Friday, August 06, 2004

BART Buddies, Part Deux

These two entries are things I wrote about a year ago but ring absolutely true when it comes to misadventures on the BART system. Some of you might remember them:

Walking to the BART station one morning I crossed the path of a little kid--probably 9 or 10 years old--on his way to school. He was wearing one of those big puffy NorthFace jackets and a pair of old-school Jordans. I tried to get his attention so I could find out where he got his shoes, but he didn't hear me. I thought he was ignoring me until I got closer and realized he was listening to an iPod through high-end Sony studio headphones and eating an Extreme Sausage Sandwich from the Jack in the Box across the street. I have never been more envious of a 9 year old black child in my entire life. Now I understand why people get mugged for their clothing.

When it rains BART stinks, literally. One rainy day last October was no exception. As I boarded the front car at Embarcadero I was struck, once again, by the oh-so-familiar "wet-BART" smell that will, to varying degrees, saturate the entire train by the time it reaches its destination. The odor, I have found, is a combination of wet clothes, uncomfortable human body heat, and the ethnically-flavored, gastrointestinal discharge of the passengers on board. It can be overwhelming to those who lack the capacity to breathe through their mouths.

Eventually we pull into 12th St. where we are met by the typical rush-hour crush of riders transferring from the Pittsburg-Bay Point train who were too goddamn impatient to wait the extra 7 minutes for the Richmond train they ACTUALLY wanted to board in the first place. It is a particularly heavy commute day, so every available seat and much of the standing room is taken as we depart the station with a jerk.

Being so crowded, I decide to look up from my newspaper to see what the cat dragged in. Sitting across from me is a woman--I think--who, upon examination, can only be described as functionally retarded. Under her over-stuffed backpack and clear, rain-soaked poncho, she is wearing a lime-green Teletubbies sweatshirt. It does not fit well. To accompany this trend-setting fashion statement, she is wearing a pair of pocketless maroon sweatpants that she has tucked neatly into a pair of fully-extended gray sweatsocks. The socks, in turn, are wedged into a beat-up pair of knock-off Teva sandals. I'm telling you, this woman is a sexy beast.

The best part of this woman's ensemble is what she decided to wear on her head. Oh no, not a hat. Not a scarf. She's decided to use the Style Section of the Tribune as her protective cover. In case you need some help with this image, let me tell you, the irony is delicious. Even better though, is the fact that she refuses to take it off her head while she is on the train. At one point it starts sliding off and she actually repositions it atop her head.

If this isn't enough, it seems our "special" friend has the sniffles. She has to blow her nose constantly--at least once every minute. I don't take much notice at first, but after Snot-Rocket 14, I make the mistake of looking up from my paper and trying to figure out what her problem is. As I crane my head upward she brings her hand up to her nose for Snot-Rocket 15. I cannot believe what I am witnessing. She is blowing her nose into her bare-hand! This isn’t just some dainty, excuse-me, pseudo-sneeze either. This is a monster, SARS-laden, mucus missile. I almost threw up on myself.

At this point, if you are a normal human being, you should be saying to yourself, 'Wow, this couldn't get much worse.' Unfortunately, you would be wrong. So very, very wrong. Upon blowing bio-hazard all over her palm and fingers, our "special" friend decides to examine the evidence and, once she is satisfied with the results, wipe it down the front of her poncho--her CLEAR poncho. I am absolutely speechless--revolted beyond description

It takes everything I have not to stare directly at her with the disdainful look of a PETA protestor at a fox hunt. To avoid making eye contact with her, I begin looking around the car. To my surprise, everyone in the vicinity is watching her. And, like me, they all have looks of horror and disgust painted on their faces. I couldn't tell you what any of them are thinking, but I assure you the thoughts are NOT pleasant.

I spend the rest of the ride fighting my gag reflex and wearily awaiting the next snot salvo. Fortunately for everyone, when we arrive at Ashby station in Berkeley she gets up, collects herself, and bids a hasty retreat from the car. The doors close and instantaneously the front half of the car explodes in a chorus of "Omigod's" and "What the hell's?"

There is a phenomenon in human psychology through which survivors of the same major traumatic event develop intense, life-long bonds similar to those felt by members of a normal nuclear family. Friendships, adoptions, even marriages have been born from these associations. I dare say, we are no different. When we see each other on the train, we share a knowing glance and a disturbing chuckle. Our "special" friend has scarred us for life…and no one can take that away from us


Anonymous Anonymous said...


" It can be overwhelming to those who lack the capacity to breathe through their mouths."

The subtlety of that line ABSOLUTELY slayed me. Your writing is very tight, I like it better than Tuckers actually, as far as pure writing style is concerned. The Linda story was solid especially, the use of tense and description was outstanding.

He's still funnier day-to-day though, sorry.

Keep it up!


August 6, 2004 at 3:15 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

As someone who often rides the BART, I find your stories about that particular mode of transportation hilarious. Thanks.


August 6, 2004 at 6:14 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank you, I need to throw up now. Thought for the not read drex's journal just before, during or just after eating.

August 7, 2004 at 8:45 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Last night Tucker blew me off. Again.

I went insane. I cut off all my hair with kitchen scissors like Frida Khalo. Today I examined the fallout (actually quite cute and flippy. I am good at everything). I also thought, "Bunny... there is something terribly awry. Why are you so angry? Why have you become a bitter and horrible person since you met Tucker?"

Today, while I'm working, Tucker is hovering over me asking me the same question.

I have decided to make an itemized list of reasons why I might want to cut off all my hair like a rape victim.

