Thursday's commute was the second worst of my career. (Quick aside: The worst was March 8, 2005. During a three-and-a-half hour ride home, I sent Scaramouch an email from my cell phone to gauge his progress. It was titled 'Commuting suicide.') This post was getting as long as the ride itself, so I'll break it up.
According to the official (posted) rules, there is no eating or drinking on the bus. But everybody does it. I myself have been known to smuggle aboard a bag of M&Ms or box of Swedish Fish. I once ate a Subway Meatball Marinara without incident. So when the bearded man seated beside me produced a bag of Cheetos, I didn't consider turning him in. In fact, I smiled.
I smiled because his blaze orange salty snack jogged a specific memory. My friend Alison, then a student at Parsons in New York, once asked Janeane Garofalo if she'd rather eat Doritos and not brush her teeth or Cheetos and not wash her hands. Janeane opted for Cheetos, and later told this story on The Tonight Show.
I have no good celebrity stories of my own.
This recollection was again deposited in my memory bank, and my bearded seatmate kept chomping away. His eating had a pattern to it. A distinct order. After each Cheeto, he licked his fingers, coating them with saliva. We all could agree this wasn't ideal. So he'd wipe his hands on the back of the seat before him, then in his dirty nest of a beard. This turned me off both Frito Lay products and excessive facial hair.
When he finished, a distinct orange film covered the seat. (Apparently the sucking wasn't completely effective.) I'm sure it was also dying his beard, but I absolutely refused to look. Oh, and we'd been on the bus for 45 minutes and had yet to leave the station.
* * *
We knew what we were getting into when we climbed aboard. A bad Lincoln Tunnel accident prevented any forward progress, a traffic report the Port Authority PA repetitively made loud and clear. I was the 49th passenger; the bus had 49 seats. About an hour into our stationary adventure, when the bus first lurched backwards, passenger fifty was caught off-balance. He fell and was laughed at. People were tired and fussy and laughing at inappropriate times. It had been a long commute and we hadn't even moved. We were on edge and just getting started.
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Man, I got stuck in that too, slao bang in the middle of the tunnel for 90 mins. Claustrophobic nightmare. Plus a broken water main on Friday made it commuting hell week. Interested to see the rest of the story.
The thought has entered my mind. Our family distroyed because of Katrina. Children and grandchildren scattered to the four winds. Alone am I. Old and not able to work and alone in the mountains not even knowing how I ended up here. My father in law recently committed suicide. He layed down on the floor not wanting to soil the bed. There his daughter found him. Age 90 eaten up with cancer. Well at age 90. I can forgive him. He lived a long life. Was the town drunk at age 42. Wife divorced him because she caught him with the man next door. He put it well "he was a recovery" unfaithful and an abusive husband and an abusive father. He was lucky that for some reason the two older children were willing to take him in. Did he contribute to child support for the children he fathered? no. Did he ever send them a gift? no. Did he even care? I do not know. Yet his two older children supported him while he banked his SS money. Even when his oldest daughter and husband were on SS themselves they feed him and had an apartment over the garage for him. Leaving of their dreams of traveling so his daughter could care for him. Waiting to resume a life-- his son in law died at an early age. So when his daughter found herself another companion/ later husband to travel with. The old man upon the day of meeting, ended it all that night. At age 90 with terminal cancer. I am sure he save a few months off his life. He was in pain beyond belief and did not want to have anyone wipe his ass and roll him over every two hours. So while he could he went out with dignity.
Me well I may think about it. But I have a lot more living to do. A lot more to see and I want to go do it and see it. Time to travel a little. Although its winter. I want a next to new camper to tow and to travel while I can. I do not want my husband buring me then saying " oh we did not travel" so let me find another woman to travel with while I can still do it. Nor do I want to thing I never traveled with my husband. Let me find another man to travel with. I want the time to be now. The house addition can go to hell. I want a small newer camper. Not something that needs to put in $1,000 to re do and get in shape. What we put into that RV and camper we could have had something nice. Always trying to save a dollar and you end up spending more.
So I will stop trying to be what others want me to be, mother, grandmother, friend, wife. I want for once in my life to be selfish and do something for my self. So those of you who contemplate ending it all early, forget it. Do something for yourself while you have time.
When I started writing these commuting stories, I had one goal: Convince a spambot to leave her husband and buy a newer (smaller) RV.
Mission accomplished.
How sad. Seems this person thought it said Committing Suicide' rather than Commuting Suicide. Any port in a storm I guess
i LOVE the google ads for this post...
That is great. Brilliantly targeted.