A Commuters Paradise

I'm pretty sure I sat in semen on the subway during my ever-so-loathed commute to the office on Friday. It was the pivotal moment I had been waiting for all week. Not only had I been sweating like a whore everyday, which made me strongly consider a buzz cut, I was now potentially pregnant with some jerk-offs baby...literally. Fingers crossed!
When I got to my desk that morning, I started calculating my finances and it looks like that if I were to have a love child with a mystery subway masturbator, I would be able to squirrel away enough money so that in 9 months, I could comfortably afford a crib, and me and my baby could live in that luxury crib, in a ditch on a street where wealthy people live. DREAMS DO COME TRUE.

Last week I "slummed' it and rode the subway to and from work since I'm crazy po. (And yes, I just said "po." Po is actually a step down from poor. Like eating toilet paper and scream crying yourself to sleep kind of poor.) Anyway, I use the term "slum" not as an offense to those who take the subway, since most of my friends ride it, and I do from time to time. But I say that only because I've started taking the magical express bus to work, and last week I was stealing toilet paper from the office, so I obviously couldn't afford the bus. This bus is double the fare, but it's air conditioned, and for the most part, the citizens who ride this fine bus, shower at least 4 times a week and I'm fairly certain they dabble in breath mints and personal hygiene. SMALL SLICE OF HEAVEN, AMIRIGHT?!

I realize that I have written a few posts on my psychotic tendencies, which the subway illicits in me, but there is nothing I hate more than stupid subway patrons. Well, I actually hate peas and Hootie and the Blowfish more, but still. I once saw a man light a cigarette on the subway, then rub his penis with his free hand, all while he was trying to talk to me about the difference between American and Canadian iced tea. I know what you're thinking, how'd she get so lucky?  But now, I've discovered that I don't have to be on the subway to be inspired to have a mega melt-down, because weird/creepy people enjoy approaching me at the bus stop too. I ask that you bear with me this week as I unleash my rage about my commute. If I don't write it here, there is a good chance you'll find me on a park bench rocking back and forth in my tinfoil hat.

On Friday, I was standing at the bus stop waiting for pleasure rocket to arrive (my bus, not my vibrator) to take me to the subway station. As I stood there in the blistering heat, with my straight hair slowly evolving my look into a Slash-like state,

I spotted a woman walking down the street wearing some army fatigues, and a lumber jack jacket with high heels. Immediately I knew I was somehow going to have a situation on my hands, as odd people seldom walk by me without randomly asking me for life advice or swearing at me.

So I held my breath, cranked up the volume on my New Kids on the Block album, turned my back and waited as she sauntered down the street. Sure enough within 3 minutes I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, where is your bathroom?"
"Um, I'm at the bus stop, but there is a restaurant on the corner that will allow you to use theirs."
"Okay."

Obviously this wasn't over since that was WAY too easy as she stood there smiling at me with a creepy head tilt. I continued to fidget with my phone pretending that Obama was on the other line wanting my opinion on how to resolve the crisis in the Middle East, but she didn't seem to give a shit.
Then, out of no where, this lady reaches into her pocket and whips out a Snoop Dogg size blunt. (I refuse to call him Snoop Lion as I like to save people from idiocy.) And she continued to smoke it while virtually leaning against me, telling me about how she prefers roast beef over chicken and what the weather is like in Newfoundland. Sweet.

As the day finally came to an end and my soul had left my body, I realized I could not take the subway as I couldn't be confident that I wasn't gonna Jason Bourne a complete stranger if they were to hit me with their backpack... so I splurged and waited for my express bus...

While waiting for my bus, a tall Australian gentlemen, who I believe stores heads in his freezer, struck up a scintillating conversation with me.

These were his first words to me:

"Oh god my stomache hurts." (He was now keeling over and I was rolling my eyes.) "I ate something bad for lunch and I just vomited before leaving work. I have diarrhea now too."

At that point I looked around to see if I could find Satan waiting to escort me to the fiery pits of hell. WHO SAYS THAT TO A STRANGER?!!! ALL I WANT TO DO IS LISTEN TO WHITNEY HOUSTON ON MY IPOD IN PEACE.

Then....

He realized that I seemed to be listening to his verbal diarrhea so he continued our one-sided conversation.

"The last time I was this sick was after a party I had with my ex-wife. I'm not married anymore. I'm not sure if you're married, but being married is hard. " 

"So is listening to this conversation." Then I pulled out my gun and pistol whipped him and drove off into the sunset in my air conditioned Range Rover with Marky Mark.  (*Obviously none of that happened but I certainly fantasized about it.)

He continued to show me a scar on his arm which he got from getting drunk and falling on a garbage bag full of glass, then somehow steered that conversation right into how it is living as an asshole Atheist.

Finally, after 20 minutes,  disproving his atheist theory, a bus appeared in the distance because God exists.

As I sat on the bus, I contemplated jerking the wheel of the bus into oncoming traffic, because of my pure mental exhaustion, but then I realized I had vodka in my purse and all was right with the world.