Long time no see. I have a story to tell
As you may have noticed, its been years since I wrote anything. I forgot that I even had this blog, which may give an idea of what's been going on at my end. I'll call it "the joy of working for Starbucks" and leave it at that. I still work for Starbucks, and it is a joy to work there. But circumstances have changed, and that reminded me of the existence of this blog. I also am coming back to writing.
This is about a real life incident that happened today on one of my many bus rides (hurray for bus passes). I intend to do more writing which may eventually lead to the writing/hopefully-publishing of a book possibly named "Stories from the bus". If you have another name for the book at the end of reading this short story, feel free to leave a comment about its suggestion.
The makings of this story happened while I was waiting for the bus no. 52 (which as usual was late), but I written the actual story in Cafe Ristretto, at Bishop's landing, where the lack of my chocolate satin cake had to be compensated with a muffin and a sysco square and two cups of coffee. I did listen to a lot of Paul Simon on their satellite radio, which was comforting too.
I was waiting at the bus stop and this man and woman walked up to it. The woman had thinning hair, wore a black sweater with a black and red vest over it. She was dragging a shopping cart with her, the one with wheels, which you can buy for your groceries and what not. One of the wheels of her shopping cart was broken. She sat on the seat next to where I was standing and said hi. I managed a weak smile, as she was still continuing a conversation with the man who came with her. As she sat down, she complained about the wheel of the cart, "oh look at it, oh look at it, oh my, hahaha".
She continued talking with the man, whom I later found out was her son, rather, she called him her son Mike. He called her Carol. From their conversation, I understood that "Carol" was the kind of person who repeated herself at least 10 times, even if the person she was conversing with acknowledged her statement the first time. "Mike", on the other hand, was the type who completely tried to ignore anything and everything that Carol said, but eventually had to listen because of the tedious repetition. The conversation that I happened to listen in involved a church, an indian" guy who was standing suspiciously on the 3rd floor of her apartment building though Mike said he lived there and Carol said she doesn't know who lives around her anymore "coz I've been so busy, Mike, I've been so busy, Mike, I've been so busy, Oh God!", and about making a call to the superstore , the number being 435-1080 (I called it and it was wrong, so I think it could have been 435-1018, or my hearing is busted and I heard the entire number wrong - though why I bothered to include it in my story and not delete it still, is completely beyond me).
During the conversation about about calling the superstore, Mike proceeded to take a bottle of hand sanitiser and use it. It was orange-scented. As he was doing it, Carol stopped her superstore talk to tell Mike to not put the sanitiser on and that she had hand cream (repeat this about 6 or 7 times). She took her purse from her shopping cart and dug in for the hand cream. By this time, Mike was done with using the sanitiser, so there was a strong orange smell in the air. Now she started to complain non-stop about how she "pleaded" with him to not use it, that it is "deadly" for her (insert lots of oh's and my's - I lost track) and she was allergic to it. Mike mumbled that she was not allergic. She started yelling at him, saying she was allergic at least 12 times and that he didn't believe her. Mike eventually told her to "stop whining". She went up to him, asked him "what that stuff" was made of, smelt it up close on his hands, and resumed complaining.
To call this woman a drama queen would be an understatement.
The superstore conversation resumed and she asked/demanded the use of Mike's phone for the call. Mike took his own sweet time to take the phone out, dialed the number and gave it to her. By this time the bus was around the corner. She "didn't know how" to use the phone and kept asking Mike over and over as to what she should do. Mike was all silence until she gave the phone back to him. As he was redialling, she looked at me and said "Technology these days!". I hoped I gave her the grumpiest look I had given in a while, and trust me, I got some really good grumpy ones.
As she caught sight of the bus and as Mike was redialling, the question of Mike paying for Carol's ticket arose. "Do you have money, Mike?" she asked him. He said no first, and the question came again "DO YOU HAVE MONEY, MIKE?". He said "You owe me a lot of money, Carol". "DO YOU HAVE MONEY, MIKE?". He lost, said yes, and got the money and the phone ready.
