“The next time I hear my mom utter the words, “Why don’t you just wait until I feel like it?” it might be wise to take that advice.
On a Friday night I sat in my room pouting. My mom had promised me a ride to my aunt and uncle’s home in Lakewood, California. After a hard day’s work, she was too “beat” to go anywhere. Of course that was not a good reason to me. I would’ve eaten through the walls just to get out of the house for the weekend. So on Saturday morning, after being told “no” for the second time, I packed up my bags and headed for the bus stop on Manchester and Market.
My route was simple. Take the 115 bus to the Blue Line Station on Firestone. Then get on the Blue Line tram to South Street. With one more ride on a Lakewood bus I would be at my aunt’s house in about 30 minutes. It seemed as if I would even be saving time when compared to driving there. I had done it. Devised a plan that cut out my mom (every 17-year-old’s dream) and one with which I could visit my aunt and uncle could be done whenever I felt like it. A grimace of elation grew slowly on my face.
That grimace was quickly turned into boredom as for 30 minutes I sat waiting for an MTA bus. It felt silly because my home was right around the corner. I felt that I could have gone home, got in a couple of Mortal Kombat matches, had lunch, taken a nap, and been back with five minutes to spare. I had also become hot and the random routine of looking at buses pass by and saying, “That’s not it,” had worn out its welcome. Then, when least expected, a large dusty rectangular vehicle rolled slowly to the tip of the curb. I was finally on.
The people whom I witnessed on the bus could only be described as hilarious. One woman struggled to find a seat for herself and her six bags of groceries. A gentleman asked each row for spare change to which I wanted to ask “What did you get on the bus with?”
People on the bus are weird
An elderly woman sat in the front and decided she had some catching up to do. Unfortunately it was with herself. She chattered away, asking herself questions and answering them. There was the toothless man who never ceased to smile and always had something to say. I watched as kids who wouldn’t sit down were thrown from seat to seat as the bus made its stops.
We even made a pit stop on Figueroa. A pit stop during which one gentleman took the time to remove his hair piece, comb it, and return it to his head. I wanted to reach into my bag, pull out a microphone, and start cracking jokes on them one by one like Richard Pryor in his hey day. But that notion faded as suddenly it hit me—today, I was one of them.
Just me and the sun
As I sat on a concrete bench at the Blue Line station on Firestone, it felt as if the sun had decided to come down from the sky and shake my hand. I could have donated about a gallon to the National Sweat Museum. When the tram’s doors slid open and the fresh cold air hit my face, I felt as if I had won the Super Bowl and arrived at Disneyland. The conductor announced, “Next stop Imperial Station” and with a sigh I thought, “Take your time.”
The conductor went about his driving routine. He would honk the tram horn about every 30 seconds as is required. But after a few set of honks, there was a loud thump. I could feel my seat rise. Then the tram suddenly stopped. The conductor opened the door, nervously stepped out, then announced, “We have a problem here, folks. Stay calm. We are gonna be here for a while.” I couldn’t believe it. The tram had run over and killed someone. No one on the tram had seen the body, and by the time we were let off, the body was covered up. In a way a tragedy, in a way exciting. But to me, having been on a tram that had gruesomely run someone over was something to brag about.
I walked from the accident to another aunt’s house, who just happened to live nearby, and she graciously gave me a ride to my aunt’s house in Lakewood. I kept the accident witness questionaire as a souvenir and showed it off to my family. After hearing my story over the phone, my mom added those words only a mother could: “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.” I guess maybe I will.”