Wocka Wocka

Leaving Boston on Friday and returning on Sunday evening, I got the very last seats on two Fung Wah buses. Like the last-picked kids in kickball, these seats were the absolute worst of the bunch, bottom of the barrel, stink of the litter. It almost made me regret shoving an old lady out of the way* so I could get on the bus.

Boston to New York- Even though it was unpleasant, it's almost too much of a cliche to talk about my first seatmate- the enormous man who had a Big Mac in hand as we left the bus station. It's material for a tired old stand-up comedian in the Poconos- "So what's up with sitting next to fat people on buses?! It's like, hey pal, lay off the Ho-Hos, know what I'm sayin?! Oh wow, you're a great crowd. Try the ribs."

New York to Boston- The ride home was a bit more interesting. The last seat was at the very back and I had to sit between two slender young people. It didn't seem so bad until the girl on my right started falling asleep with her head on my shoulder. After that, the hip dude on the left developed a bladder infection or a drug habit because he started visiting the bathroom every 10 minutes, forcing me to continually wake up Sleepy Jean. Then the girl and myself would stand up to let Hipster McPeesAlot pass, affording us a full whiff of the bathroom's aromatic innards. This happened about 832 times.

Later I walked 5 paces behind the kid all the way through South Station, down to the subway platform, onto the same subway car and out through the Porter Square station up to the street. Pseudo-stalking. That'll teach him not to pee.

*This non-existent old woman is an allegory.