Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The Runner: From the Redneck Journal

I’m on the bus heading home and am absolutely frustrated. No particular reason for the frustration, I just happened to have spent hours doing job searches. This kind of task just increases my blood pressure and shortens my patience. As I wrote below, I live in an economic sh!thole. This means jobs are scarce and there’s this underlying depression creeping into the community spirit. Especially at my part-time job where we see who got fucked over first by our economy’s down fall on a daily basis. You can bet your ass we’re not seeing CEOs and Millionaires. Nope, we see Joe Sixpack, his wife, and all his friends who lost their jobs, homes AND pensions because Joe Corporation couldn’t live up to the concept that competition fixes everything in a capitalistic society. Fuck, Joe Corporation! And you know what, fuck Joe’s friend, John Oil too.

Anywho, I digress, I’m feeling frustrated heading home on the bus after job searches in the st@te I like to call the crapper of our economy, my head is swirling with doubts that pulse at my temples. I just want to get home and have decided fuck the bad back (I wrenched my back over a week ago) and the bad knee (see bike accident entry), I need to run. It’s either running or a g-d damn drink! That’s how bad I’m feeling. I figure drinking may not be the best answer to my stress since I have also seen first hand in my family and friends what can happen if you drink your sorrows away, so it’s running.

No sooner do I decide on this conviction when I see this gyrl running up the street, a few blocks away from the next bus stop. She’s fast. Real fast. Her legs stretch to their max as her body seems to float slightly above the ground. Still, it’s obvious that her speed isn’t fast enough to keep up with the bus and there is no way she is going to make it on time.

We, that is the bus, easily passes her, but she has my attention. I want to be doing exactly what she is doing. Running. Except, maybe not in a futile attempt to catch a bus. I was thinking on river trail for myself. I watch her trail behind in the fumes of the bus, until we get far enough ahead that I can no longer see her. We get to the bus stop and like I predicted, she is still a block or so away. My internal dialogue snarls a bitter “I told you so” to myself, as if I wasn’t in agreement with myself anyway, and I am resigned to the bus closing its doors and moving on.

Except it doesn’t. It doesn’t move at all! In fact, the bus driver waits. Apparently he saw her too and has decided to wait for her. I cannot even express the sheer delight in this unexpected act of kindness having seen a number of runners attempt to catch a bus with no avail, only to be left to eat the fumes of this city’s public transportation as it nonchalantly drives away.

My mood suddenly changes from a frustrated cantankerous b!tch who would give anything to give our current Lame (Ass) duck President the middle finger to sheer joy. I want to shout out to my fellow commuters, “He’s waiting! By g-d, the bastards waiting!” But I don’t ‘cause I know that just weird.

But you know what, it gets even better! See, as our runner steps onto the bus she realizes that in her furry to catch the bus, she has lost her wallet. She briefly fumbles through all her pockets and looks at the bus driver and says, “I lost it!” and then she turns around without response and gets off.

It gets even better though. The bus driver, he waits. Yes. Again, he waits. Our runner heads out, running once again backtracking all those steps she took and the bastard just waits. My fellow commuters get anxious and this overwhelming sense of confusion overtakes everyone. This gyrl sitting next to me is so confused she can’t help but turn her head left to right in this broken record repetitive sort of way. Left, Right, and then left again. She seems to be looking for someone to tell her why the bus isn’t moving.

I’m completely ecstatic by the whole process. The foul funk of frustration that turned my mind into a Redneck’s wet dream of cuss words has dissipated and I feel like a child who still believes in the big red, Santa Claus. Well, a bratty little kid who still believes in Old Saint Nick because I couldn’t bring myself to tell the gyrl next to me what was happening. I just let her turn her head over and over again while a grin curled at the edges of my mouth.

About 3 minutes later, our runner returns, wallet in hand as she puts her money into the kiosk and takes her transfer. The gyrl next to me stops her head bobbing madness into a blank stare once again as the bus begins to move. The world seems to settle back into the normal routine of bus commuting. Me, I’m no longer frustrated. Sure, I still have to wait and see if I get call backs for potential jobs and will probably get frustrated tomorrow when I do the job search again. The economy is still a sh!t pan of despair and Joe and John Money will probably not be our resolution for the coming depression. With that said, I finish my own commute feeling like I just put a drop of delight into my bucket of life and even though EVERYTHING is uncertain for me, its enough for me to know I will be okay. ‘Cause you know what, sometimes life surprises you, and I guess that’s enough for me.

1 comment:

kel said...

fantastic story. thanks for sharing.