October has rolled around, marking one month of me being back in Rat City. Coming back after a summer away made me appreciate the little things, like living with my five best friends or the little pool of water in the Burger King parking lot that reflects the light of the sign at night — its beauty has almost brought me to tears on multiple occasions.
At the end of the day though, Rat City is not Atlantis. It has its woes. Come to think of it, Atlantis probably has its issues — that patriarchal leadership and all. I digress.
While I was away, I forgot about the trials and tribulations of taking my three reusable bags full
of groceries — that really should have been four — onto the crowded bus.
My friend and I braved another grocery trip just last week, our butternut squash mac and cheese falling onto the bus floor as we juggled our wallets and phones. I had this kind of cute shoulder bag that seemed like a good idea a bit earlier but was now using my arm as a slide.
Eventually, we found two lucky seats.
Sitting on the bus with your million shopping bags instead of standing is a treat. Instead of
rocking around in an uncomfortable silence while making sure your apples don’t roll over
someone’s foot, you get to relax a bit and maybe even chit chat.
So naturally, my friend and I were chit chatting, her telling me about a conversation she had with her mom. As we talked, we started to notice a presence hovering over us. The presence smelled like stale bread and the presence’s sweatshirt was covered in fresh stains that I could only hope would be hit with a stain-stick within the hour.
Suddenly, he waved an alarmingly purple finger in our faces and, between burps, said, “listen to your mother. That’s right, call your mom.”
I felt a sudden longing to talk to my mom, which is strange because I talk to her at least five times on the average day.
The presence continued to interject in our conversation. I don’t know what social cues motivated him to do this, given the fact that the most eye contact we made with him was a sudden glance out the ole peripherals (whoever invented peripheral vision needs a medal of honor).
While my friend and I continued to flounder, trying to act like his belly wasn’t almost touching my cheek, we noticed the cutest guy in the entire world sitting in a corner seat look up from his book (reading in public is very cool!) and tap the man on his shoulder.
I looked at my friend, she looked back at me, and we watched while the Cute-Reader-Guy offered The Presence a granola bar from his bag. The Presence brushed Cute-Reader-Guy’s granola bar away with a pinky-ringed hand, but our Knight In Shining Armor would not give up.
He continued to compliment the pinky-ring, catching The Presence’s attention. He offered The Presence his seat, driving him away from me and my friend — though he didn’t make eye contact with us once.
We were both in love with him. I would have died for him. Or, at the very least, I would
have given him the bucket of cookies that I had just bought. Maybe that’s a bit much, actually … maybe that would have been more painful than dying … no, dying is definitely worse than giving up some cookies.
I’m sure you’re wondering: so, what did you do about it? Well, I did what I — a calm, cool and collected 21-year-old girl — have done in any situation like this one: I walked to the front of the bus, thanked the bus driver and got off.
No, I did not get off at a random stop. It was actually my stop. But, to be honest, even if it wasn’t my stop and I was on that bus for another seven stops with the Cute-Reader-Guy I would not have said anything anyways.
What was I supposed to do? Walk up to The Presence and tell him to stop hitting on my man? Was I supposed to tell my friend, “he’s mine!” and then ask her to keep my grocery bags from exploding while I went and talked to him? What if he ended up having a scary voice? Or he and I got into a long term relationship that seemed wonderful but then ten years down the line I find out he has a storage unit somewhere? Ok, that’s extreme … but you guys brought it up! I didn’t.
At the end of the day, it was the mystery that was so exciting. And, it was the faith in humanity
that he restored within me — chivalry can’t be dead!
Additionally, I did call my mom. And you should call your mom, too. Or your dad. Or someone who you love. The Presence had a point. I wish I figured out where he got that pinky ring from … Christmas is just around the corner.
I will be calling my father now