Being Bus

My old friend from grad school, Jim Ellison coined the term, "Being Bus." Being bus simply describes that person on public transportation that has a conversation so loudly that the other passengers have no other choice but to listen. It's like a one man act or something. If you try to read, look out of the window or even have your own conversation, you will find it impossible, resistance is futile!

Back in the late eighties the being bus conversations were usually with another person. Many times it was really about an unfortunate person who found themselves trapped next to the being bus character. The conversation was usually about nothing interesting. I imagine those conversations were most likely uninteresting even to the speaker. The times have changed baby. Being bus people don't really need trapped passengers any longer, they have cell phones. I even suspect that half of the times there is not actually anyone on the other end of the line. The being bus creep is just talking to be heard. I don’t know why, maybe to feel important or less lonely.

Yesterday afternoon I found myself trapped on public transportation. It was a full house. High school had just let out leaving a standing room only crowd. I can’t imagine that being trapped in the primate cage would be less horrifying or odiferous. I guess that I was fortunate enough to be seated. The aisle seat, of course means I was shoved and inadvertently poked every which why. I needed to go five miles and a half mile into the trip, I was confused and felt certain I had been on the thing for at least two days. And then he got on… A little man of say fortyish who appeared very very short even from my seated position was being bus. He was wearing an over-stuffed puffer jacket and ski cap all hunkered down as if it were 40 degrees colder than in actuality. He was a loud little man. This dude put the being in being bus! He apparently was sent to regal us with this knowledge of all things computer or rather his half-knowledge. Here’s what I learned from Mr. Being Bus: He was married with two teenage daughters; his wife has a laptop which she wants to use everywhere and no, no she does not have WiFi; one daughter has and old Dell and the other an even older Acer, neither of which is worth a shit; his “conversation” was apparently with a customer service rep. in India whose ass he was going to kick if the rep did not “figure out how to fix his problem.” The best I could tell was that he wanted to connect his bunch of outdated computers together and did not have a lot of money to spend because he had just bailed his cousin out again. He also knows everything there is to know about computers and the rep was a prick for saying he should have been able to figure the problem out himself [if he knows so much].

For 30 minutes I had to listen to this douche. He stood over me elbowing me in the head constantly as he shifted out of other’s way or to make a point to the Indian rep. People groaned, some even whispered audibly enough to be heard, “shut the f*** up!” He took no notice. It was as if he were wearing headphones. The older woman across the aisle tugged at his coat finally and exasperatingly asked “could you please stop talking?” Her tone suggested that this wasn’t really a request. All eyes were on Mr. Being Bus. He looked down at the old woman and then about the bus. He then told the rep. “I’ll call you back when I get home,” as if he’d get the same person.

A Random Ride-by

Now if this little tale does not warm the cockles of your frozen heart, I am not at all sure what will. For those of you who have allowed yourselves to become more jaded than myself (which is hard to do), I should make note that this is indeed a true story.

Around three in the afternoon yesterday, I decided to have Dunch or Linner. I seldom eat both lunch and dinner in any given day. If I can I usually eat a meal early and a small snack later on if I get hungry. I was chilled yesterday, one of those days when you cannot seem to get warm. I decided that vegetable soup would put me right. What’s this? There wasn’t a cracker in sight and I can’t eat soup without crackers. I made half a sandwich of PB & J for some quick energy and then bundled up for a long walk. Even though I was chilled, I also needed some exercise. The now old ankle injury stiffens if it does not get out as much as it should. I set my sights on the grocery store 2 ½ miles away. The trip to the store was uneventful. I was annoyed by the gray skies and landscape. My brain seemed to chant, “Where the heck is Spring?” every step of the way.

At the store I purchased three boxes of crackers; Saltines, Ritz and Graham. As well, I purchased a big arse double box of bran flakes. I bore you with those details only to signify that I made the return trip with a large, over-sized bag in each hand. The bags weren’t at all heavy, just over-sized. About three blocks from the store I could feel someone on a bicycle to my left slowing down. I slowly turned to notice a rather fit gentleman of about 60 years, I’d say. He had a full gray/silver beard and blue eyes. He smiled and asked, “Do you have far to go?” Before my twisted jaded mind could reach the conclusion that, old dude was going to off me, the man followed with, “I ask because if you have far to go you are welcome to take my bike. You can bike your groceries home and then come back. I’ll wait for you on that bench there.” Huh? No, I had never seen this guy before in my life! I was speechless. It seemed sunnier out and that chill I had all day was g one. I thanked the man and smiled broadly as I declined his offer. He smiled back and nodded and was then off. I almost skipped home.

After I got home, I made myself a cup of tea with lemon and dissected the event in my head in my usual attempt to ruin just about everything. I imagined that upwards of 99% of people would not have returned with the man’s bike. I thought further that perhaps he was a perv and that I might have ended up on a milk carton. I came up with all sorts of other stupid explanations and scenarios and finally settled on a truth… We should all slow down and care.

Of St. Patty’s Day Past

Way back in the day when I was a college student at St. John Fisher College in Rochester, I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with zeal (and whoever else wanted to join in). We, along with many other students would eat breakfast together prior to heading off a mile and a half up the road to Thirstys Pub in Pittsford, New York... I’ll get to Thirstys later. It was quite the big deal back when I shared a room with Mark Natalie.