As we boarded the bus, she got a hold of a "Dave". I went past her towards the middle of the bus. This 52 was one of those long buses whose two parts were joined in the middle by the bellow thingy and a circular base. Up until now, since Mike had to pay for the bus and make the call, Carol, in all her ranting, failed to get back to the orange-scented allergic hand sanitiser on Mike's hands. Once the bus was on the move, and the call was done, she got back to it right away. She complained to anyone and everyone who would listen that she was allergic to the hand sanitiser and her son wouldn't believe her. She went so far as to move to the middle of the bus and came to stand by me. I was on a four seater placed sideways with one other passenger at the far end of the seat. The passenger had her handbag on one seat and I had my backpack on the other. We seemed to be unanimously unwilling to share our seats. Carol tried to make eye contact with me as she ranted on about her allergy. Grumpy Grace did not budge.
Fortunately for her, she found two 20-something kids standing on the circular base of the bus very receptive to her wails. The conversation about her supposed allergy went on and on and on, that it diverted the attention of the passenger on my side of the seat from her book. Her stares at Carol surpassed my grumpy looks. Mike, on the other hand, stayed put at his spot at the front end of the bus. Carol mentioned that she had bought a "florida" orange and shared half with him and "this is how he repays me!". The two kids were positively goading her and having a lot of fun at her expense. They went to the extent of discussing why Mike couldn't buy another kind of hand sanitiser or waited until Carol took out her hand cream from her purse.
The bus reached Mumford Terminal. Mike wheeled out Carol's abandoned shopping cart before it got in the way of everyone else getting out of the bus. As we all filed out, Carol felt compelled to impress on everyone as to how "cute" it was that her boy was wheeling her cart out, "oh how cute he is, so cute, absolutely cute he is, Oh God!".
I moved on to the bus no. 1 and saw the two of them talking as my bus pulled out of the terminal. I noticed Mike being impassive, Carol wheeling her cart and yelling at his impassiveness. I bet it was about the hand sanitiser, because Mike had his hands tucked in his pockets. Even if this wasn't the case, I will imagine it to be so, because I get to write the ending of this story. And so it ends.
This is about a real life incident that happened today on one of my many bus rides (hurray for bus passes). I intend to do more writing which may eventually lead to the writing/hopefully-publishing of a book possibly named "Stories from the bus". If you have another name for the book at the end of reading this short story, feel free to leave a comment about its suggestion.
The makings of this story happened while I was waiting for the bus no. 52 (which as usual was late), but I written the actual story in Cafe Ristretto, at Bishop's landing, where the lack of my chocolate satin cake had to be compensated with a muffin and a sysco square and two cups of coffee. I did listen to a lot of Paul Simon on their satellite radio, which was comforting too.
I was waiting at the bus stop and this man and woman walked up to it. The woman had thinning hair, wore a black sweater with a black and red vest over it. She was dragging a shopping cart with her, the one with wheels, which you can buy for your groceries and what not. One of the wheels of her shopping cart was broken. She sat on the seat next to where I was standing and said hi. I managed a weak smile, as she was still continuing a conversation with the man who came with her. As she sat down, she complained about the wheel of the cart, "oh look at it, oh look at it, oh my, hahaha".
She continued talking with the man, whom I later found out was her son, rather, she called him her son Mike. He called her Carol. From their conversation, I understood that "Carol" was the kind of person who repeated herself at least 10 times, even if the person she was conversing with acknowledged her statement the first time. "Mike", on the other hand, was the type who completely tried to ignore anything and everything that Carol said, but eventually had to listen because of the tedious repetition. The conversation that I happened to listen in involved a church, an indian" guy who was standing suspiciously on the 3rd floor of her apartment building though Mike said he lived there and Carol said she doesn't know who lives around her anymore "coz I've been so busy, Mike, I've been so busy, Mike, I've been so busy, Oh God!", and about making a call to the superstore , the number being 435-1080 (I called it and it was wrong, so I think it could have been 435-1018, or my hearing is busted and I heard the entire number wrong - though why I bothered to include it in my story and not delete it still, is completely beyond me).
