"Tell her what she's won, Bob!"

I haven't seen Bob since I yelled at him last week, was it? I got to the Transfer Center before my second bus arrived, the bus that brings Bob into my life every morning. I happened to be standing exactly where the doors would open when the bus stopped. I saw Bob sitting in the front of the bus. He apparently saw me. Before the bus stopped, I saw him get up and run to the back door. He practically tripped over himself and everyone else. The second the doors opened, he bolted out the door and around the back. He didn't stop. He didn't wave. He didn't look at me. It appears, loyal readers, I may finally be Bob Free. I think in this one instance, I would prefer to be feared rather than liked.

While I am feeling pretty smug at the moment, I can't rule out the possibility of my spending eternity in bits and pieces in his tote bags. Speaking of his tote bags, y'all...he only had one this morning. Normally he has three or four, thus proving my theory that you can tell how nuts someone is by the number of tote bags they carry on the bus. Maybe the meds are finally kicking in?

Still alive!

No Bob sighting this morning!

This may very well be the last post I ever write.

I have been a wee sleep deprived this week. Thus I am not thinking as clearly as expected. I was waiting at the Transfer Center this morning for the 48 to arrive. When it did, Bob got off. As usual, he walked past me and waved. As usual, I ignored him. He started to walk away, turned around and came back. He was standing in front of me waving at me again. I shouted. "Leave me alone!" He starts to walk off then turns around again. I shouted, "I don't want to be your friend, you freak." He finally walked off.

There are two possible outcomes in this situation. Number One. He never so much as looks at me again. Number Two. The FBI finds my severed head in his green recycled Harris Teeter tote bag and my naked taxidermied body in his living room.

It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.

Heeeere Precious.

It was a dark and stormy night...

I left work a little late today so I got to ride with Sam. He was telling me that I-40 was shut down because Bush was in town and that if I took the 105, it would take forever and a day to get home. He was going over different routes with me and suggested I could take the 201 to North Raleigh then take City Kitty Number 1 home. For all of you playing along at home, the 201 is Bob's bus. Creepy Bob.I asked Sam if he would be on the bus. He confirmed that would not be. He then confirmed that he is also creeped out by Bob. We continued to talk about him. Sam told me he knows people who work for the EPA who ride the bus who have told him that Bob also works for the EPA. What does he do for the EPA, you ask? Let me tell you. He performs autopsies. On rats. *shudder* Sam even made the joke that Bob is probably carrying around dead rats in his tote bags. *double shudder* What terrifies me even more is that means he's actually educated. Well educated. Suddenly being a mad scientist doesn't seem so cool any more.

The president was in town today. He was helping Pat McCrory, our Republican gubernatorial candidate. The head line on wral.com was "McCrory campaign banking on unpopular president." I can guarantee that he is way more unpopular this evening after shutting down rush hour traffic in RTP today. I don't mean traffic was slow, detoured, etc. I mean, everyone had to stop. Period. On the way home, one intersection is under construction. It's the intersection of Davis and 54. It's one of the most important intersections in the park. It leads to IBM, Nortell, Fidelity, and the TTA Transfer Center, to name a few. Traffic was being directed by a guy who looked like Wilford Brimley and that on his best day couldn't earn a GED. We sat in that intersection for 10 minutes. We finally get going and I-40 is at a standstill. The westbound side was empty. About dozen cops on bikes went flying by and then came the presidential motorcade. Two limos with flags, two ambulances, and twenty state troopers. I knew I shouldn't have left my TEC-9 at home, yo. I can understand that bedlam would ensue if that self-serving, misogynistic, megalomaniacal bigot were tragically off-ed this afternoon, but does Raleigh, Durham, Morrisville, Cary and Research Triangle Park need to stop what they are doing so he can come and go from the airport? I'd even be so bold as to suggest that a half a million people were standing around this evening so he could get to the airport. You know, I have to go to the airport on Wednesday around the same time. I wonder if I could get the same kind of love?

If you need me, I'll be in the woods typing my manifesto.

