I was out to blow the stink off me on Saturday past. It was a very cold day, but preferable to today, where it is raining with the big wind.

I was accompanied by Warrior Woman, and on the bus ride I made a few observations, which prompted her to ask if I would blog about it. Since anything is blog fodder, I said not only could I blog about it, but she could too, and they would be totally different in tone, detail, and emphasis.

When she asked me how to set up a blog, I wondered why, because she doesn’t talk a lot. Turns out she has plenty to say. And? She says it well. I like that in a woman.

I have to confess I have a thing about riding the bus. Not a good thing either. I’m a bit of a germophobe, and the bus just makes me want to wash my hands. Immediately.

As we sit down, I notice immediately opposite me a man who is mining for nose nuggets. Of course, he was going to touch everything possible, and he did. He isn’t the only one who I see doing that kind of thing. There are more fools sneezing INTO THEIR HANDS than I care to count. And they all do it on the bus, I swear. Then they touch things.

One thing I like about winter: gloves.

So booger man leaves. Across from me are now two people, not together. They should be, because they both have the same dead look in their eyes. What? Am I the only person who looks in people’s eyes? Dead, I tell you. The woman, well, I suspected by her sniffing that she had more than a cold making her eyes dead. I think a drug habit would account for both affects. Plus she had some growly, hateful vibe rolling off her.

The man didn’t seem to be on drugs. I think the dead-eye action could be despair. As in: Forty years old, and still riding the frickin bus.

There are the crazies, the old and lonely,(they usually sit up front because the driver will talk to them) and then there are the teens. In couples, all snuggly and giggly. In packs of same sex riders, usually a lot of loud, inappropriate talk. They’re kids. Let them be happy and obnoxious. They don’t care, and they’re too young to drive.

But let me tell you. When that bus has puked me up to my destination, I am a happy camper to get off.

And then I go and wash my hands. Immediately.

You can go shopping without going near a bus. Right here. Depending on how disgusting your keyboard is, you may have to wash your hands afterwards.