Get On the Bus

Got writer's block? Need some inspiration? I have a solution for you: Get on the fucking bus.

The city bus is mostly a peaceful place here in Hawai'i. There are times when it can suck the life out of you, but for the most part, it's always an unexpected adventure.

For fans of people-watching, riding the bus is essential. I think it should be mandatory that every writer ride the bus at least once or twice before they die. There is something to think, talk or write about upon virtually every visit. I would write about bus hijinks more often, but I can't really take notes while riding because I get really intense motion sickness whenever I try to write in a moving vehicle, which also unfortunately keeps me from reading, one of the few consistently entertaining things you can do while riding The Bus.

There was a time when I was jaded and spoiled and couldn't be bothered to ride the bus, but these days, I'm equipped with more maturity and perspective and I am able to enjoy the simple pleasures a bus ride can bring. I see all the elements with more of a clarity now. Besides, with gas prices the way they are right now, it's a smart move. People actually respect you if you ride the bus these days and, in turn, many respectable people are passengers themselves.

I'm not talking about going Greyhound here. I've done that, once or twice and while it made for stellar blog fodder, I also feared for my life at every turn and the stench was beyond unbearable at times.

The wackiest passengers on the city bus pale in comparison to the majority of riders on any given Greyhound. If I've ever feared for my life on a city bus, it was either in Las Vegas, late at night, or it was just a really bad or psychotic bus driver here in Hawaii. I had one such driver today who missed a crucial turn (I've never seen a bus miss this turn and I've been on this same bus on this very same route hundreds of times) and had to make a very uncomfortable u-turn in the middle of rush hour traffic and herked and jerked me sporadically on the entire 45 minute trek to Ala Moana (the largest open-air shopping center in the world).

I could relay to you a few different things that have happened to and around me while riding the bus, but I'll stick with the one that's freshest in my mind:

At approximately 8:25p, a gentleman resembling Sonny Bono stepped onto the bus and walked around in circles while looking for a seat. After that, he looked relatively normal until a seat finally opened up, right across from me, of course. He drove me nuts with his hyper movements, but I fought the nausea and decided this character needed to be examined nonetheless. (This is when wearing sunglasses at night becomes extra handy)

On the last few runs of every evening, the bus holds about as many crystal meth addicts as I see on an average graveyard shift at the (in)convenience store and Mr. Bono's doppleganger was the latest to get on board.

Mr. Moustache put one earphone from his mp3 player in each year and within seconds, his left leg was trembling like Michael J. Fox* on Jolt Cola. If he was a fan of Ministry, his favorite album from them would surely be Twitch.

He began moving his head around like he was at a Grateful Dead concert. He also looked like the kind of guy who may have frequented one or seven of those.

From the style of his dress, which is pretty standard for a meth head--stained, holey t-shirt (most likely an old gift or prize) and filthy jeans--I figured he was listening to shitty, top 40 music, but he was acting like Captain Beefheart resided in his brain. His leg shook so fast it was as if he was listening to the Minutemen, but it's more than likely he was listening to Boyz II Men. That's probably the best thing about being addicted to crystal methamphetamine: Every album must sound as stunningly gorgeous and trippy as the Flaming Lips' the Soft Bulletin.

I tried to look away as Monsieur Meth's leg bounced like a virgin at a strip club for the first time. A handicapped fellow slowly made his way onto the bus, so I yielded my seat to him and moved towards the rear of the compartment, leaving Sir Geek Stink Breath in the dust.

I stopped about halfway to the back and found a new favorite passenger: A 50-something gal with pink spiked hair (and undoubtedly a few emotional issues) who would not move her bag from the walkway, even though she had an empty seat to the left of her. When I took my original seat back later in the ride, I noticed she had a pink stripe smeared--intentionally, I presume--across her right cheek as she dozed off into her own personal dreamland, which I'm sure is called "Insaneville" or something like that. Unfortunately, while I was still standing next to her, I also noticed that she smelled like she farted on a pile of dirty laundry, which is always fantastic.

The rest of the voyage was rather uneventful, but this is just a quick little glimpse into what I experience on a regular basis while hitching a ride on this zany mystery machine. As awful as it sounds, it is also quite awesome.

At work, it sucks encountering all the crazy fucks because, well, I'm at work. On the bus I'm usually off for the day and I'm taking a free ride that costs me 50 bucks a month.

I'm not buying a car anytime soon. 12-13 dollars a week is more than worth it to encounter all these beautifully bat shit crazies who make me feel better about being me. And, besides, I need to save up some money for a much more important adventure I plan on embarking on early next year. *cliffhanger*

Plus those wacky riders always give me something to write about.

Stay tuned. Hold on tight. The next stop will be coming up any minute now.

*I would have said Christopher Reeve, but I don't want to get my ass kicked by Chris Jericho.