The average sized dorm room was a suite connected by a common bathroom. We were all neat clean guys so, things worked out pretty well. The cleanliness of the bath is important because in the wee hours of St Patty’s morn’ it became a make-shift kitchen. In the days before this we made our way to the Wegmans’ supermarket up Fairport Road and purchased bacon, bread, eggs, O.J. and whatever else we need to make breakfast. The anticipation of this breakfast might only be matched by Christmas morning. Around five on St. Patrick’s Day morning we would convert the sink counter in the shared bath to a kitchen. We used all manner of electrical kitchen appliances to cook our meal. It is decades later and I can still smell the bacon and taste the orange juice. We were smart in that we wanted full bellies for what was yet to come. Like giddy children we prepared the meal and swiftly ate all the while monitoring friends down the hall and about the building as to their progress. We finished up and washed ever inch of the place as if it were ballet. We wanted no sign of our fun in that it was not legal to cook in our rooms much less the John. We were now ready. It was time to go.

Laughing and joking every step of the way up East Avenue past Nazareth College of Rochester,15 or 20 of us reached Thirstys at 7:00a.m. at their special St. Patrick’s Day opening time. We wanted to be the first there and usually were with the exception of regulars who I always imagine slept over. I remember it like yesterday, we’d step to the counter and slap down a one dollar bill and the friendly bartender would return with twenty cups of beer. Yeah, five cent beers! Hours later I remember waking up in my suite shower naked. I cannot tell you what happened much after the first couple beers. I’ll tell you what did not happen, murder, mayhem or disrespect, save Thirstys floor. It was a different time. We would never think of driving and the armed forces could learn a thing or two from us about leaving no man behind. We drank massive amounts and had fun and bonded forever. I offer no apology.

Things were different then, at least for us. No one was found face down in a stream and there were no real “incidents” as I recall. We were different people than students are today. We helped and cared about people we did not even like. I guess you might call it responsible fun/drinking. “Well, how can you say you lost a full day and call it responsible?” We were different then, we looked out for each other.

Ten years later I returned to Fisher to teach in its English department. MADD was all the rage and Thirstys St. Patrick’s Day event was gone. Somewhere in those ten years someone decided that students could not drink and look out for each other. They raised the drinking age and outlawed the panty raids too.

Another case for a personal assistant.

Sometimes, okay very often, I skip merrily along in life ignoring a lot of stuff. The result is that more times than not I end up with a "duh" look on my face. Early last evening I presented such a look. Someone gave me a Burger King Gift card. I was so flustered that I wasn't sure later if I even said thank-you. I emailed one this morning.

A Burger King Gift card? I had never heard of such a thing. I can't remember when I was last even in a Burger King. I stopped going there because that "king" clown guy gave me bad dreams. That was maybe ten years ago or so and I believe it was to just buy a drink. I guess I can buy Burger King drinks for a little while now. If I had a personal assistant I might have been made aware of this fast-food trend or at least have someone to blame for not knowing what "everybody knows." I can't help thinking that my embarrassment might have been averted if the card had been simply left with my assistant. You're right, it is morning and I do need a shave.

Manipulating the data

Having recently filled a USB flash drive it was time to purchase a new device. While looking through the Sunday newspaper's sale circulars I found several on sale although, there did not seem to be any rhyme or reason for the pricing. Some stores offered 2GB drives for more than others sold 4G drives. Later that day I was in Rite Aid which actually wanted $49.99 for a 2BG drive. It finally appeared that Kmart might be the “best buy.” (Yeah, that pun was intended also.) Kmart had a 4GB flash drive for a mere $9.99.

On Monday off to the mall I went in that Kmart is next to the thing as is a US Post Office where I needed to purchase more stamps. While at the mall I wandered through Sears. Sears of course had a Vegas wedding of sorts with Kmart a couple three years ago. Oddly, enough Sears wanted more than twice the Kmart price for flash drives but, in all fairness they weren’t on sale there. On the way out I noticed that they had 3 pairs of thick cotton glove liners on clearance for a couple bucks. These I also needed badly. I took them to the nearest counter.

No bubbly chick, I do not want them free for opening a Sears charge today. Yes, I do have a rewards card! Yes, I will remember to go online at my earliest convenience and fill out your dang customer satisfaction survey. Really, you don’t actually care but your manager does? (Wait a second. That voice in my head is asking me, “Why are you telling me this?”) Really, when I go online to fill our your survey you are suggesting that I rate you a nine or ten because, if you get ratings lower than that you will get into trouble with that same boss who cares? (Wait a second. That voice in my head says you are a liar and that you really do care. As well, you are very bad at customer service. –Yeah, that voice can be a little judgmental.) Yes, I will have a nice day and you do the same.
As I walked away, I wondered if she really wished me a good day or if she only said it because her manager wants her too. Would this be addressed on the questionnaire? For those of you who are not accustomed to my sarcasm, that was some. Winding things up, the obvious moral to the story was: I have a price, it is just higher than most. If you want a definite nine or ten point rating regardless of your performance, maybe you should sweeten the deal. Being entered in your bogus gift card contest isn’t cutting it!