I felt the bus make two more stops and three more riders moved to empty seats behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I sensed one passenger take a seat across from me sharing the bench with another a middle aged woman.

The bus lurched forward and I was just a few numbers away from finishing my puzzle. My attention was immediately diverted to the seat across from me when the man mentioned his surgery. Apparently the man was just released from the hospital because he was shot the other day. He smiled and said, “Wanna see?” My eyes immediately shot over to them, and before she could answer he rolled up the bottom of his t-shirt to reveal two 4 by 6 inch gauze patches on either side of his abdomen. Given this was not the normal discourse for the bus my looks might have been reflecting a bit of confusion.

Nevertheless, the woman was not at all surprised. She scoffed and replied in a slightly obnoxious tone. “Oh yeah, I was shot last year right here in my leg,” as she rolled up her jeans to her knee to reveal two silver dollar size scars. “Eh, I didn’t bother with the hospital. I just took out my sewing kit and sewed it up myself.”

Their conversation continued as I gazed down at my puzzle, but with both ears cocked to hear the rest of it. She kept it going, “It was just an accident though. The neighbor kids didn’t mean to shoot me, they were just being kids.”

I almost didn’t notice when the bus came to my stop. I got up and gathered my coat and bag and caught a glimpse of the two before I moved past them. The man was grinning ear to ear at her.

I would venture to say that I had a relatively packed 2-car train, Methinks night classes at Sac City had been released just prior to my arrival at the City College Station….a perfect Transitarian Marriage.

I stepped out of my cab to let several Students from Sac City College off via the S&D Ramp at 47th Avenue, like I do every Tuesday night. After I pulled the ramp up, I noticed a lady crouched in the stairwell on the right side of the train. Not odd at all, but a prohibited activity per RT regulations…so being the rule abiding pushover train driver that I am I walked over to ask her to take a seat.

Thats when she said “Oh, I’m Sorry” .

Your sorry?

No lady, I’m sorry. I saw your Hoo-Hah. I could have lived without that.

As I watched you pull your pants up from your ankles while offering me a drunken explanation, I could tell you were not apologetic. In fact, I know you have felt the need to urinate on the train numerous times in the past.

I’m just sorry I happened upon you in your urination induced glory. Never mind the fact you were on my train (a VERY public place) surrounded by strangers of all ages in addition to a piece of metal and fiberglass that is an extension of ME. I am truly glad you followed my direction to get off the train, it was almost too easy, after all you were pissing on me.

And just so you know, I had to pee too….but I would have stepped off the train and found a bush or something more respectable than the stairs…in front of 60 plus people…while drunk

I will remember you, believe that sister.

The Roseville Road Princess hopped aboard my train at 8th and Capitol, along with assorted family members I would assume were dad and grandma. Not more than 4 or 5 years old, she carefully walked up and down the length of my LRV, asking questions when appropriate and retreating to her guardians when things got hot.

On purpose, I kept watch over her and her family.

At Roseville Road Station she and her family exited via the ramp.

When her parents and what I assume was her grandmother walked across the bridge to the platform, she ran back and wrapped her arms around my lower legs and thanked me.

Before I could thank and tell how amazing she was her mom yelled “Don’t hug that white mother f*@*#r, He aint done sh*t for you!”

My heart sank.

He had some documentation about his service in Vietnam and how he had to shoot at people etc. and was showing this to other passengers. He then started really getting agitated about Bush and the Iraq war! He stood up and started walking around cursing Bush and pronounced that he is the Devil!

About this point in time I was very thankful I did not have any pins, buttons, campaign banners etc. on my person that would i.d. me as a disciple of the “Devil Man”! The prospect of being dragged to the front as display item 1A for his seminar on Bush loomed before me.

The prophet then went forward to get off the bus and warned everyone that the Bush was the “anti-christ”! He warned us all to not vote for this “demon” and then took off. All the passengers sat with heads bowed as though in church, and gave thanks the prophet was soon to be taking his leave. I’m sure some may conclude he may have had a point.

I do not want to see my own fat rolls, thank you very much. What in the sweet name of Bob could make these women think I want to see theirs?

I was raised to be respectful and kind but one day I turned to my seat companion (a close friend) and said (quietly) do they not own a mirror? Not quite as quiet as I had thought. A woman behind me began to laugh and said she was going to borrow that line. I turned to acknowledge her appreciation of my wit and then noticed her attire. A few hundred pounds trapped in a leopard print mini-skirt, black see-through blouse, pink bra and fishnet stockings. Wow.

He proceeded to call at least six different people to tell them this same exact story…and in a very excited and laughing manner, I should add:

“dude, there’s a dead guy in my back alley. seriously! I walked out the door and saw cops everywhere, went around back, and there’s a dead f’er lying there! In my yard! Yeah, watch the news tonight for it. This is crazy, man. Ok, gotta go. Peace.”

Anyhow, I rode it up to her house from downtown a couple of times, but never felt really comfortable. I rode the 16 and 94 a lot, and those crowds was different, but some of the people on the 5 were just odd. It was a little better in the front of the bus, but depending on where you board in downtown, you might end up in the back.

One day we did, and there was a guy who seemed to have taken a few too many recreational pharmaceuticals; he was loud and shall we say, slobbery? Ranting began with Jesus and went on from there, and the GF and I were the targets of his diatribe. Did I mention he had quarters stuck in his ears? Yeah, really.

Anyhow, I got tired of being spattered and finally said ‘say it don’t spray it’ to the guy. Suddenly things got less friendly, and the dude sitting beside Twenny-five Cent was trying to calm him down from getting into it with me, or something. I was trying to keep calm, keep my GF from freaking out, and get off the bus and away from this weirdo.

When we finally got off, I was hoping he wouldn’t follow, and he didn’t, but the GF wasn’t happy with me for cracking wise to Twenny. At that point I was just glad to be away from the guy and let her talk until she calmed down, but I’ve never ridden the 5 since, and I never will.

All of a sudden, the bus driver was in the aisle coming toward them with a baseball bat. An angry bus driver is easy to ignore; an angry bus driver with a Louisville slugger makes a quick and lasting impression. He didn’t hit them. He didn’t have to. They left.

One summer afternoon, the 5 was stopping at Lake and Chicago to pick up riders. One got on, but not for long. There was some issue with the rider’s transfer, instead of arguing about it, the bus driver tackled the man and they both rolled out the door of the bus together. The bus driver leveled some choice words at him, dusted himself off, and got back on the bus. He got back on the very quiet bus filled will riders on their best behavior.

The one that probably pops up most often is the young man who dropped his handgun next to me as he exited the bus. He was carrying, strangely enough, in a plastic ice cream pail. He bumped into something, dropped the gun, and my half of the bus went so quiet so quickly, it was like…well like someone dropped a gun in front of all of us.

The young man picked up the gun, put it back in the pail, and exited the bus, walking in the direction of the nearby school. This was before cell phones were widespread, and I thought the bus driver should have at least called the police to the school. It made me think that some kind of tip line for bus drivers, with monetary rewards, would help fight crime around the city.

Anyway, I told my cynical friend about the encounter the next day. Not a gun owner myself, I said “I think that’s the closest I’ve ever been to a handgun.”

He said, “I’ll bet not.”

Thanks, Chris.