Some people don’t drive; I am one of them.  Can I drive?  Last time I checked, yes- I just can’t do so legally.  Due to this, I have to rely on a little thing called “public transportation”.

These are just a few of my experiences.

They are nothing like yours.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU, SO WHY DID YOU JUST GET ALL FATAL ATTRACTION ON ME?

It was Christmas Eve, 2007. I’d been let of out my training class for Comcast early, and was headed home.  In order to be a “Comcaster”, I had to wear business casual clothing, so on this particular day, I had on a pair of brown corduroys. 

This was a mistake.

A note:  I’m blessed with a little voice in my head that usually tells me something to the effect of, “HEY MUTHAFUCKA DON’T DO THAT IT’S GONNA BITE YOU IN THE ASS LATER!”  It said this when I decided to wear the pants.  I ignored it.  MISTAKE.

I was on the bus listening to my iPod when my OH WHAT THE FUCK IS GONNA HAPPEN THIS TIME Sense went off.  Some movement caught my eye.  I stopped staring aimlessly at the floor and looked over to see some woman waving wildly at me.  She had a huge grin on her face, and kept pointing at her pants and then at mine.

We both were wearing brown pants.

SHIT.

I proceeded to stare out the window.  The woman began to rant about how we both had the same color pants on.  No offense to anyone, but she was POSSIBLY KENYAN.  This has been a problem in the past, but those stories never happened on the Metro, so I won’t entertain that particular digression at this time.

Anyway, back to this warped reality.  The woman decided to sit in front of me.  Actually, she leapt from one side of the bus to the other to land in the seat in front of me.  Crack is awesome.

“Excuse me,” she said, interrupting whatever Slayer song I was listening to at the time.  Don’t judge me- it was Christmas, after all.  I was in a mood.

“Yeah?” See?  Told you I was in a mood.  I can toss out a harsh “Yeah?” with the best of them.

“Do you have a wife?”

“SHIT SHIT SHIT WHO ASKS STUFF LIKE THAT ON THE BUS YOU BETTER NOT ANSWER THIS CRAZY HEIFER,” said the voice in my head.  “THIS IS THE PART WHERE FUCKED UP SHIT HAPPENS THAT MAKES YOU HATE THE HUMAN RACE A LITTLE BIT MORE AND YOU CAN’T BE DOING THAT ON CHRISTMAS EVE MAN DAMN.”

“…no,”  I said. MISTAKE.

“Good!” She grinned.  I think she had about seven hundred teeth crammed in her mouth, all white and small like dolphin teeth.  Mixed with a shark.  Dolphin shark teeth.  POSSIBLY KENYAN, at that.  POSSIBLY KENYAN dolphin shark teeth, and I was in the way.  “Good, because if you had a wife, I would SHOOT HER IN THE FACE.”

This is why I think I’m cursed, by the way.  Situations like this- let’s analyze it from a completely neutral perspective shall we?

Two strangers are on a bus- one male, one female.  Call it fate, call it karma, but they happen to be wearing the same color pants.  This excites the female, the male doesn’t care because such matters do not concern him at this time. 

The female pounces.

She misses the male and lands in the seat near him.

The male is frightened, understandably.  He does not know why the female has invaded his personal space so suddenly. 

The female grins.  The male knows this grin: it is the grin of the Universe mocking him ruthlessly at every turn.  The grin represents the fact that he will never… eh-eh-ever have a normal encounter with someone in public A-GAYN.

So, that happened.  I endured this wonderful existential taunt from an unseen force that mocks me relentlessly, and the woman in question?

She started singing Christmas carols at the top of her lungs and had herself a good ol’ time all by her damn crazy self.

At least someone got some joy out of that particular incident.

BUY MY RAP ALBUM

There are a lot of independent musicians in THE HOOD, MARYLAND- and by “independent”, I mean a bunch of what folks in the “IN-DUS-TRY” would call “studio gangsters”; folks that don’t pick up guns but have them photoshopped into their fake hands for their album covers.  However, if you don’t move any product, then you damn sure won’t ever be on that hot mixtape with fifteen other folks on it (including Dat Lil’ Nyucka Steve, 115th and Elway’s finest midget rapper) Where’s the best place to peddle your wares in THE HOOD?

On the Metro!

Case in point:

One day, I was busy ignoring people and trying to go home from… somewhere, and as I am inclined to do, I was listening to my iPod and doing my best to be inconspicuous.  Some dude with about six natty braids in his hair (no, seriously- if you can’t grow your hair out, don’t do it!) hopped into the seat next to me, and no, I don’t know what the fuck is up with everyone always divebombing their asses into seats near me on the Metro… except that I hate that shit.  Anyway, dude speaks:

“Hey- if you don’t mind me asking, what are you listening to?”  Naturally, I mind, but I decide answer anyway. 

