Eric Skripka got off of a bus on University Ave. in St. Paul (news accounts do not say, but I assume it was either a 16 or 50) when Brian Edward Harper pushed a woman off the bus and then onto the ground. When Eric tried to stop the beating he got knocked down and kicked repeatedly in the head until unconscious.

Unfortunately, Mr. Skripka is out of work an does not have health insurance. A fund had been started to help him pay for his medical costs. Please stop into any TCF branch to donate, or send checks to:

Eric Skripka Benefit Account
TCF Bank
801 Marquette Ave. S.
Minneapolis MN 55402

As a rider on these routes who has confronted thugs in the past this story really makes me feel ‘there but for the grace of god’.

In addition to thanking Mr Skripka for what he did I will be sending in as much as I can spare and hope that all readers of this blog (and users of Metro Transit services) do the same. I hope too it inspires more riders to help keep watch and speak/act against those seem incapable of behaving like humans on the bus.

The mother was talking so loudly on her phone to her grandmother the entire ride that I can say based on her own words that she was 20 years old, from Chicago and indignant about her social workers and public assistance. As she rode and shouted into the phone she did her best to keep up her weight by inhaling a bag of doritos.

I thank my lucky stars that I on the other hand had not yet had breakfast, because it likely would have ended up on my lap: periodically the mom would stand up to shift her substantial frame and each time I wished she had gotten up a few minutes earlier that day so that she had had time to put on a pair of underwear. Instead, about three inches of hairy butt crack was wafted in front of my face. As if that biohazard were not enough to recommend bleaching the seat after her departure the worst was yet to come.

Around Lexington Big Mama tilted her head back and cleared her throat. She hacked again, and again and again. Then with not a care in the world she leaned forward and apparently dropped the phlegm on the floor. I could not believe it. Surely she had a napkin on her lap and I was misreading the situation… So, I stood up, looked at the floor, and sure enough there was a yellowy puddle between her feet on the bus floor.

Wow. I thought about speaking to the bus driver, but Metro Transit rules state: “Don’t smoke, eat or listen to music without headphones”, so apparently hacking loogies was not directly banned. I thought of talking directly to her, but figured that somebody so poorly raised / mannered was more likely to hit or shoot me than take my words to heart. I was about to let it slide when a few blocks latter another mother with a stroller came on board. Big Mama, shifted over to the left side to sit with her baby, thus giving the new mom a place to put her stroller (also draped with blankets). As the new mom was shifting the conveyance in place I spoke up:

“Excuse me mam- be very careful while wheeling that stroller into the seat- somebody has been spitting on the floor there and it would be a shame to get the phlegm onto your baby’s blanket. It is pretty disgusting and likely to get your baby sick.” I looked right at Big Mama while talking to see if it registered at all. Her face stayed focused on the chips she was shoveling into her mouth and I have no idea if anything clicked with her. Still, my passive aggression at least made me feel better.

I am still in awe at the animalistic display. I guess I should be lucky though that Big Mama did not have to defecate, as I half suspect she would have lowered her droopy drawers another half inch and plopped it right on the floor.

Of course the really sad situation is the baby. Imagine what she/he will grow up like with this behavior considered normal and acceptable in the house.

The daughter said, “I’d like to have my wedding on a plantation some day.”

The mother replied, “Oh, the south is so great. Such amazing history.”

The daughter responded, “I love plantation culture.”

I thought maybe they could both use copies of “Beloved.”

One morning I missed the bus and decided to risk it and take the 16. I got on the 16, it pulled forward about 10 feet ,and stopped. The driver announced that he had to use the bathroom, got up, and left the bus to go to McDonald’s. He closed the doors. We all groaned and looked around. The next 50 passed us. One lady tried to open the door – it was locked. The next 16 passed us. A gentleman tried the back door. Another 16 passed. It had been more than 15 minutes. We started discussing our options – radio for help? use the emergency door? break a window? Finally the driver returned. He didn’t saw a word and just continued his route.

Man, if you’re that unwell – take a day off.

Upon closer inspection I noticed a small tag sticking out of the back of the hat. That was when I realized that it was not a hat. It was, in all seriousness, a pair of little kids sweatpants. The waistband served as the head-opening, and the legs were folded carefully at the back of the head. Awesome.

I immediately sent my sister a text message, relaying the hilarity of the sweatpant-hat. She wrote back, “I know that guy!” And that is why I love Minneapolis. It is the smallest town in the world.

I was coming home from a meeting in Midway that for once offered childcare, and went to step onto the 16 at Snelling and University. With my foot in the door, the woman driving the bus told me to get off.

“You must have the baby out of the stroller and the stroller folded before you get on the bus.”

I knew that there was a “hold your baby” rule on the bus, but honestly, I’d never seen or heard of anyone forced to do so. It was raining, it was cold. I asked if I could at least get on before I took out my 5 month old and folded up, so I didn’t have to lay my baby on the wet sidewalk, since she can’t even sit up on her own yet.

“No. Management says you have to have the baby out and stroller folded before you get on.”

I shoved the diaperbag/laptopcase over my back, pulled out the baby wrapped in her blanket, and tried hold her with one arm while folding up the umbrella. The canopy top came swinging off and refused to fold down. Holding it like I was strangling a flamingo, I managed to get it, the baby, the stroller and the bag up the steps. I then held the stroller up with one leg while trying to put money in the changebox and grab a transfer.

The bus has 7 people on board. I set myself in the first seat, shoved the flopping stroller into the corner, holding it next to the wall with one leg. I put the diaperbag between me and the wall, turned my legs slightly out to keep the stroller from toppling, and held the now wide awake and wiggling child restrained on my lap with both arms. I took up exactly as many seats as l had on the ride out, except that now no one could use the flip down seat in front of me without risking getting poked in the eye by my runaway canopy.

The bus never filled more than halfway the entire ride to Nicollet.

Someone was kind enough to unfold my stroller and hold my bag while I got situated once I was off the bus. However, I still swear that when I left I saw that busdriver grinning at me as I struggled to get off.

I was riding the 16 from Downtown, getting on at Nicollet Mall and heading for school at the U. As anyone who rides that bus during the week knows, there are times when the stars align and it would seem that everyone and their mother wants to be on the 16. Standing room only is common on that work-horse of a bus, and to be lucky enough to actually sit down is a sweetness that dare not wish for, it’s too rare, too unreachable.

So, as usual, I’m just another steer packed into this cattle-car, standing with my hand on the supports and my nose jammed into the armpit of Joe Six-Pack. As we sway like a collective blob over the bumps and around the turns I have my senses heightened, looking for the person ready to vacate a seat, when suddenly a person sitting on the driver’s side, right behind where I’m standing, gets up and slips through the crowd to leave. The seat that is now empty is not mine — bus rules — the person closest to it gets dibs, but for some reason they’re not taking it.

Investigating, I see that the window-seat sitter has annexed the seat with a wide lab, a newspaper and with not-so-subtle body-language that says, “mine!” Seeing this I prepare my “don’t you know the rules, bub?” look, but he’s pretending to be oblivious, but that’d be impossible since the collective stare of a dozen people bears down on him and that fat, moist muffin he is holding like an apple, eating it with one hand. This continued through all of my stops and by the time I exited nobody had had the courage to sit in his extra seat.

After I thought about where I’d seen him before I realized that this bus would take him right to his TV studio in St. Paul, and that, perhaps, he’d ride in style the whole way there. I suppose he needed the extra space to prepare for an interview, the jerk.