Tuesday when I get on the bus in front of my office building there are empty seats for a change. I walk down the aisle making a beeline for the open seat as an older woman passes me on her way to the front of the bus.
I just had a hard workout at the gym so I am happy to sit. I glance at the other passengers around me. They are unusually quiet. Now the woman I passed is dropping her coins into the coinbox. She's talking very loudly to the bus at large. "I'm an old woman. Doesn't someone realize it takes a while to get to your seat, here I am walking with a stick, I'm not so spry." Now she walks, she does not hobble, to the seat right behind me.
"I pay my way. I've always paid my way. He thinks I ain't gonna pay. I'm 69 years old, I always have money in my pocket for the bus. I'm almost 70 and I still get paid. I have a brain and I use it, I'm not losing my mind 'cause I use my brain every day."
I wonder if I should tell her about my mother, who's 79 and almost 80 and still gets paid. I decide against it.
Now she is warming up to a beloved subject.
"I work and I get paid and I have an invention. I invented a mobile seat belt. It's for this seat right here. Safety first they do not care about. This bus is unsafe, if he stops suddenly we are all going through that front window. "
She turns to her bus seat companion and demands, "Do you realize that? We'd all go right through that window. I need my brain. I don't know about you all but I need my brain for working. I'm 69 years old and I get paid."
The back of my neck is burning. She is sitting RIGHT BEHIND ME, she and her brain are just 2 feet from my brain. All the other passengers on the bus are studiously looking out the windows. I ride with these people every single day and they never look out the windows. They're all plugged into their iPods and grooving in place. But not today.
"I'm going back home. This country makes me sick. I'm from Ghana," she says in her plain old ordinary American accent. "I'm moving back to Ghana, do you realize that?" she asks her seatmate. My head is frozen in place. What if she starts interrogating me?
"I can't stand to live here. I put my money in the box. He says I don't pay. I put in the 60 cents. 60 cents for god's sake, from an old woman."
I'm starting to enjoy this. If she shouts something at me, I'll think of something calm to say back. I'll be so calm it will calm her right down. In the meantime, what's she's saying is getting interesting. I think about Ghana, about my impressions of Ghana. Is it more civilized in Ghana than here in the U.S.? Do they just shrug it off if an old woman doesn't pay her fare? This doesn't quite gell with my impressions of Ghana.
She starts to rant, something about the N word, and even the N word ending in R. She has never been this sort of person.
"I am intelligent. Yes, I went to school and then I went to work." Blessedly, the woman sitting next to her's cellphone rings, and our lady of Ghana quiets out of respect. "I'm not gonna say another thing."
She gets up and moves into the seat across the aisle. Now I'm nervous because she has a clear view of me from the side. Maybe she'll see this as having ready access to my brain. I notice this guy two rows in front of me on the other side. He is hunching sharply toward the window, wanting to be out there and not in here. I feel a solidarity with him. I'm still enjoying it, but with a thrill of danger.
Actually, she sits there very quietly for a time. Then she moves back into the seat behind me. She starts talking quietly, conversationally, with the woman next to her, who answers her painstakingly. The storm has passed.
We all start grooving in place.
I just had a hard workout at the gym so I am happy to sit. I glance at the other passengers around me. They are unusually quiet. Now the woman I passed is dropping her coins into the coinbox. She's talking very loudly to the bus at large. "I'm an old woman. Doesn't someone realize it takes a while to get to your seat, here I am walking with a stick, I'm not so spry." Now she walks, she does not hobble, to the seat right behind me.
"I pay my way. I've always paid my way. He thinks I ain't gonna pay. I'm 69 years old, I always have money in my pocket for the bus. I'm almost 70 and I still get paid. I have a brain and I use it, I'm not losing my mind 'cause I use my brain every day."
I wonder if I should tell her about my mother, who's 79 and almost 80 and still gets paid. I decide against it.
Now she is warming up to a beloved subject.
"I work and I get paid and I have an invention. I invented a mobile seat belt. It's for this seat right here. Safety first they do not care about. This bus is unsafe, if he stops suddenly we are all going through that front window. "
She turns to her bus seat companion and demands, "Do you realize that? We'd all go right through that window. I need my brain. I don't know about you all but I need my brain for working. I'm 69 years old and I get paid."
The back of my neck is burning. She is sitting RIGHT BEHIND ME, she and her brain are just 2 feet from my brain. All the other passengers on the bus are studiously looking out the windows. I ride with these people every single day and they never look out the windows. They're all plugged into their iPods and grooving in place. But not today.
"I'm going back home. This country makes me sick. I'm from Ghana," she says in her plain old ordinary American accent. "I'm moving back to Ghana, do you realize that?" she asks her seatmate. My head is frozen in place. What if she starts interrogating me?
"I can't stand to live here. I put my money in the box. He says I don't pay. I put in the 60 cents. 60 cents for god's sake, from an old woman."
I'm starting to enjoy this. If she shouts something at me, I'll think of something calm to say back. I'll be so calm it will calm her right down. In the meantime, what's she's saying is getting interesting. I think about Ghana, about my impressions of Ghana. Is it more civilized in Ghana than here in the U.S.? Do they just shrug it off if an old woman doesn't pay her fare? This doesn't quite gell with my impressions of Ghana.
She starts to rant, something about the N word, and even the N word ending in R. She has never been this sort of person.
"I am intelligent. Yes, I went to school and then I went to work." Blessedly, the woman sitting next to her's cellphone rings, and our lady of Ghana quiets out of respect. "I'm not gonna say another thing."
She gets up and moves into the seat across the aisle. Now I'm nervous because she has a clear view of me from the side. Maybe she'll see this as having ready access to my brain. I notice this guy two rows in front of me on the other side. He is hunching sharply toward the window, wanting to be out there and not in here. I feel a solidarity with him. I'm still enjoying it, but with a thrill of danger.
Actually, she sits there very quietly for a time. Then she moves back into the seat behind me. She starts talking quietly, conversationally, with the woman next to her, who answers her painstakingly. The storm has passed.
We all start grooving in place.
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