The sweet, young girl who works at the Armadillo complimented me on my new hairdo this evening. I want to keep it a surprise for my Cali homies, but I will say this...

Math is hard. Let's go shopping.

Where do I even begin?

The Red Headed Stranger has been going out of his way to say hello and goodbye to me recently. This afternoon, he got off the bus and turned around and waived at me through the window. Seriously he's totally cute. Even if he pulls his white crew socks all the way up. Sigh. That's right. White, ribbed crew socks. Pulled up as far as they go. But it's not in that ironic hipster sort of way. It's really sincere in that way that makes me think he still wears tighty-whiteys.

The 105 is still packed. Yesterday, I had to share a seat with this woman who also rides the bus everyday. She's older, super curly grey hair and extremely long legs. She's really nice and lives a few blocks down from my old apartment. We would see each other on the bus all the time, but never really spoke. She and I talked the whole way home yesterday. She's really nice and it seems like we have some things in common. We were sharing stories about weird stuff on the bus. She told me about this time that the regular riders of the 105 threw a baby shower on the bus for another regular rider. They had balloons, presents, the whole magilla. We also talked about crazies on the bus. I started to tell her about this guy who rides the 201. Before I could go any further, she said she knew who I was talking about. And she did. Turns out Bob is universally creepy. On a recent 100 degree Sunday when the bus wasn't running, I made the decision to suck it up and get one of those wire carts that old ladies use to schlep groceries. I was carrying two bags that were heavy enough to bruise my shoulders a little. (Okay, I bruise like a peach, but still they were damn heavy.) I hadn't gotten around to getting one and now I'm glad I didn't. Bob was at the Transfer Center in his full insane glory with a red wire cart full of overstuffed tote bags. I think this is proof that he can read my mind. Excuse me, I have to go make a tin foil hat.

I had to sit in the sideways seats this afternoon. I set my bag on the seat to do something and stood up all the way and whacked my head on the luggage rack. Now, those of you who know me in real life know I'm not tall enough to hit my head on anything!

The 105 was good blogariffic fun today. It started with Funquita not being able to close the backdoor near NC State. Instead of getting up and fixing it herself, she asks Cross Eyed Mary to do it. (Last week when the bus broke down by the "Veterns School" she handed the reflective orange triangles to passengers to have them put them out on the road. She's classy like that.) Mary couldn't work the door, as to be expected since she is not a licensed transit operator but rather a pee handler at LabCorp. Funquita finally gets up and fiddles with the door. This takes about five minutes. She then gets on the loud speaker and tells everyone to use the front door. At the next stop, on the other side of the university library, a woman screams in the back of the bus. Funquita turns around to see what's up. The woman says the guy with her just hit her. Funquita tells her that's not funny, she should be screaming while she driving, etc, etc, and so on. Suddenly this escalates into an episode of Jerry Springer. The girl in the back of the bus starts screaming at the top of her lungs. Seriously, it was frightening. She startes yelling about how she "got bit." (Someone in the back of the bus bit her?) Suddenly she's bit her lip because Funquita allegedly slammed on the brakes. Nope. She didn't. I am in no way her cheerleader, but Funky handled her business, albeit in a slightly ghetto way. This girl starts screaming that she's trying to get paid and that she got hurt because of a bus accident. Funky asks everyone in front if they heard this girl say she's trying to get paid. We all said yes. Funquita asked her like 15 times if she needed medical attention. Finally she said not right now. These two were going at it like one was messin' with the other's man. She offer to show her the bleeding lip. Funquita declined. Funky then got on the bus radio and said she'd call the dispatcher on a land line. She asked the passengers if they had a cell phone she could use. One of the passengers up front told her she was driving just fine and gave her their phone. She stepped out to call the dispatcher at the same time I decided I'd had enough. We were only six blocks from my apartment and one block from the Indian restaurant inside the Fast Fare. I got off the bus, picked up the veggie thaali platter and caught the next bus home. The Indian food was good by the way. The older lady cooking threw in an extra portion for me. It was awesome, something spicy with a ton of veggies.