“Talib Kweli.”  NOTE:  I really was listening to Talib at the time.  Shocker.

“…who?”

Aaaaaand this is where things fall apart.  I had to repeat myself about eight times before the dude decide to try and sell me his CD, while I’m sitting there wondering why this rapper dude person thing doesn’t know who Talib Kweli is.  I mean, Kweli wasn’t exactly unknown at the time; we’re talking post Chappelle’s Show timeframe here, so… I was baffled. 

And yes, I know that practically no one reading this knows who Talib Kweli is.  I do remember what site I write for, honest!

Anyway, back to the story:  after the Rapper In Training put eight and six together and figured out that I was a) listening to rap at the time, and b) not going to punch him in the face, he went for the hard sell.

“I see you like music.  Would you like to buy my CD?”

…yeah.  Uh, no.

Any one ever been chatted up by someone who is obviously a member of a pyramid scheme?  You know the drill: you’re in your favorite store or coffee shop or wherever, and you wander a bit too close to the guy that just bought his suit from Men’s Wearhouse off the rack and keeps tapping his clipboard nervously. He hits you with the speech he rehearsed for about two hours in front of the mirror the night before:

“Excuse me- you look like a smart person; are you interested in a money making venture that can change your life?”

No.  I am perfectly happy working at a job I hate, thank you very much.  Keep that dirt off your shoulders, playboy.

Needless to say, I declined buying the CD.  All I want to do is get to work or get home- I don’t want to part with any more money in the process, damn it.

Moving on…

YOUR COMPLETE LACK OF HEADPHONES BAFFLES ME

One of the main reasons why I listen to my iPod during my adventures in public transportation is because no one else has headphones and everyone blasts their music through their cellphones.  Have you heard that hit song “GANGSTA GANGSTA GANGSTA GANGSTA GANGSTA GANGSTA GANGSTA”?  I have against my will, and it is horrible.  If I want to listen to what everyone else was listening to, I would ask them to sign up for last.fm and create playlists for my enjoyment… it’s as simple as that.

The most glaring example of this phenomenon at work took place on the bus and caused everyone to stare at me like I did something wrong.  On Metrobuses, there is a very blatant sign that states that riders must use headphones with any sort of audio device- on this day someone got on the bus and instantly started blasting something along the lines of “BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY RUMP”, which caused the driver to stop the bus and tell him to turn that shit off.

Everyone looked at me instead.

I just pointed at my headphones and turned up Slayer even louder.

Comfort music, and all that.

Long story short- RULES AIN’T SHIT IF BRICK PRIOR FOLLOWS THEM AND STILL GETS OSTRACIZED.

I THOUGHT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE A MUTE!

Dealing with solicitors on the Metro is always a hazardous situation because you don’t know who needs help, who’s crazy, or who is going to curse at you.  This is one of the latter experiences… and once again, it involves me ignoring the world and listening to my iPod.  Let me paint this picture for you:  on this day (I see clearly, everything has come to light), I’m almost home and the train car is empty save for the older woman walking slowly up the aisle.  Upon passing me, she pauses.  She stares at the Metrorail map in front of me, and takes a seat ahead and to my right.  I’ve got about three minutes until I’m in the clear. 

I risk a look to my right.

She’s holding a folder three inches from my face.

SHIT.

She opens it up and implores me to read.

“NO NO NO DON’T YOU BE DOIN’ THAT BUDDY USE YOUR OTTOMAN EMPIRE ACCENT AND FAKE LIKE YOU CAN’T SPEAK ENGLISH!” says the voice in my brain.  I have not heard it all day, so I flinch due to surprise and take the folder as a result.  The voice in my head screams that I am a fucking idiot, and I start to bleed slightly out my right eye as a result.  On one side is a handwritten letter asking for money; on the other is Avon contact information.  Since I don’t pull my wallet out on the Metro, I tell the grandmotherly woman that I don’t have any money.

“HUH?” she spits. 

“CAUGHT!” says the voice in my brain.  “IF SHE COULDN’T TALK THEN HOW THE HELL CAN SHE SAY ‘HUH?!’ HUH?! THAT’S A CHINESE RIDDLE!”

“I don’t have any money on me,” I say in my nicest voice… which is completely shot due to selling platters at Applebees’ all day.

The old woman sneers.   “…make me sick!” she mutters Good Times style.

I snicker and shake my head.  This only happens to me, right?  She’ll definitely not be getting any money now.

As we pull into the final station, I get up and head off the train.  The woman lets off one last missive.

“Man, fuck you!”

I chuckle again as I head up the steps. 

Yes Virginia, this is my life, and I am doomed to put up with such experiences as I walk the earth in search of enlightenment.

Until next time.

Brick Prior’s second most hated question in life is: “When are you getting your license?”