Friday, January 18, 2008

thoughts on the bus

Dear Drunk Guy,

Perhaps there was someone on the bus tonight who would have been charmed by your slurred speech, beer breath, and skill at boxing imaginary opponents. "My hands are really cold. Feel them. Go on and feel them" might have been just the right line to use to melt her heart into a sticky pile of goo.

But I was not that someone. Better luck next time.

Love, the girl staring studiously at the advertisements on the walls

1 comment:

Crutches said...

Sorry for the long comment, but your post reminds me of an experience I had with a drunk on a bus while on my mission. I wanted to share.

My companion and I got on the bus and I stood with arm raised to hold the hand rail. The man, seated behind me, wanted to hold my hand, but, being too short to reach it and too drunk to see it, he reached instead for a known target – my armpit. Having caught me from behind by furtive approach and sneak attack, I had not time to recoil before he was feeling his way up my arm and pulling it down so he could grip my hand. “Do you know what this is?” he asked while staring into my eyes and squeezing my hand between both his. “This is love; brotherly love.” At this point I responded with a sardonic “That’s nice,” and a (thankfully truthful) “Excuse me. This is our stop”. I pulled the stop request cord with my free hand while simultaneously attempting to extricate my appendage from the tangle of the man’s arms and digits. The man exited the bus with us and asked if he could join us wherever we were going. Gratefully, we prevailed upon him to let us go on without him, and we left the encounter only with the a added knowledge of what “Brotherly love” really was.