There’s this woman who takes my bus in the mornings, gets on at the train station downtown. She’s about the size of John Candy, Santa Claus, and the Buddha, put together. Every time she gets on the bus, this woman barks “I need a seat!” and people scurry away like cockroaches being shot at. She needs two seats; if only one becomes available, the person in the second one gets squished against the hand rail, or just pushed off the seat if there’s no armrest. I’ve been that person before – you literally get shoved until this thing is pressing into your side and you need to pull yourself up by the bar.
So, this adult with Down’s syndrome gets on the bus a stop later. Bus pulls in, and the guy tries to hurl himself on like a handicapped version of Superman. Only, someone is coming off, so he stops, backs up to clear a space, then tries it again, but people are still getting out. A third time, nope!, then he finally manages to board. Dude has a giant smile plastered across his face, like “I made it!” He sits down across from Bertha, Destroyer of Worlds, who’s sipping on a jamba juice. Dude starts asking her about it. Keeps circling back to “that’s full of calories,” how many are there, smaller is better, all kinds of stuff, then he tells her he has a calorie counting book if she’d like it–
Right when homegirl started getting royally offended, is when we made it to my stop.