[Note: This is truly humiliating. If anyone were to make a medicine to cure low self-esteem, I'd take it in spades; I'd do the 10k walk for closet self-loathers, and wear the empty wine bottle lapel pin. I wish to God these FACTS were fabricated or embellished, but the awful truth is that they are not. I only hope this helps the other girls who don't like themselves].

What it is like to date Tucker Max…

-You will get fried chicken for your birthday. Later that night when you both go to a bar, you will want a diet coke, but won’t get one because that is one less beer that he can drink.

-He will hang up on your favorite aunt, and be stunned when you get upset that he referred to your mother as “that fucking bitch” because she called you at a late hour.

-He will scream at you because you don’t like the instant coffee he bought you.

-He will never kiss you, and barely fuck you, even if you beg him to for months. You are now the Virgin Mary. He will still try to coerce crazy whores into coming to Chicago to fuck him. He will kiss them because they are whores, and don’t you know that you’re only supposed to give good passionate sex to women that you don’t know or give a shit about? I didn’t know that either.

-You will beg him to take a shower, which he will not do. But he will shave his face to have long make-out sessions with any random girl.

-You will read every piece of writing he has ever done and be supportive of all his creative outlets. When you then ask him to read your own novel he will drop it after chapter one because it’s a waste of his time. He’s not good at editing.

-You will give him the greatest head of his life on a regular basis. He will still suck in bed.

-He will make sure you know that you aren’t very hot, only sort of cute, and that your head is too big for the rest of your body. You also have unattractive dark circles under your eyes and your tits are too small. He will never compliment you.

-You will be bi-sexual and okay with him sleeping with other women, but this will not be enough. He needs freedom.

-If he is an insensitive asshole to you, it is only because you are selfish. You should understand that his parents sucked and now you have to pay for this. How this is logical, I’m not really sure.

-When he has major surgery you will not leave his side. You will spend day night waiting on him hand and foot, making sure he is comfortable and well cared for. You will even wipe his ass when he takes a shit. Later he will tell you that it was all unnecessary. He didn’t need or want you to be there.

-When he is supposed to pick you up and take you to a party, he will get black-out drunk and fuck some girl instead of showing up.

-He will tell you he loves you and wants to have children with you. When you then get pregnant, he will say that he has about two to four more years of drinking and whoring left to do, so a baby isn’t in the cards. He will coerce you into an abortion by threatening to give away your dog if you try to have the child. Then he will be evasive so that you will be forced to dump him and he can get off scot-free.

-When you get upset about this, he will tell you that you are over-emotional. When you try to explain how this hurts, he will ignore you till you find yourself screaming and breaking things. He will explain these outbursts to his drinking buddies as so: “Yeah she’s fucking crazy. She flips out on me like every third day.”

-When you go to stay with your parents (read: bawl day and night) for two weeks, he will fuck other women in your bed. The night you return he will try to go out with a whore he’s just met and wonder why you’re upset about that. He needs his freedom.

-When you are at your parents, he won’t take your calls. Instead he will spend his time e-mailing some whore. Later, he will not stop e-mailing this same whore, because all whores come before your feelings even if the whores are half as attractive and barely capable of forming cogent sentences.

-When his ex-girlfriend dies and then comes back to life, you will nurse him through the depression. You will even be fine with her coming to stay at your own fucking apartment so that he can decide which of you he wants. This is so that you can be fair to both of them because you are a good person… unlike them.

-Later on you will catch him telling this covert bitch who pretended to be nice to you that he is only keeping you around because you are willing to support him financially. They will laugh at you behind your back for being “over-emotional.” Oh how silly you are!

-When Tucker bounces back from his depression you will not be needed anymore. You will just hand over the keys to his car and not say a word when he drives it all over Chicagoland while black-out drunk.

-When girls come to the apartment, he will become “Cooooool Tucker Max.” He will dress and act differently. He will be an asshole to you. Why are you upset? Don’t you know “this is the Tucker Max show?” This pathetic statement is his actual quote.

-And finally (though I could write pages and pages of this horrible shit): When you’ve been stood up by the very first date you’ve planned in a year, you will call Tucker and ask to hang out with him. He will not come pick you up in YOUR OWN FUCKING CAR, because HE lost your license the night before and you won’t be able to get into the club he's going to. When you ask if it’s possible to go anywhere else he will refuse because there are free drinks and whores in said club. Whores are very special. Much more special than the woman that did all the above things out of unconditional love FOR A FUCKING YEAR!

posted by The Bunny at 4:22 PM
HeadDr said...

This post has been removed by the author.
5:12 PM
HeadDr said...

PS Bunny, tell me, if any, of the following sounds familiar:
Tucker is intriguing because he is an asshole, because he is smart, because he represents a challenge, because he represents something sexually exciting, a fantasy fulfillment where anyting goes, because he is a risk & an experience to be conquered?
Do you feel (or has he conveyed) that you are the only one that can truly reach him to understand and quell his boyish insecurities.

Is he self-motivated career wise? Does his careers success necessitate a social charisma?

Are you nurturing with him? Are you classified as cute because, in essence he could never consider his mother anything more, meaning not seductive or hot (that would fuel Freud (if you buy into that shit) more than his cocaine habit).

And quintessentially, does he exhibit a boyish intimate approach to you (again read: mommy issues). Does he exploit women that show weakness? (refer to above aside).

6:19 PM
boobilicious said...


I want to hug The Bunny.

August 11, 2004 at 6:35 PM  
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