Bussing It

I took the bus home from Salt Lake today. Not much happened; I think the most interesting thing was a giant bearded man with a backpack that was approximately the same size as him who frantically stroked his beard for the whole ride, and a gothic looking lady who seriously seemed to have made herself a wig out of red and black yarn. I mean it, they weren't dreds. I'm pretty sure she made herself a red and black yarn wig. It was heaped high upon her head.

The problem with punks and goths and similar rebels in appearance is that they give you super dirty looks if they catch you looking at them. But seriously I just want to sit down and explain look, I'm not giving you a disapproving stare because you've rejected society's dress and appearance norms, I just legitimately want to know how you got that piece of metal through that piece of your body/what that tattoo is/whether or not you are wearing a homemade yarn-wig. I feel like they've created an impossible scenario for themselves.

Anyway I thought I would share two moments from one of my more entertaining slc to provo bus moments. It was the last late night bus..

1. Before the bus pulls out of the first stop, the driver stands in the aisle and grandly looks over our heads. A man who is missing many of his front teeth says "This is my favorite part of the night," looking expectant. The driver, a short, grey-haired man with a nice mustache, grabs the handrails above his head on either side of the aisle and pulls himself up. Wordlessly, he proceeds to do some gymnastics. He flips forward, he flips backward, he holds himself up there with his legs extended in front of him, he goes on for about five minutes. When he drops back to the ground, all of us commuters give him a hearty round of applause. Not letting this get to his head, he wordlessly climbs into his chair and starts the engine.

2. The bus stops, and a girl in a medieval dress, cloak and hood, robin hood boots, and a giant leather backpack steps on. She's holding a staff that's maybe six feet long and strapped to her giant leather backpack is a full-length sword in a sheath. She is, as they say, the real deal. Our gymnast bus driver does not seem surprised or curious but he does sternly tell her that she can't come on the bus with that, and weapons must be kept in the bike rack on the front of the bus. The girl disappeared for a moment and reappeared minus the staff. She was then allowed to ride the bus, despite still having her trusty sword.