The bus stop was crowded with people that appeared to have emerged from 1989. Stone washed jeans covered their legs and their fall jackets were a bit short and neon. The women had hair teased up too high and poorly dyed. The men looked as if they had found their outfits in some lost and found bin at the airport. Perhaps brown dress shoes, light blue jeans and white socks work in Prague but there’s something not quite right about it on a Tuesday morning at a Chicago bus stop.
Then it occurred to me that those people, while dressed like some sort of living monument to a bygone era, are at least going somewhere. While I, I sit in my underwear at my computer look out at them. They have a greater purpose than I can possibly fathom. I’m positive that their lives have meaning, at least more meaning than my underwear clad one.
The bus arrived and the fashion challenged boarded in orderly and quiet obedience. Now the bus stop is bare of any activity. It’s just there, sitting silently for the next group of people. I think about it like a Venus Flytrap for some reason. As if the kiosk will bait the unsuspecting folks with the lure of a ride on the bus and as soon as they sit down, CHOMP, and down comes some giant jaws. Blood squirts out onto the street but the passing cars hardly notice because the people driving them are too busy having their brains sucked dry by the latest Apple iDevice.
The walkers, the pedestrians, they don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. It’s just business as usual for the Venus Bus Kiosk. God damn murdering bus kiosks. There oughta be a law.
I think about these things as I sit here in my underwear, wondering if I’ll ever be gainfully employed ever again.
The thing about unemployment is how free your mind is to dwell on the emotional side of life. Lately I’ve been wounded by the constant insincerity of people I thought I knew, but maybe never actually knew at all. I’ve discovered how worn out I am by passive aggressive behavior and the constant nonsense people feel the need to push onto each other. I met an Irish couple last night. They were a young couple which recently got married. A week ago in fact. The funny thing about them, really, was that there was no bullshit about them. They were who they were and they felt no need to pretend otherwise. I threw on my weakest brogue and spoke to them at length. The woman was from town, the guy was from a farm, and was still a farmer.
It was obvious she was from town. She danced like a townie while he hung back against the bar and rubbed his scruffy chin. I could tell he was wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. She obviously loved him though and stopped her gyrating to mash his face and tell him he was a weirdo. Ah, Irish love. They were headed to Vegas for their “Honeymoon”. As I write this I suddenly hope they made and were not devoured by the bus stop. I guess I felt good around them though. They were new and interesting and without pretension in any way. It was refreshing. I think I’ll go put pants on.