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    People on the Bus I Hate

    The bus The Guy Who Believed the Bus was Stuck

    While waiting for the bus, this guy announced every ten seconds that he thought the "bus was stuck." This vague criticism of the public transit system was marginally acceptable while the bus hadn't arrived. Once it showed up and we all boarded, however, I thought he was out of ammunition. Then he began to catalogue people who were not on the bus and were therefore stuck. "That guys musta missed the bus. He's stuck. Look at all those people who are stuck. Everybody's stuck today."

    The Guy who Liked to Talk... a Lot

    I shouldn't hate this guy. He was a friendly guy. But let's face it, not everything is worth talking about with the same enthusiasm. Some stuff is kinda boring. For instance, "Hey buddy, that's a big sandwich! You gonna wolf that thing down? Ha ha, I bet you are. That's a pretty big sandwich for a little guy like you. You sure you can eat the whole thing? No, I don't want any. When I eat a sandwich, it's a REALLY big sandwich."

    The Guy who Liked to Build about His Coveted Lexus

    This guy was a freestyle rapper. I think that after he got his lexus, he was going to move to Texas.

    The Girl who Knew A lot about Paganism

    This girl spent the entire trip explaining to a stranger how Christianity had stolen all its traditions from pagans. "And Easter! Don't get me started about Easter!" I heard her say to her seatmate, who had done nothing to get her started about Easter. "Oester was a pagan god-"

    "-goddess," chimed in a friend of hers, who was equally steeped in comparative religion.

    It went on like that, until by the end of the ride, her victim was staring vacantly out the window while she diagrammed a floor plan of one of the crypts of Dionysos-Sabazius.

    The Guy In Front of Me

    From the instant I got on the bus, there was ill-concealed animosity between us. I think he was a Blood (he was wearing a red bandanna, the official colored headgear of the Bloods) and he instantly suspected me of being a Crip (I was reading Aristophanes in the original Greek, the official pastime of the Crips). He has his seat reclined, so I couldn't help but press my knees into the back of his seat. After a few minutes, he turned around and asked me to do something else with my knees. "Sorry," I apologized. "I have long legs."

    "You're all maxed out?" He seemed to accept this and turned around. But a few minutes later, the sound of creaking cartilege from my seat-crushed knees must have started to bug him, because he turned around again, and said, "You're going to have to do something with your knees, man. Put them in the aisle or something."

    "I can't move them," I remonstrated. "Maybe if you put your seat up a little bit..." But he, affecting to mishear me, reclined his seat all the way back so that his head was literally in my lap. I spent the rest of the trip tenderly stroking his hair and applying cold compresses to his forehead. At the end of the trip he made a pass at me, having fallen victim to Florence Nightingale Syndrome, but I harbored resentment towards him because of the permanent loss of use of my legs.

    The Lady who Looked Just like Mrs. Garrett from "The Facts of Life"

    Actually, I didn't hate her... I loved her. But I really wanted to mention her, because she looked a lot like Mrs. Garrett. So after long consideration, I have decided that I hated that she wasn't the real Mrs Garrett so I couldn't ask her to dispense me some grandmotherly wisdom.

    *

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