The first week of the Fall semester has been, in a word, somuthereffingexhaustingiwanttobeinasleepcomaforever. I’m teaching four classes right in a row (small break for lunch between class 2 and 3). Also, since they are doing renovations on campus and demolishing the building where I usually teach (you know, the one conveniently located twenty feet away from my office building), I have to hike to Tibet to teach my classes.
Down 63 steps. Across a busy, four-lane road. Past a baseball field. Past a soccer field. Up 74 steps. Around the corner. That is where my building is located. It is old, weird and one million miles away. By the time I get there after lugging a twenty pound bag of books in the ninety-degree heat, my dress is soaked and my ballet flats feel like sandpaper shackles. My students all look super happy to have endured a similar journey. Let me tell you how thrilling it is to teach an entire class of students who all appear to be suffering from bitchy resting face:
It’s not. Heat makes people crazy. Like Squints Palledorous jumping into the deep end scary.
Since I’m so exhausted, I give you today’s installment of what I will call ‘Poetic Bus Conversations.’ The woman in question had a voice that reminded me of Wheezy, the penguin from Toy Story
Bette Midler as Winnie in Hocus Pocus
and Norma White, wife of Jesco White (you know, the Dancing Outlaw).
She was also sitting right across the aisle from me while all of this was being said. One foot away from me.
Disclaimer: I’m going to specify race in the following conversation only because it is relevant to almost everything Crazy White Homeless Lady says.
Crazy White Homeless Lady: I don’t fuck wit white people no more. Any fuckin’ cracker try to talk to me, they gonna get a fuckin’ terlet (toilet) in their mouth.
(Polite Elderly Black Gentleman Approaches. Crazy White Homeless Lady moves to offer her seat)
Lady: I was gonna give you my seat.
Gentleman: That’s alright. I found one. Thank you.
Lady: Well I was gonna give it to you cause you sexy.
Gent: (nervous laughter) Well thank you.
Lady: Yea, you sexy. Wanna fuck?
Gent: No ma’am. I’m married.
Lady: Oh that don’t mean nothin’!
Gent: To me it does!
Lady: Oh alright, ok, I feel ya. I don’t mean no disrespect. For real though.
Gent: That’s alright.
Lady: (To another elderly black gentleman) You sexy too.
Other Gent: (No response)
Lady: Oh now you gonna act like you don’t know me? You knew me this morning when I had my little cootie cat all up on your face!
(Coarse/awkward/nervous laughter from all around)
Lady: Hey, you got any change? I gotta get me somethin’ to eat.
Gentleman: No ma’am, I’m sorry. I don’t have any money.
Lady: I feel ya, I feel ya.
White Man Exiting Bus: I’d give you some change, but I’m a cracker and you don’t fuck with crackers.
Lady: (Really, really loud) That’s right bitch! I don’t want your change! Keep walking. I’ll fuckin’ kick your ass into your teeth! Fuckin’ cracker.
The whole time, I tried to remain as invisible as possible. It was just one of the many moments in my life that I have wished invisibility cloaks were real. Also, it was as if my brain was Nancy Kerrigan’s knee and this conversation was Tonya Harding’s hired henchman’s police baton.
Why? Why? Why?
Happy September everybody!