Six-thirty-something a.m. Minneapolis is a cold, dark place, a place where, 150 years or so ago, a band of dour Norwegian bachelor farmers stopped their oxen, looked around, and muttered, “Oh, vell. Vhy not.”
And lo these many years gone by, we continue, both the Norwegian and your standard Wegian, to look around, shrug, and mutter “Oh, well....”
These are the thoughts I have on this, a Tuesday, the 3rd of December.
The bus arrives, as the bus is wont to do, and I step, gratefully, into its warm, utilitarian embrace. I wave my bus pass in front of the doohickey until it beeps, then proceed to my favorite seat, the seat I will always take if it is available, the seat up those last two steps at the back of the bus, next to the back door and the dark, domed lens of the video camera.
Rest assured, people, that should anything felonious/interesting happen to me on the bus, it is my fondest wish that it be videotaped.
Seated, I leave the rest of the commute to the bus driver. O, how I love him/her. Their chosen occupation leaves me free to file my nails, place random texts to friends I suspect are also up at this hour, stare out the window at other buses…
The light turns red, and we come to a stop as another bus pulls up, also stops.
I find myself staring out the window at the passengers on this other bus.
I turn back to my bus. We have 20 people, not including the bus driver.
I turn back to their bus. I count 18 people.
And just like that, I am wondering if we can take them in a fight. That one guy up front, the one with the cane and the shaky walk, I’m willing to bet he can swing that thing when called upon to do so. The black pony-tailed Hispanic gals – how much Spanish do I know, anyway? We’ll have to pantomime the whole “I’ll go high, you go low” bit, but they look sturdy.
I look over at the other bus. Pffft. Three of their guys are sleeping, heads against the glass!
I smile, nod to myself as the light turns green.
Yep. We could totally take that bus in a fight.