When I board the bus and say, “Thank you,” she smacks her pink lips in disgust and guns the engine as I insert my coins and bill.
She takes the turn in a matter calculated to throw me and does, thanks to my stiffness and pack.
When the young muscular man boards and says hello she glares, and he says, as he sits down, “Another day in the jungle.”
When the wheelchair man thanks her for letting down the ramp for him she looks away.
When the elderly black man in the suit asks the bitch if she stops before a church she refuses to answer as she roars out into traffic, causing him to hit the control box with his shoulder. He persists, asking for a half mile if she has a stop before the church. She tells him to sit down and he does so, she guns it and he manages to grab the pole before hitting the deck and slides like a frozen Batman down into his seat.
The man sees his church and asks for the stop.
She passes it and pulls over a block past the stop.
He gladly quits her company.
A young white man boards and asks her if she is going through the hospital.
She ignores him, gunning it, and banking onto Martin Boulevard, a long cloverleaf turn which pins the man to one bar.
A chocolate skank in shredded jeans boards the bus sucking on a large cartoon-scale lollypop, does not pay, is not told to stop eating on the bus, and is permitted to ride for free.
We head up Hospital Drive and the young white man gets off.
She pulls over before leaving Hospital Drive and says, “This is the last stop.”
I walked up front and said, “There is no stop at the College? The Header on the bus says CCBC Essex.”
“That’s my layover,” she insists.
I respond, “All layovers are end-of-the-line stops.”
She is obviously trying to make me and the large young black man in the back of the bus walk the last half mile.
He speaks, “Hey, I’m goin’ ta work at the hospital. I’m stayin’ on to the last stop.”
She guns it, while making a sudden sharp turn, trying to knock me down, but I wrapped my arm around the pole and swing like a toy next to her shielded seat.
We arrive a half mile later, through empty parking lots at the Essex campus of the Baltimore County Community College. As she turns into the layover bay she stops abruptly at the offloading sign to let us off. As I offload I say, “Thank you, Miss.” And she slams the dash board with her open hand.
As the big man in the tan hoody heads to work off the back of the bus he mumbled, “Triflin’ bitch!” and we go on our separate ways, one more rancid ϲunt bitch in the rearview of a road better untaken.
Leaving behind the walking, talking, breathing and driving signpost to the dark night of savagery ahead, I feel warmly alive, another day awaits another subhuman bitch put in her place.
White in the Savage Night: A Politically Incorrect Life In Words: 2016
link › jameslafond.blogspot.com
