outburst

Ah, Monday morning.  It always comes too soon.  Begrudgingly I forced myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and, a cup of coffee down my throat, made it out the the bus stop where I stood in the oppressive humidity wondering why I bothered to fix my hair today when the thick Southern air was just going to undo all my efforts within five minutes outside.  Soon enough the bus arrived and I found an open seat in the back, near a mom with three adorable toddlers.  I sat there, wondering what the sugar rush would look like when the three toddlers’ sugar rush hit them, delivered by the bottles of root beer each was clutching.  I wondered why anyone would give toddlers root beer at 8 a.m.  I wondered why anyone would give a toddler a root beer at all, but what do I know about parenting?

Anyway, the bus rolled along, and, sitting in the back, I heard little but the roar of the engine and the occasional DING! signalling to the driver that someone had requested a stop.  Until I suddenly heard something else.

OF COURSE I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I’M ON THE F***ING BUS!

This was shouted by a man with a ponytail, wearing a baseball cap, a neon green earbud protruding from his left ear, a cell phone held up to his right.  He was wearing jorts.  Of course he was.  One of my favorite bus ladies glared at him.  I gave the back of his head my best dirty look.  Didn’t he know there were root beer-drinking toddlers on this bus?  Won’t someone please think of the children?