Jun 3, 2019 3 min read

It was standing room only on the bus ride home the other day. Much to my chagrin, I stood near the front of the bus.

The bus driver kept yelling, “Move to the back of the bus,” but I couldn’t move back, however, because the man behind me refused to budge.

Even though I made several gestures to indicate I needed to retreat behind him, into the back folds of the bus, this dude was standing his ground. He was resolute.

I seemed to be the only one to notice that the bus driver wanted us to move, but I was forced to stand where I was, one arm clinging to the hanging strap. When the bus lurched forward, I leaned into it. When the bus came to a sudden stop, my body leaned backward. I was surfing the streets of Pittsburgh.

Two women sat in the sideways seats below me.

Side note: I can’t sit in the sideways seats. I get motion sickness watching the houses go by sideways, like I’m swiping left on some sort of Home and Garden version of Tinder.

But I digress, like I do. Occasionally, I would eavesdrop on the conversation of the two women below me. It seemed to be about cheese.

The blonde would say, “Blah, blah, blah … Manchego.”

The brunette would nod and say, “Something, something. Cheddar.”

At one point the brunette added, “No. No. Shredded.”

It was the most intense moment of their discussion. Apparently, the coagulation of milk proteins can strain a friendship.

At one point, I heard the blonde say, “Wensleydale with cranberries,” which, frankly, sounded more like a band than a cheese. I think I saw the Wensleydales play with the Cranberries at Star Lake Amphitheater once, but I could be mistaken.

I have participated in some boring conversations in my time, but I have never spent 30 minutes debating dairy products.

Just then, the boy standing in front of me slung his computer bag over his shoulder. It hit me square in the crotch. I would have curled up into a ball (like a good mozzarella), and fallen onto the cheese mongers if I hadn’t been gripping that aforementioned strap so tightly.

I tried to get a little bit of distance from the boy and his computer bag, but the man behind me still wouldn’t move.

As the bus continued its trip farther into the suburbs, the computer bag would sway back and forth from the boy’s hip.

I had to stand sideways so the bag wouldn’t pummel me in my nether regions once more. It caused far less damage bumping into my quad, but it was still annoying.

Slowly, the passengers would disembark, and I finally grabbed a seat (I live at the end of the line).

Sitting, however, was a curse and not a blessing. A previous passenger had left me a present. When I finally got off the bus, I found a florescent green wad of gum stuck to my pants.

Tomorrow, I’m driving.