Route B was the way to go after my shift the other night. Route B consists of a short walk to a bus stop, a south-bound bus ride of about 1.5 miles to a transfer point. The second, west-bound bus ride is about 11 miles, after which I walk about three blocks home. The trip, including wait times, on a good day, takes about an hour.
The alternative, (route A) covers more ground via two trains, as I must ride a bit south-east before heading west. The A route is generally faster but the walking and stair climbing associated with this route makes this route less attractive at 9:15 pm after a day that started at 5:30 am.
Fatigue on this day, dictating route B found me boarding the first bus after short wait. The second bus arrived after only a very short wait, as well. The happy happy joy joy dance is done mentally. Four blocks into the almost 50+ block ride, Preacher Man boards.
While not overly crowded, there is a healthy mix of humanity represented. Various ages, genders, ethnicities, manners of dress and degrees of decorum were all about to be treated to ... something. Preacher Man with King James planted firmly in the palm of his right hand, commenced to address his congregation. Some, who seemed to be the prime target for his message, immediately took issue with his disruption of their shrieking contest.
"Blood...Vagina...Jesus," he said, over and over. There were more words in between, more to the message, I am sure, but I couldn't make out much of what he was saying. He said these words with vigor and because of my recent invasion which turned into a 20 day marathon before it was done, I was just a tad transfixed.
Some of the flock engaged Preacher Man in a bit of dialogue. He took this as a sign to AMP up his fervor. Oh joy. Most of the rest of us, moaned and groaned wondering what we did to warrant being held captive by this impromptu service.
The congregation began to dissolved, as did my hope that each stop would signal Preacher Man's exit line. Finally, he got off, imploring young people to...blood...vagina...Jesus, or whatever. I was just a shade under half way home.
As usual, I am the lone passenger when we reach the end of the line, my stop. As I depart, the driver wishes me a blessed day. I do manage to eke out a tepid good-night.
Hmm. Did I describe my hometown's lack of public transportation as a negative? ;p
ReplyDeletePerhaps you could invest in an Ipod. I'm always envious of the Podders and their apparent blissful ignorance of the occasional ranter on the Metro.
Considered it. My son, who does ipod while traveling has stories to tell about people who try to talk directly to him. ;(
ReplyDeleteDid use a cassette player for a time-as insufferable as the ranters can be, I found it more comforting to *hear* what might be about to go down.
Oye veeeeyyyy.
ReplyDeleteGeeshe.
I adore the harmless weirdos who ride public transportation. And just because I also have been know to ride public transportation doesn't mean I consider myself one of them. Usually.
ReplyDelete