Here is my all-time favorite mass transit story, and it’s even true!
My English professor rode the bus every day. He rode the bus in from White Rock. It took long hours.
Sorry, channelling Hemingway; it’s the English major in me.
Anyway, on the bus, he met many an interesting character, as one does. He met so many, in fact, that he eventually decided to stop meeting anyone at all, and began reading on the bus.
This was not a successful solution, for lo the world is never short of those with an opinion or two to spare on the subject of a total stranger’s taste in books (to the point where I used to use a book cover that said “I want YOU…to leave me alone”).
One day, he was reading a book, as I think I have explained was his wont, which I suppose means what he wonted to do, and the book just happened to be the Iliad (in translation; he was no showoff). Well, onto the bus lumbers and BAM! down into the seat next to him sits a huge, hulking biker of much black leather, clanking chains, and many a fierce and prison-made tattoo.
Great, thinks the mild-mannered and moderate-bodied English professor. Try to be invisible, he thinks.
He fails.
POKE goes the biker’s finger into the book.
Da Iliad! he shouts. I love dat book! Rumble in Troy, eh! Ah, it’s all women, man. All da trouble in da world: It’s always all about da fuckin’ women.
Which Greek Warrior From The Iliad Are You?
Agamemnon: You are the king of Mycenae…and assholery. I’m telling you, sacrificing your daughter to fuel your ambitions doesn’t win you too many friends.
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Maybe not the nastiest, come to think of it, as this only applies to those with sex lives that exist in the physical world and not just the universe of slash fic.
raincoaster 