TMI, Bus Guy. T.M.I.

     I swear to God, the day I catch a bus into Seattle and don't climb off with something unusual to write about will be the day I switch my allegiance to the LA Galaxy. In other words, ain't never gonna happen.
     Yesterday I took the bus into the city to meet my brother and a couple of his friends at the Sounders game. It was hot, and after the bus doors closed behind me and I took my seat I was dismayed to discover that not only did the windows not open but the air conditioning wasn't on. We heat wimps of the Pacific Northwest don't fare well in these circumstances, let me tell you.


My bus, just so you're with me.

     The seat next to me was vacant until about halfway to the city, when a very tall, somewhat rotund man lumbered aboard and, making eye contact and smiling at me, took the empty seat. I had been listening to my iPod but paused it and took out an earbud when the man turned to me and said hello. I returned the greeting. "I'm James," he said, extending a hand, "what's your name?" It became evident that I was not going to be listening to my iPod for the last half of the ride so I turned it off, pulled out the other earbud, and shook James's hand.

     He had sad eyes--even when he smiled--and drooping eyelids, a set of crooked teeth that fanned skyward as if attempting to turn his upper lip into a sort of makeshift tent. As he began talking it became clear that he was, in some capacity, mentally disabled. His speech was slow and deliberate and he seemed content to carry on a mostly one-sided conversation with himself, turning to me only to punctuate his thoughts with the occasional one-word response. He was 34 and heading home to Tacoma and boy wasn't it hot on the bus and did I think the bus driver turned on the air conditioning, and did I think that, if the bus driver had not turned on the air conditioning that he would do so if asked politely?

     "Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked with the abruptness of someone well-versed in non sequiturs.
     When one finds oneself in a conversation with a stranger on a public bus, and when said stranger takes the opportunity to pry into one's romantic life, there are several ways to handle the situation. in my case there was only one: lie my ass off. "Yes," I answered immediately.
     I was mistaken in thinking he'd drop the subject. "How long have you been dating?" he asked.
     I took a breath, loudly, to buy myself time. "A few years," I said.
     "So what, three?" He held up three fingers "Four?" He held up four.
     I was afraid that my imaginary boyfriend would soon have to be named, his height and occupation and geneology revealed. Lucky for me James didn't give a crap.
     "Me," he said, not waiting for a response, "I've been dating my girlfriend for four years." She lived in Tacoma, too, and he was excited to see her because they had a very trusting relationship and didn't I think that trust was the most important thing in any relationship? I admitted that yes, trust was very important.
     James went on. He missed his mother, who passed away in 2009, but he still had his girlfriend and, because somehow this makes sense, his grandchildren. I did some quick mental math (which is always trouble) and figured that for him to have grandchildren that were one and two years old as his were, he would have to have had a kid at 16 and the same for his kid. It didn't strike me as a probable scenario but I wasn't going to call him on it.
     He was worried about me, riding the bus all by myself and heading into the city where there were "some pretty crazy people." Where was I going? Was I meeting someone? Was this person trustworthy? Trust is, after all, the most important thing in any relationship. He barely missed a beat before turning to me and saying, "You're cute. You have nice eyes and a nice smile." I smiled nervously with closed lips (for I have concluded that I am noticably less cute when I smile in this manner) and turned to the window. "I have a girlfriend of four years," he added, "and we have a very trusting relationship and I love her, so you know I'm not flirting with you." Why no, James, I did not know that. Thanks for clearing that up.

     Throughout the entire conversation I nodded politely and threw in an interested "Oh, really?" whenever it seemed appropriate (and even when it didn't - he wasn't paying attention anyway). But as soon as he brought up how his girlfriend's friend's boyfriend cheated on her with two people at one time I stopped finding it necessary to respond. "I mean, it's just sick," he said, "three people having sex with each other at once." Why is this happening? I thought. This is not happening. I looked around to see if anyone had heard and seemed as pained as I was, but it appeared that James and I were the only two with ears on the entire bus.

The March to the Match from Occidental Park.

     When we finally pulled up to 4th & Union James muttered something about having missed his bus to Tacoma, offered a quick goodbye, and left. I sank into my seat and stared hard at the roof of the car next to me. I couldn't remember being so uncomfortable, feeling so violated in such a harmless, oblivious way. My stop came several minutes later and I made my way down the block to Occidental Park where the Sounders band--Sound Wave--and fans congregated on the cobblestones in their blue and "rave" green. I pulled my scarf out of my bag, looped it around my sweaty neck, and breathed a sigh of relief. I was with my people, off the stiflingly hot bus, and determined to never again stand for an orgy conversation to take place in my presence.

     I must say, though, that of all the creepy compliments James paid me, his estimate that I was 25 was by far the highlight of the ride--and it wasn't even a compliment. You hear that, World? I'm not 16!