5:01pm I am impatiently waiting outside for the bus, anxious for the arrival of my particular line. Since this stop caters to several lines, I am already covered in debris from other buses that pass by – a barrage of dust, leaves and small pieces of trash kicked up by their broad wheels. I fail to use a magazine to shield my eyes.
5:10pm I’m on the bus towards home. It stinks. It smells like sweat, fecal waste and curry. This is my Friday bus ride home. Fifteen minutes. It’s not a lot. It’s doable.
5:12pm It’s worse than I thought. There’s got to be a homeless man somewhere, I can smell the urine, but I can’t spot him. There’s a teenage couple speaking quietly, their heavy-lidded eyes dropping as they take turns swigging a bottle of water while protecting several bags of protruding luggage. The boyfriend keeps lifting up his shirt to reveal heavy tattoos and skinny muscles. She tells him to put his shirt down. They are blocking the entrance to the bus with their navy blue bags and oncoming passengers are having problems getting through. Uh-oh. We’ve pulled up at the next stop and the old ladies are making their way in.
5:13pm Decorum on the bus dictates that you must move for the elderly and handicapped. There are both ascending towards the door now, but the teens aren’t moving a thing. Or at least for the moment, are making no effort to move. I’m positive that the girlfriend will wrangle her tattooed, macho boyfriend away from the door, urging their bags towards the back, but as the old lady starts to push their cases from her path, they make no movement and someone starts to yell.
5:14pm Turns out the old woman is part of a couple – a Russian couple. Her husband is helping her move the cases away, so the teens make a move for the bags and start to haul them away as the old woman starts waving her hands and yelling in Russian, joined quickly by the tattooed teen who surprisingly yells back at her in Russian. They are fighting, the girl keeps calling the old woman ‘crazy old bitch!’ and sits down in front of them with one of her bags. She glares at the old couple. The old man starts yelling and pointing menacingly, and the boyfriend starts to explain to his girl what they are threatening. The boyfriend repeats ‘I can take you!’
5:15pm Oh holy hell! The bus driver opens the back door and starts bellowing. Someone has to get off. We wait for two minutes. No one is moving. The driver finally closes the door.
5:17pm This bus ride is already too long. Just close the goddamn doors and get moving. The fighting ceases, they are simply staring at each other while the young girl continues to oscillate glances between her boyfriend and the old woman, repeating quietly ‘crazy ol’ bitch’ and shaking her head. Everyone is silently glancing around, or staring out the window. I fantasize about every which way this situation could erupt further; several scenes involve guns. I look around at today’s passengers. What are the odds? I think I watch too much tv.
5:21pm I’ve located the smell. There’s a man with matted hair and crusty white eyes nearby. He is carrying a satchel with god knows what inside. I plug my nose.
5:22pm Good Lord I can’t even concentrate on the podcast playing on my iphone. It is a hot day, heat that augments even the slightest waft of crude aromas. It is retchingly putrid.
5:24pm Oh Hallelujah. I am a minute away. I see my stop, the fresh air, the freedom to move – and my dash for the door is the worst part of all. I must make my way out of the cramped and immobilizing vehicle to the exit, roughly and clumsily falling toward the door in heels because I cannot gain my balance while trying to play twister through the crowd.
5:26pm Ha. Freedom.
NO SAINTS IN L.A. 