There's a new guy at the Chargrill bus stop in the mornings. I call him Dr. Wow. He's an older, completely nondescript white guy. He's always wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants in monochromatic colors a few shades off of oatmeal. He has an NCSU id card and heads over near the forestry stuff on Blue Ridge. At least I think it's a forestry thing there. There is nothing remarkable about him except that he's had a World of Warcraft book every morning. He's been studying it like he's got a final exam coming up. Two days ago he was reading it upside down. Now, I'm not a WOW geek, but it seems unlikely that you'd read it upside down. He also stands in the line of sight of the approaching bus, which annoys me.

I was also ambushed by The Other Amy this morning. I was sitting in the back, knitting and she took the seat in front of me. She commented that my baby blanket was coming along or something like that. We ended up talking for a bit. She's not crafty. That's okay. She's still nice girl.

She's like Christmas.

I've become friendly with a woman who rides the 105 in the morning. Her name is Pat. She works for the cable company. Turns out she's not pure evil, which I always assumed was a prerequisite for working for Time Warner. She's nice enough that when she told me where she worked, I had to apologize to her just in case I ever yelled at her. We got on the subject recently of working for utility companies. For the record, I did my time. It was miserable for too many reasons to recount at the moment. Pat mentioned she wasn't real thrilled with her job/boss/etc. Being the consummate HR lady, I started talking about my company. (I'm beginning to think I need to be a recruiter, I want everyone to love their job!) She's great to talk to, smart, funny. She's older than me, but not quite as old as my parents. She and I lament about the woman who used to drive. She was always late and always asking Pat for directions. That woman has been replaced. Pat wasn't on the bus last week. I saw her this morning and told her she can ride the bus again, we have a new driver, etc. Pat was in the first seat, Amy Number One was behind her, and I was in the second seat on the other side. In the middle of our conversation, Amy chimes in. She says to Pat, "hey, what's your name?" Like most people, Pat looks nervous and answers her. Amy then says, "What's your last name?" Pat answers her again. Amy then says, "So you were sick Monday?" "Yes, and last week," says Pat. Later I was drinking from my new water bottle that has blue skull and crossbones all over it and she wanted to know what I was drinking. I'll have you know I resisted the temptation to reply, "hooch." Too many questions.

More Bob this morning. Staring at me. Shudder.

The Cherry Cough Syrup Lady sat down directly behind me this morning. Within minutes I could feel my neck and shoulder tense up. Any thoughts on how to tell a total stranger their funky-ass cheap perfume is a wee overpowering?

Two more weeks until the latest installment of Meg On A Plane. I am off to California soon. I can't wait. And with any luck, that hottie pilot that flew me to Burlington will be along for the ride.

Hot enough to fry an egg, hot enough to...

Today should be the last hundred degree day for the next week or so. Thankfully. There was a guy walking down Hillsborough Street near Locopops with a pink wash cloth on his head. He was this big, tough looking dude. And it was a little, pink wash cloth.

MSG was back this afternoon. Did I mention he cut his hair? No more bowl cut. Today in the polo shirt and khakis, he just looked vanilla. It made me sad. I hate to say it, but I liked the bowl cut better.

Bob waived at me this morning while I was walking to my bus. He was wearing sunglasses over his glasses this morning. The usual three overstuffed tote bags, headphones AND ear plugs. Seriously, if I ever turn up missing, it was him. I'm tellin' ya. Bob did it. At the bus stop. With the tote bag. Call the po po.

There was just an ad on tv for a State Farm agent named Chuck Tickle. That's awesome.

Amy Number One had a major case of the sniffles this morning. Last week, I was sitting behind her. Her butt must have been itchy, because she scratched it. I'm talking a full on, hand down the back of her pants, in her big pink grannie panties kind of scratch. I was both amused and grossed out at the same time.

I got my camera cable today in the mail. (Thanks, ma!) Pictures coming soon!

Today is brought to you by the letter W and the number 105.