During the conversation about about calling the superstore, Mike proceeded to take a bottle of hand sanitiser and use it. It was orange-scented. As he was doing it, Carol stopped her superstore talk to tell Mike to not put the sanitiser on and that she had hand cream (repeat this about 6 or 7 times). She took her purse from her shopping cart and dug in for the hand cream. By this time, Mike was done with using the sanitiser, so there was a strong orange smell in the air. Now she started to complain non-stop about how she "pleaded" with him to not use it, that it is "deadly" for her (insert lots of oh's and my's - I lost track) and she was allergic to it. Mike mumbled that she was not allergic. She started yelling at him, saying she was allergic at least 12 times and that he didn't believe her. Mike eventually told her to "stop whining". She went up to him, asked him "what that stuff" was made of, smelt it up close on his hands, and resumed complaining.
To call this woman a drama queen would be an understatement.
The superstore conversation resumed and she asked/demanded the use of Mike's phone for the call. Mike took his own sweet time to take the phone out, dialed the number and gave it to her. By this time the bus was around the corner. She "didn't know how" to use the phone and kept asking Mike over and over as to what she should do. Mike was all silence until she gave the phone back to him. As he was redialling, she looked at me and said "Technology these days!". I hoped I gave her the grumpiest look I had given in a while, and trust me, I got some really good grumpy ones.
As she caught sight of the bus and as Mike was redialling, the question of Mike paying for Carol's ticket arose. "Do you have money, Mike?" she asked him. He said no first, and the question came again "DO YOU HAVE MONEY, MIKE?". He said "You owe me a lot of money, Carol". "DO YOU HAVE MONEY, MIKE?". He lost, said yes, and got the money and the phone ready.
As we boarded the bus, she got a hold of a "Dave". I went past her towards the middle of the bus. This 52 was one of those long buses whose two parts were joined in the middle by the bellow thingy and a circular base. Up until now, since Mike had to pay for the bus and make the call, Carol, in all her ranting, failed to get back to the orange-scented allergic hand sanitiser on Mike's hands. Once the bus was on the move, and the call was done, she got back to it right away. She complained to anyone and everyone who would listen that she was allergic to the hand sanitiser and her son wouldn't believe her. She went so far as to move to the middle of the bus and came to stand by me. I was on a four seater placed sideways with one other passenger at the far end of the seat. The passenger had her handbag on one seat and I had my backpack on the other. We seemed to be unanimously unwilling to share our seats. Carol tried to make eye contact with me as she ranted on about her allergy. Grumpy Grace did not budge.
Fortunately for her, she found two 20-something kids standing on the circular base of the bus very receptive to her wails. The conversation about her supposed allergy went on and on and on, that it diverted the attention of the passenger on my side of the seat from her book. Her stares at Carol surpassed my grumpy looks. Mike, on the other hand, stayed put at his spot at the front end of the bus. Carol mentioned that she had bought a "florida" orange and shared half with him and "this is how he repays me!". The two kids were positively goading her and having a lot of fun at her expense. They went to the extent of discussing why Mike couldn't buy another kind of hand sanitiser or waited until Carol took out her hand cream from her purse.
The bus reached Mumford Terminal. Mike wheeled out Carol's abandoned shopping cart before it got in the way of everyone else getting out of the bus. As we all filed out, Carol felt compelled to impress on everyone as to how "cute" it was that her boy was wheeling her cart out, "oh how cute he is, so cute, absolutely cute he is, Oh God!".
I moved on to the bus no. 1 and saw the two of them talking as my bus pulled out of the terminal. I noticed Mike being impassive, Carol wheeling her cart and yelling at his impassiveness. I bet it was about the hand sanitiser, because Mike had his hands tucked in his pockets. Even if this wasn't the case, I will imagine it to be so, because I get to write the ending of this story. And so it ends.
posted by Grace at 7:19 PM
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