2003-08-20

Best bus experience EVER. Monday night, on my way to the pub (where else?), I was riding the bus in the general direction of downtown when a man got on who was bleeding profusely from the mouth. The bus driver seemed OK with this, and the guy boarded without incident and sort of staggered down the aisle. A few minutes later, while the bus was en route, he staggered back up the aisle. He leaned over the ticket box, mouth dripping with blood (�Nice of him to share his Hepatitis with everyone,� I snarked to my friend) and peered into the driver�s rearview mirror, inspecting the damage.

�My teeth got broken,� he said to the driver. Except that he said it with broken fucking teeth, so it was more like �Muh teef go� brokem.� I couldn�t hear the driver�s contribution to this freaky little dialogue, but Mr. Broken Face replied, �No! Don�t call the police.� Then: �Do you have a tissue?� The driver obligingly handed him some paper towels, and he sat down, holding them to his face.

�Does this bus go by a hospital?� he asked. See, in his situation I would have ascertained that before getting on the bus, which, in fact, does not go anywhere near a hospital, and would have dropped him off, bleeding and stumbling, in a townhouse complex deep in the suburbs. He lurched back up to the front of the bus and leaned over the ticket box again, looking at his mouth in the mirror � as people were getting on, trying to put their tickets in the slot. It was amusing as hell watching people trying to hand over their tickets without actually putting their hands within range of potential splattering.

Then he sat back down and continued to query the driver. �What do you do?� he said plaintively. �What do you do when your teeth get broken?� (�Someone should buy this guy a book,� remarked my friend.) The driver, presumably, did not have any nuggets of wisdom to impart vis-�-vis standard teeth-losing etiquette, and Mr. Broken Face set to rocking back and forth and moaning. �I lost my teeeeeth!� he moaned. �They�re goooone! My teeeeth!� (Or rather, �Muh teeeeffff!�)

I have fully crossed that line between �charming cynicism� and �pure, unadulterated evil�, because I was laughing so hard I could barely speak. Schadenfreude is my middle name. I felt an odd sort of twinge in my stomach afterwards � perhaps it was guilt, but my official ruling is indigestion.