He floored the gas pedal before I made it anywhere close to a seat, which made me slide a little on the slick floor (they probably mopped it this weekend in anticipation of the big week), and I fell into the seat when I finally got to one.
As we passed a row of Section 8 townhouses, he slowed way down, kept looking over toward them, and slowly beeped his horn in short spurts as we passed the cluster of about 20 homes. It gave the distinct impression that he knew somebody living there and wanted them to come out and see him driving. All I thought was, "You big dork. It's 8:30 in the morning. Some people might be trying to sleep."
There was a sign up in the bus, both an English and a Spanish version, that said, "Nominate Your Favorite Bus Driver" this week. I guess this guy wasn't running.
Sci-Fi Fantasy Man was on board, and though I wasn't sitting close enough to try and sniff out the title of his book, he did close it up at one point—while he scratched his head—and I saw "STAR WARS" on the back cover. Let me put a look of surprise on all of our faces.
Waffle Man was in front of me again—Why do I always take the seat behind him?—and twice today he got jerked awake: one time was from the bus driver flooring the gas on a start, and the other time was as a result of him slamming on the brakes. Nope, definitely no driver of the week nominations from this crowd.
And my final bus observation this morning was about myself. Note to self: Self, it's definitely not a good idea to read the AIDS chapter of Now That You Know in a public place. Sons, fathers, mothers, and siblings coming to terms with the news that their gay family member has AIDS. How to tell them. How everybody might react. And then living with the knowledge. Tissues, please.
A glorious meeting-less day at work. I spent most of the afternoon working on rotating pictures in some animated GIFs for a website I'm helping develop.
I met Susan Katz for lunch at Sadlack's, where we were told by David where to sit, and Brian—David's ex—was there for lunch as well. I had what by now has become, "the usual": the Skillinator X with mayo instead of mustard. (I love the Internet. I was just wondering what Skillinator X means, and a Google search turned this up from a review of Sadlack's in the Independent on July 22, 2004: "...named for Patty Hurst Shifter/Tres Chicas/Whiskeytown drummer Skillet Gilmore." Not that I know what any of that means. Well, I've heard of Patty Hurst, but I don't know what "Shifter" means after it.)
Susan and I had great conversation—no surprise—and I walked toward Cameron Village with her (as that's where she was heading), taking a left onto Clark Avenue to walk back to my office.
On the bus ride home there were two regulars, well one regular and one semi-regular, the regular sitting in the seat ahead of me and the semi-regular sitting in the seat behind me.
The regular looks a little bit like the treasurer of our homeowners' association, and she always has a badge on, not unlike myself. Because of the angle at which she was sitting today, and because of my yenta proclivities, I was able to see what was written on the badge without leaning so far forward that I fell out of my seat. The badge was from the N.C. Department of Revenue, and her name was Alice Lamm. Oh yeah, and just under the DOR indicator, it had the word, "Temporary."
The lady behind me was a talker, which in and of itself wouldn't be news, especially for the bus crowd, but what made it notable was that she was by herself. She was working on some kind of puzzle, one of those Seek & Find Word Search ones is what I concluded, and as she looked for letters she spoke them aloud: "G," "H"...
"Ghost," my mind filled in.
"I?" I thought. "G-H-I?" I couldn't think of any words that started that way. Well, except for the Ghirardelli in Ghirardelli Chocolate."
"R," "K," she kept on until I thought, "What a loony tune; there are no words that start with G-H-I-R-K."
She was still talking away, and I took a look back there as I was grabbing my laptop bag and briefcase to get off the bus. She, too, had a badge on, though I didn't see where from, but her name really startled me: Amy Lamm.
What are the chances of sitting between an Alice Lamm and an Amy Lamm? Did they know each other? Were they related? They're right next to each other in an alphabetical last-name-first list.
Against my own advice, between Amy's puzzles, I finished the AIDS chapter of Now That You Know, which also turned out to be the last chapter in the book. I finished the book thinking about that most beautiful—and incredibly sad—song by Elton John about a father's surprising support at the end of his son's life as he dies from AIDS. Tissues, please.
If you're not familiar with this song, you owe it to yourself to listen to it.
I ran to Just Tires after work, where I wasn't at all surprised that my 80,000-mile-warrantied tires had reached their end-of-life after 53,000 miles. I got three new tires, with a $40 credit on each one, and bought the brand to match the one new one that I'd put on last year.
Going to pay, I found out that I didn't have my wallet, and due to a past fraud incident at the store (nothing to do with me), they wouldn't accept me just telling them my credit card number (yes, I have it memorized). I left my laptop there and drove home in the middle of a horrendous thunder storm and returned with my wallet.
I stopped at the gym on the way home, where I did 300 (15 sets of 20 reps) ab crunches, and 30 minutes of cardio on the elliptical machine. I listened to four slate.com Daily Podcasts: My Mythical Online Rental Service for Movies, No Se Puede, Spring Cleaning Your Supply Cabinet, and We're All Torturers Now.
Once home, I created a doodle.com poll to start the rescheduling of our October Manbites Dog board meeting. That takes care items #2 and #8 from Saturday's to-do list.