantly replaced with sirens as I walked down the street. It seemed odd to call out a motorcade for me on such an ordinary day, but who am I disappoint my fans. Wait, these were the sirens of police, ambulances and fire trucks. Surely this was not for me, as Cher was nowhere in sight. As I passed a man lying on the ground in front of the 24-hour fitness being put on a stretcher it had become very clear what all the commotion was about. I made a mental note never to join a gym as such activity could be life threatening. I took this as a lesson learned and continued forward.
I walked past Urban Eyes, stopped and then turned back to go in. I ordered some new sunglasses and then left feeling quite confident as the moisture under my right arm had gone. I finally made it to the 33. The bus was coming and I was just about to miss it. Generally I don't run for public transportation as I find it demeaning to the self, but the 33 comes less than once a day so I thought it smart to pull up my knickers and make a break for it. Luckily, some man in front of me started to run for the bus. I slowed, and let him catch the bus knowing that now I could make it without having to run. All the while I was on the phone with Ian.
I got off the phone and balanced myself in the aisle just past the back door of the bus. All the seats were taken and I don't care to sit by most ordinary people so I found standing to be my best option. I noticed a man standing at the back door with a woman. They had a sort of Prozac happiness about them that I found eerie. I decided it was their conversation that I would overhear on my ride home.
"I not a yellow face," screamed the driver. I don't know about you but when an Asian driver screams at the top of his lungs, "I not a yellow face," as he barrels up Market Street you take notice. Then you worry for your life. The man at the back door smiled at me. I looked the other way. The last thing I needed was for this middle aged gay man to think I was looking back at him when really my eyes were just glazed over while I was starring off into the night sky.
"I not a yellow face." Ok, what the fuck is going on? I have no idea, but the bus driver is screaming random shit. I'm starting to panic and the small bit of moisture that had formed under my right arm had come back for a visit, this time visiting my left arm as well. With an Asian man yelling, and more middle-aged gay men starring at me I was really staring to freak out. The kind of stare that you get from a middle aged gay man makes me paranoid. You can just tell they haven't had any in a while. Maybe it makes me think back to the time I was peeing at the urinal in the Metro and a man leaned over and asked me if I would take a check. Who knows? It's the sort of objectification that I willfully write off from hot people. When it comes from less than ordinary people it just freaks me out.
On we went. I deduced that someone, either on the bus or someone who got off when I got on, had made some racial slurs to the driver. How sad I thought. I was over it before I even boarded but the driver was not. Then the woman with the man at the back door got off the bus. That's when I realized that the two were not friends at all. This was the type of guy who couldn't help himself and feels that he absolutely has to talk to everyone around him with in a five-foot radius. Then he said something to me. I pretended that English was not my native tongue and ignored him. Just then someone got off the bus causing me to have to move closer to Mr. Friendly. He said to me, "I think he's trying to catch up." I couldn't avoid this comment, as he looked me right in the eye as he said it. It took me a minute to realize he was talking about the driver. Apparently he was falling behind schedule, big surprise on the 33.
These are the kinds of things we usually keep to ourselves, but Mr. Friendly just couldn't help himself. "Probably, this bus comes once a year," I responded. He looked as if he was taken a back by my sarcasm and then tried to come up with something clever. He couldn’t. I walked past him and took my seat in the handicapped section. I felt this was warranted, what with the large puddle of moister underneath both of my arms.
The bus stopped, and Mr. Friendly walked all the way to the front door to get off when he had been perched in the stairwell of the back door this whole time. He would. He went up to the driver and told him that he was a good man and that we all supported him. Then he asked the entire bus for a round of applause for the driver. I just realized that I must be on the wrong bus. I meant to get on the 33 but instead I caught the bus to Crazy Ville. My mistake. Mr. Friendly then used the front door area of the bus as some sort of open forum. Like it was open mike night at the Apollo. I cracked a smile, not at the free entertainment that was happening before me but because this is something that would only happen to me.
Finally Mr. Friendly got off the bus. Thank God, now I can finally ride in peace and enjoy the rest of my ride home. Just as the bus started to move a crack head girl from the back screamed. "I have to get off this fucking bus, I just can't take it anymore." Amen. I felt the same way and was most likely screaming the same thing in my head at that very moment. I, however, was not cracked out and kept this to myself. Crack head gets up and heads for the back door. Smelly-hippy-height boyfriend follows her. She stands in the stairwell to get off the bus. The boy friend tries to console her telling her that there are only three more stops. BANG! The bus driver slams on his breaks and crack head girl hits her crack head up against the glass of the door. Ok, that was some funny shit. Now she's crying and the boyfriend is trying to console her. This was my anti-drug. My cell phone rang. It was Caron. Normally I always take Caron's calls because she is completely ridiculous and cracks me up. This time, I would have taken anyone’s call, even a blocked call. I just really needed some compassion at this point. "Caron, I'm on the scariest bus ride of my life." Caron went on and on about something important to her. I have no idea what she said.
"Last stop! Everybody off." Great. The bus driver stops just across from Amoeba and tells everyone to get off. I suppose I'll have to walk the rest of the way home. I almost called him "yellow face" as I got off the bus, not because I'm racist, but just to see what he would do. Instead, I wished him a good night, got off the bus, and walked home.
I really wish I hadn’t forgotten my headphones.
