The Night Shift

The night bus fuckin' rules.

Usually, taking the night bus means waiting a brief eternity. At a cold intersection. And occasionally meeting Zanta. But sometimes, you get lucky. Tonight, I waited for a few minutes before catching the first night bus after the subway stopped running. I have never understood exactly why the subway stops running approximately 6 minutes before closing time. As someone who has closed many bars in her day, all I have to say about that is: Canada is FUBAR. BUT the one good thing about this practice is that that first night bus after closing time is ALWAYS entertaining. It is the one and only time that I find a full bus preferable to a nearly empty one. Busload of drunks always = a good time in the wide world o' Wahooty, ah garontee.

Tonight was special, though. I made friends. Night Bus Friends.

Two of them, to be exact: Vlad, and Whateverdudeihavenoideawhatthefuckyernameis. To be fair, I have a slight inkling of how to pronounce the latter's name, but no fucking clue as to how to spell it, and in Wahooty's world, knowledge = pronunciation + spelling. I am a rather talented mimic, but do not feel like I can say anything with authority until I have seen it spelled and heard it said. Any less is ignorance, and I am one ignorant-ass American, thankyouverymuch.

From Bloor to Sheppard, we had quite the conversation. It ranged from politics to introductions. Yes, in that order. We restarted the conversation several times because it insisted on going awry repeatedly. Vlad and Whateverdude had just met that night. I liked Vlad. Not so sure about Whateverdude. He was a bit argumentative and militant for my tastes, and I remain a wee bit fuzzy as to whether he was Middle Eastern - as the sound, but perhaps not the spelling, of his name would indicate - or South African, or Jamaican. He claimed both of the latter, which is why my Ignorant American self is choosing to just fall back on Middle Eastern, because dammit, that's what he sounded and looked like, and Whateverdude's accent could not have been less African/Jamaican and he is not here to correct me.

Our topics of conversation included: me = American. Me = wearing hat that, while not really stylish, not half bad. Me = not wearing gloves. War = good. Or possibly bad. Or Whateverdudeihavenoideawhatthefuckyernameis. Boys = gay. Maybe. Kinda. Whateverdude may or may not have a girlfriend, but that particular point seems to be moot, as he is headed in a homeward direction with Vlad anyway.

Turns out my new friends, who are new friends themselves, are also friends with the rather sad-looking friends across the aisle.

One of them has, and I quote, "a professor fetish."

No one else on Earth has ever been so fascinated by the fact that I have taught first-year chemistry. And having taught first-year chemistry has never before made me feel Dirty. Hey, there's a first time for everything, I guess.

And this...THIS...is why I don't mind my commute one bit.

Unless it's snowing.