Seniors & Buses, A Right not Privilege? And On Why When I Am Filthy Rich I Will Have a Driver

I am going to call my favorite senior bus riding citizen Ron because it sounds like a crotchy bitter old man, which he is. Last time I took the bus with Ron this is how it went– he hops; I use the term hops loosely because it is more of a slow painful stagger that delays the bus several minutes, onto the bus and instantly the dread of the smell of riding through Chinatown disappears...Ron smells much worse; although, it is debatable whether I have become immune to the fish carcass in a pink bag smell. Ron's assault weapon #1/ Is his halitosis which he unleashes with several coughs and grumbles as he shuffles down the aisle of the bus parting the sea of people. Now you can be sure that while the bus driver intentionally accelerates right after I step up onto the first step that the driver lives in fear of Ron and has therefore not moved an inch and won’t until he sits down. Ron scans the area and begins navigating his way through the crowded bus using his handy assault weapon #2/ his barely called for cane. Helpful Hint: Ron means for you to move out of his way when he swings his cane at your calf’s. He shuffles about half way down and for no reason whatsoever stands over me, whacks me in the legs with the cane and says “seats are for seniors”. Oh right of course you wanted MY seat. One moment let me grab my laptop case, purse and bag of recently re-healed shoes (I keep carrying them downtown to Jacks on Market because if you reheal 7 shoes there you get the eighth free, but I always lose my card before I get to 7...I digress)

Apparently Ron doesn’t have sympathy for my hot mess self because I get another reminder tap to move my ass out of his way and at that I jump out of my seat and before my hand grabs the pole the bus lurches forward and thrusts me into several unsuspecting fellow riders who probably would have been more annoyed at my accidental body check had they not just witnessed my physical abuse by an old helpless looking man.

Of course when I get my balance and gazillion bags in order I look back to see whether Ron made it into my seat unscathed and there he is cane on lap with the evil smile on his face he will wear with him to hell.

If I prayed I would pray for you Ron but lets be honest in Hell seniority doesn’t mean shit.