One day they were riding and after a bit I noticed that there was no sound of the question-answer exchange. I started tuning in a bit and heard Maya start a question and then stop suddenly. I looked in the mirror and saw that her mother had a cookie broken up on her lap. Every time Maya started a sentence Mom would take a piece of cookie and pop it in her daughter’s mouth. I guess everybody needs a break once in awhile.

Another time a different driver got off the bus at Como & Eustic, ran across Eustic and into the Health Partner’s building. My assumption was that he “had to go”- but it was a good 5-10 minutes before he came back out.

What’s strange to me, is that they both left the buses running- with the keys in them. Not that someone would (or know how), but someone could have driven the bus off!

This first trip was a 3A, so it went down Maryland. The fellow from downtown sat halfway back on the right side every morning. At Grotto a woman got on who, shall we say, called attention to herself. She was in her late thirties-early forties but she was not ready to let go of her role as the hot chick. She regularly wore skirts so short they’d embarrass a sixteen year old. She was partial to hot pink clothes and heels. And she could make it work. She had the legs for those short skirts, the shape for those clothes and a very fine face. When she got on she went strait to the fellow who had just said good-bye to another woman downtown. They rode along with their heads together until they got off at Snelling and Como. Then they went out the back door, crossed the street behind the bus and then went to catch the southboound 84. Apparently they thought that by going out the back door no one would notice them going to catch the same bus. Not much chance of that because the heads of most of the men riding the bus rotated in such a manner as to follow the movements of Ms Hottie.

One day the young man stopped riding, at which point Ms Hottie stopped riding. I always wondered if he had gotten caught by one or both of the women he was juggling. I’ve seen Ms Hottie a couple of times since then, though not on the bus. Once was at the Cub grocery on Rice and she was still partial to hot pink and heels.

Finally, when it was time for someone to exit the bus, she gave them individualized departure greetings. It’s nice to see someone engaged in their job and the people around them. It really has the power to rejuvenate you for the rest of the day.

The only person I think can do an even better job of this is the “Jazzman” on the U of M Connector routes. Gotta love that jazz.

The bus was not even close to full, so that was kind of weird. But, being a non-confrontational Minnesotan, I ignored my new neighbor.

Soon he left, but not long after that another, different kid sat down next to me. Was this some sort of practical joke, I asked myself, and I wondered ignoringly until the kid turned back to her friends and shouted, “It’s Real!” A sea of giggles bubbled up from the audience.

That got me thinking, and noticing. What’s real? What’s so funny?

Then I noticed the guy in front of me. He had a mousetrap on his ear.

Now, granted, this was no punk making a point. This was a typical working-class, mesh-hat octogenerian, sitting and riding the bus because he was too old or too poor to drive. He was your everyday bus companion — except that he had a mousetrap on his ear.

I took some invasive pictures, and the kids kept giggling, but either the old man didn’t notice, or he was too proud to acknowledge us. And, as I sat there in wonder, I just had to start laughing. I busted a gut — it was so utterly foreign, so abnormal, so crazy.

A while later a lady who apparently was acquainted with the guy boarded the bus, saw him, and sat down next to him. “Art. How’ve you been?”

Art mumbled something.

“Say, Art. You’ve got a mousetrap on your ear,” the lady stated, her jaw hitting the dirty bus floor. “You know you’ve got a mousetrap on your ear?”

Again, Art mumbled… something about the mousetrap. I couldn’t make it out. The only thing I heard was the word “yesterday.”

“You’re crazy,” the lady said, and she quickly moved to another seat.

Maybe he was crazy. Though, apart from the mousetrap, he didn’t seem particularly loony to me. But this guy has been making me laugh for going on eight hours now. It’s made me think about all the ways in which the world don’t move to the beat of just one drum.

See pictures yourself:

She was sitting directly across the aisle from me and as we approached Como and 15th she let it be known that, “People are always stalking me. They use their cell phones to harrass me and tell where I am. There’s a woman on her cell phone right now. She’s on her way to St. Paul and she’s giving my position away to whoever she’s talking to.” After a pause she went on, “My sister died last year. She never hurt anyone in her life. I was harassed by a person in California. The restraining order was too late.”

When we got to Como and Eustis she asked if she could wait there and catch the next bus. She certainly could, I told her, and she got off. No doubt giving the slip to the conspiritors who track her with their cell phones. I looked but could detect no sign that she was wearing an aluminum foil hat to deflect mind control rays.

If a person boards your bus covered with red dye report it to Control. He is a bank robber.

No mention of wether he had a gun or any other weaponry.

This followed shortly after a female passenger boarded the bus on Como Ave. She was talking into her cell phone as she payed her fare. The conversation from her end went like this:

So I asked if I could see the paper, see the warrent. He said I’d been watching too much….Oh, shut up…What the f__k.

You never know who you might be sitting next to on your next ride.

Bastard.

Anway, one day I hopped on the bus and noticed a seat that was open in one of the front parallel rows. As I smashed my body into the space I realized why no one was sitting there: not only was it not really a space large enough for my body to fit, but it was overtaken by a large bodied homeless women whose smell made my nose hairs curl. I didn’t want to appear rude (plus I didn’t think it was humanly possible to squeeze back out of the space) and so I continued for the next 16 blocks (yes, I counted) trying to breathe as little as possible.