Sometimes I despise public transit
It was time for my evening commute, and I had a feeling it was going to be weird. A premonition, if you will, and not entirely inaccurate if slightly understated.
Sure, initially, the ride was pleasant. I finished one book and had the next one in my bag, so that went smoothly. I was pleasantly tired, and I had made the last train that would get me to my bus home without walking. Life was good.
Then, we hit a snag - something was apparently dragging under the MAX train and this caused us a small delay at PGE Park while the driver got out to see what it was. Of course, my first thought (and apparently that of the fellow in the seat across from me) was "Hmmm? A body, perhaps?" But the driver came back aboard and said he couldn't reach it, so we would have to stop at the next platform where the tracks were raised a bit so he could get a handle on things.
He was pretty blasé, so our initial assumption seemed incorrect. Good. Things are looking up again.
Onward, to King's Hill. We stop again, and he hops off and begins wrestling with something under an access panel outside my window, then removes a 3+ foot piece of steel with a hole in one end. He didn't look as though he thought it an important part of the train, and I decide to trust in his experience. I am suitably bored by now, and return to my book. Then, I heard it. Yes, it started with a noise from the woman two seats behind me.
"Oooooh . . . " *burp*
*retching sound*
"Ooooooh . . . aw, gawd" *burp*
"Aaaahhhhhrrrrffffhhhgggg!" *splash*
Yes, she did. All over herself.
"Unnnggghh - *fart* - nnnnggghhhablbpblbp" *burpfartsplash*
And then the smell hit. Vomit. Stale liquor. Feces.
Aye, you read that aright. She tossed her cookies all over herself, the floor and the seat in front of her AND shit her pants. Myself and my fellow traveller in the seat opposite made haste off of the upper deck of the train and out of the (thankfully open) doors and into fresh air. Smokes were lit, and I caught the driver's attention; he was still holding the metal bar. I told him he had a puker on board, and in my heart of hearts hoped he'd hit her with it. Spare the rod . . .
*click* "Dispatch, this is (insert train ID here) - we have a vomit comet train, so I'm taking her out of service."
Fuck. Fuckity-fuck fuck fuck. I'm gonna miss my bus.
Well, he manages to get the woman and her escort off of the train, where she continues to shout at the ground, technicolor yawn, *insert favorite puke euphemism here* in between slurring "fuck you!" at those of us who were unabashedly talking about her and how she'd screwed us out of our next bus connections.
Fellow Traveller and I make some rude but humorous comments about holding one's liquor while we smoke and wait for the next train.
Despite the assistance of her (relatively sober) escort, she fell three times in her attempt to get on the next train that pulled up. Finally, the driver shut the door in her face. I grew happy again.
The walk home was absolutely lovely.
Don't you love happy endings?
Sure, initially, the ride was pleasant. I finished one book and had the next one in my bag, so that went smoothly. I was pleasantly tired, and I had made the last train that would get me to my bus home without walking. Life was good.
Then, we hit a snag - something was apparently dragging under the MAX train and this caused us a small delay at PGE Park while the driver got out to see what it was. Of course, my first thought (and apparently that of the fellow in the seat across from me) was "Hmmm? A body, perhaps?" But the driver came back aboard and said he couldn't reach it, so we would have to stop at the next platform where the tracks were raised a bit so he could get a handle on things.
He was pretty blasé, so our initial assumption seemed incorrect. Good. Things are looking up again.
Onward, to King's Hill. We stop again, and he hops off and begins wrestling with something under an access panel outside my window, then removes a 3+ foot piece of steel with a hole in one end. He didn't look as though he thought it an important part of the train, and I decide to trust in his experience. I am suitably bored by now, and return to my book. Then, I heard it. Yes, it started with a noise from the woman two seats behind me.
"Oooooh . . . " *burp*
*retching sound*
"Ooooooh . . . aw, gawd" *burp*
"Aaaahhhhhrrrrffffhhhgggg!" *splash*
Yes, she did. All over herself.
"Unnnggghh - *fart* - nnnnggghhhablbpblbp" *burpfartsplash*
And then the smell hit. Vomit. Stale liquor. Feces.
Aye, you read that aright. She tossed her cookies all over herself, the floor and the seat in front of her AND shit her pants. Myself and my fellow traveller in the seat opposite made haste off of the upper deck of the train and out of the (thankfully open) doors and into fresh air. Smokes were lit, and I caught the driver's attention; he was still holding the metal bar. I told him he had a puker on board, and in my heart of hearts hoped he'd hit her with it. Spare the rod . . .
*click* "Dispatch, this is (insert train ID here) - we have a vomit comet train, so I'm taking her out of service."
Fuck. Fuckity-fuck fuck fuck. I'm gonna miss my bus.
Well, he manages to get the woman and her escort off of the train, where she continues to shout at the ground, technicolor yawn, *insert favorite puke euphemism here* in between slurring "fuck you!" at those of us who were unabashedly talking about her and how she'd screwed us out of our next bus connections.
Fellow Traveller and I make some rude but humorous comments about holding one's liquor while we smoke and wait for the next train.
Despite the assistance of her (relatively sober) escort, she fell three times in her attempt to get on the next train that pulled up. Finally, the driver shut the door in her face. I grew happy again.
The walk home was absolutely lovely.
Don't you love happy endings?