Bus Stop Blusterings

A few days ago, I met the most annoying guy in the world.

This was at the bus stop after I’d scraped enough change together to go on a round-trip for a job interview across town.

He came riding up on his bike, huffing and puffing like he’d just rode a marathon.

“Hey man”, he says, “how are you doin’ today?” I told him I was doing okay.

“Good to hear.. say bro, you wouldn’t have a buck to help a guy out so’s he can get on the bus would ya?”

I apologetically told him I didn’t have a buck to help a guy out. All I had was enough to get down to this job interview and get back.

“Bastards,” he said. “These damn bus drivers.. they won’t let a guy on for nothin’.. cold hearted bastards!”

Now, I’m thinking at this point that of course they “won’t let a guy on for nothin” and I’m also reflecting back to the times I didn’t have a buck for the bus so I rode my bike, which I didn’t have at the moment because it had a flat, and I thought all of this while looking over his perfectly healthy bike with two plump tires full of air.

“This world became a real shit hole while I was in state prison.”

The red flags tickled my ears as they stood at attention. I was hoping he wouldn’t see them waving about like they were, but they were awfully big.

“You don’t say” said I, not knowing what else to say.

Little did I suspect it was a rant invitation.

He told me how he’d been to every business as far as the eye could see, and how he put in an application at “every damn one of these mother fuckers”, and how they’d all turned him down because he did a little hitch in state prison, except for McDonald’s which hired him four months ago.

He told me how much it sucks to have to work at a McDonald’s and ride a bike back and forth and then he said something again about the cold hearted bastards who drive the city buses.

I started to pray silently that one of them would come by, like.. NOW PLEASE.

He swept his hand back, indicating the condo units behind the bus stop.

“Every one of these bastards living in these condos has their lives set out for them man. They have it easy.. it’s all planned out and going fine while schmucks like me have to bust their ass for minimum wage and shit.”

This conversation was getting more delightful by the second.

I wanted to ask him how he knew about the people who live in the condos.. how he knew that their lives were so free of drama, turmoil and concern while his was such a mess. I was going to ask him that, but he interrupted to inform me that “all of the damned Mexicans have come in and taken our jobs, bro!”

So then I wanted to ask him what job of his a Mexican took, but he went on to tell me how he pays six fifty a month for a “crappy little studio apartment” and never has any money left over after payday, which is why he has to plead with the “cold hearted bastards who drive the buses” to let him on so that he can go home after a long, hard day of flipping burgers.

I decided not to say anything. He seemed like he had the potential to be volatile, and who knows why he did time in state prison? It could have been for slitting the throat of a guy at a bus stop who told him to stop whining.

I thought back to the previous week, when I’d taken some cans and bottles over to the recycling station. I stood in a line of mostly homeless people for about two hours to get my recyclables processed, which earned me six and a half bucks.

Photo by Stuck In Customs on Flickr

I talked with “Tom” while waiting – he’s been homeless for 15 years, and eeks out a tiny living by bringing cans and bottles in every day. It’s not a lifestyle I’d choose, but Tom embraces it with a smile. He told me of how he used to work daily for a local temp labor firm until they went out of business, so now his routine consists of plowing through dumpsters to get up enough of a haul to bring in and turn it into cash.

No retirement plan or health insurance – just smiling, happy Tom and his bag of bottles and cans.

I told Tom about being laid off, and that I was quite anxious to not be homeless myself any time soon, but I respected that he makes a go of it with such a good attitude. I told him that once I was doing better, he’d have an open invitation to come by and relieve us of our recyclables. I hoped that didn’t sound pretentious – like a rich guy offering to let him wash his Bentley – but Tom thanked me and said he’d be glad to take me up on it.

“Just look for me behind the Ralph’s most evenings,” he said.

I will do that, whereas I’m hoping like anything that I won’t have to wait for a bus with whiny-bus-stop-guy ever again.

I’m not necessarily trying to make some kind of point here, like if you’re homeless yourself that you oughta just buck up and smile, or something. This isn’t a pep talk on attitude and I’m not trying to rock your day, given that my own day frequently goes without much rocking, or even light humming.

I’m just saying that we’ve had some difficult times these past few years, that coffeesister and I, but when I’ve written about it publicly I’ve tried to make it funny.

“I’m riding this bike six miles in the dead of night to get home and there’s a friggin’ PIT BULL chasing me” (true story!)

But I was accused of being “whiny” myself, so I laid off of it. I have a theory now that people don’t want to hear about your hard times even if you do make it funny, because..

1. They’re going through their own hard times.
2. They feel guilty that they can’t/won’t help you out in some way,
   even if you weren’t asking for help.
3. Simply put,who wants to hear that? I mean, really??

So, I leave it alone now. But sometimes I have to provide some context as to why something hysterically amusing took place and that context sometimes comes from our personal poverty.

I’d just ask readers to keep in mind that I’m not asking for anything, nor am I necessarily complaining and I am definitely NOT being whiny-bus-stop-guy, who isn’t funny in the least.

By the way, he got on the bus. The driver tried to kick him off, but someone felt sorry for him and paid his fare, so he chattered all the way to my stop about this awful, horrible world that’s ganged up against him.

Please don’t pay his fare, people.. he has a bike and won’t shut the fuck up.

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Tagged as: attitude, homeless, poverty