Today, the wackos on the bus welcomed me back warmly and openly. I saw The Other Amy's husband at the park and ride. He's not that attractive. She could do much better. Amy Number One wanted The Other Amy to sit with her this morning. She declined. Then she wanted to know what "waterworks" meant. I'm not sure The Other Amy knew because she replied, "um, you know, like a lot of water" in her high pitched voice.

I know the semester is over because there is a new group of Indian kids taking the bus to RTP.

Richard drove my second bus this morning. I haven't seen him in forever. He starts out by saying he can't remember where he supposed to go. He suggests Cisco...about five miles in the other direction from my office. Then he suggests Disneyworld and promptly laughs his head off. He gets to the stop in from of my office and gets on the PA system. He announces that we're arriving at our first timed stop, Dorothea Dix (the local mental hospital) and that he'll be the first getting off.

Bob got off the bus this morning and instead of saying hello to me as usual, he gave me the Evil Eye. Freaked me out a little.

I had yet another day free of Special Ed. Thank god.

The Cherry Cough Syrup Lady was on the afternoon bus. She's this larger black woman who, my hand to god, smells like cherry cough syrup. It's her prefume, I think, and it's wretched. "My, that scent is lovely. What are you wearing? Vicks 44D?"

Traffic today was beyond ridiculous. Gridlock to the point of I-40 being a parking lot just because it's a little rainy. I did work a little late, but I got home at almost 6:45.

Uphill, both ways. In the rain.

This morning, Boyfriend got off his bus and came over to ask me how my business trip was. He hasn't been on vacation, they're just moving him around. (Maybe the TTA decided to separate us for a while. That's fine. Our love is strong enough to withstand a separation.) During our conversation, I found out something else about him that's really interesting. He's a pretty smart guy.

Unfortunately, that 10 minute conversation was the highlight of my day. At 7:40 AM. After that, it was all down hill.

It rained cats and dogs today. This morning, Special Ed sat next to me on the bus and stared at me the whole way and mumbled to himself. He is creepy.

This afternoon, it rained again. The Red Headed Stranger was on the bus already. He started a conversation with me and the girl who gets on at the same stop. He mentioned being concerned his phone would get wet since we were in the middle of a torrential downpour. I gave him my little plastic baggie currently holding my phone. He was happy. I wrapped my phone in my waterproof fleece that was in my backpack.

On my second bus, Bob was already there. Unfortunately, he got off at my stop again. Which means instead of crossing the street and walking into my building, I had to walk four blocks and crawl over the stone wall next to my building. I went south on St. Mary's, east on Morgan, north on Boylan for two blocks, behind the high rise next to me, through their dumpsters, and over the stone wall that's waist high on one side and chest high on the other. My jeans were soaked by this point, both legs and the butt. However, I really don't want this freak to know where I live. If you ever find my dismembered head in the woods of North Dakota, it was him.

If only my day was over at that point. Alas. I went to the grocery store. I am currently self-medicating with gummy sour grapefruit slices from the Fresh Market. If you're lucky enough to live near a Fresh Market, you should try these. I am completely addicted.

Bob, Special Ed, and The Red Headed Stranger

The first time I took the bus to my current job, I saw Special Ed. It was impossible not to. He stood next to me at the Transfer Center while we waited for the same bus. I don’t mean he and I were waiting in the same area, on the same sidewalk, under the same shelter. No. I mean, he was shoulder to shoulder with me. I moved, he moved. This guy has no sense of personal space. He sits next to me on the bus. If the bell isn’t working on my side of the bus, he’ll signal the driver to stop for me. Sometimes he does anyway. He works at Piper’s In The Park. It is one of the many lunch cafes nearby. Now that I know he works there, I will not go in there. I will only eat their food if someone else gets take out, which isn’t too much of a sacrifice since their food isn’t all that hot. I doubt Special Ed does anything more than washing dishes. I used to think he might have some sort of mental disability. I have heard him talk on the phone and to other people. While he may not be all that bright, I would suspect that his IQ is at worst a little below average. In appearance, he is about average, not too short, not too skinny. He is young, maybe 25, African American. He wears glasses, like Amy Number One’s, the kind that magnify his eyes. His glasses are always dirty, greasy even. He always wears his red work hat. Behind his right ear he has a big pink scar. It’s the kind of scar that can only result from some terrible accident. He doesn’t sit next to me anymore, but he does sit in the sideways seats so he can stare at me. His ritual is to get on the bus, sit down and look at me. Because I am already giving him the Evil Eye, he looks away, starts talking to himself, looks at me again, looks away, and continues in this Clockwork Orangian loop until we get to the Transfer Center. Frankly, it’s really annoying. He was on the bus this afternoon. Thankfully he is only a part of my day for a grand total of 20 minutes.

Bob is not at all unlike Special Ed in behavior, and not at all like him in appearance. Bob always wears a black baseball hat with neon paint splatters that would have been cool in 1984. Under the hat is straight, bleached blonde hair, so obviously fried from processing. I have to wonder if the hair is attached to the hat. Bob is white, probably pushing 40. He frequently wears pseudo Bill Cosby sweaters with a plaid shirt poking out at the collar. He doesn’t smell very good. He always carries 3 or 4 tote bags, packed full. Sometimes his newspapers are in a tote bag, sometimes he carries them in a plastic grocery bag. He wears glasses from the same era as the hat. He wears a string on his glasses, presumably to hang around his neck, but they are always perched on his nose. He also wears earplugs, the kind with the cord that goes around your neck. On top of the earplugs, he wears earphones. He has to sit in the front seat opposite the driver. I really am waiting for the day that he gets on the bus with a glass jar and goldfish around his neck. While Special Ed annoys me, Bob gives me the creeps. There is a TTA bus that comes from North Raleigh and turns into my second bus. He rides that bus, so I see him everyday. When he gets off the bus, he tries to say hello to me and waves. I can usually dodge him, but generally he gets the same expression as Special Ed. One day recently, he decided to take my second bus to Raleigh, rather than his. Could be that he needed to. But I doubt it. I rang to get off at my usual stop. I exited through the back door started to walk down the sidewalk. The bus moved a few feet and stopped again. He got off. I was ready to kick ass. I stood still and waited for him to walk away. Damned if he didn’t head to the bus stop in front of my apartment. Now what do I do? I am not about to let him see where I live. I walked in the opposite direction down St Mary’s Street, turned down Morgan and came up Boylan. I cut through the parking lot behind the apartment building next to mine and hopped the stone wall on the far side of my building and went in the back. It must have looked like a Family Circus Sunday comic. If I ever don’t make it home, look for that guy. And my body parts chopped up in his tote bags.

I’ve been seeing the Red Headed Stranger recently. He rides my second bus in the afternoon for a couple stops. He has bright red hair, as in shiny new penny red, beautiful blue eyes and a goatee. He is c-u-t-e cute! As best as I can tell, he doesn’t work in an office. Maybe he’s a student, maybe he works outside. I can’t tell. Either way, it makes him interesting. He doesn’t have BO. In fact, he smells quite nice. (He sat in front of me the other day.) He’s in good shape, doesn’t carry tote bags. I took this all as a good sign. Until I heard him talking to the driver recently. When he opens his mouth, he sounds like Forrest Gump. Why do all the good boys have to married, or gay or...retarded? Arrrgh.

Bigman was on the bus today. Sprawled out, eating his hair again. There was a fine, barrel-chested specimen of a man sitting near him. The kind of guy who had to have grown up playing football in Nebraska and is probably named Ollie or Orin or something similar. He couldn’t stop staring at Bigman from behind his mirrored Oakley Blades.

Lefty got on at Labcorp as usual. He rides both of my buses. Super nice guy, we’ve chatted a couple times. Nice guy. Wretched breath. He passes out on the bus everyday, like a baby. Sound asleep. Head back, mouth open. I need to start carrying those Listerine breath strips and pop one in his mouth when he passes out. It’s really awful.