Thongs That Match Shirts & Voyeuristic Glitter

A short story about a particularly interesting morning commute.

(I always sit at the front of the bus because I like being able to spy on people across from me. This is why I’ve made a point to avoid getting sucked in to the voyeuristic journey that is scrolling through my Instagram feed at the first chance I get every morning.

See the thing about the 3 line (the bus line I have the pleasure of taking to work each morning) is that at 8:30 am on a Monday, it’s a bus full of rich, white, seemingly uninspired ladies and gents that are coping with this interpersonal dilemma by staring steadily at their iPhone 6S’s, biting the time until they reach their desks. I’ve just recently realized how much more entertaining it is to watch them on that voyeuristic journey, than it is to be on the journey myself.

Anyways, sometimes I see thongs that match shirts and I think ‘damn, and I thought I had my shit together…’, and sometimes I see people pick their nose and eat it, in which case I give a wink just to let them know I saw it so then I can watch them squirm a bit. On any regular day, it’s really not too eventful. But every once in a while, this habit pays off in a most unexpected, yet delightful way.

Like this time. This time when I was on the 3, this guy got on a Gough and Post. His hair was unkempt, just the way I like it. He was tall, lean, and wore glasses — they were either ridiculously hip, or just ridiculous, either way, I couldn’t tell.

As he cruised through the isle of sticky seating, I caught myself drawn to him. I stared, and then I stared at everyone else staring. Why? What was it about him that captured everyone’s attention? Whatever it was, it was strong enough to command eyes away from the voyeuristic glitter that those iPhone 6’s emit. He was organic. Raw. Uninterrupted. Genuine. And every single one of us felt it.

And out of all the other rich, white seemingly uninspired ladies and gents he could have chosen to sit next to, he sat his tight little ass right next to mine.

Just as the whiff of lavender and cedar beard oil danced into my olfactory senses, I simultaneously noticed that he and I were the only two people on the entire bus that weren’t plastered to our iPhones. I instantly felt unoriginal, as if I’d been robbed of my self proclaimed unique take on a morning commute. Plus he was reading the paper. Like a REAL paper. You know, the kind where you have to turn an actual page with your fingers. The kind that smells like old ladies.

Upon a more thorough examination, I noticed that it wasn’t just any newspaper either. It was pink — like a dusty sort of vintage pink. I didn’t realize such a color existed for newspapers. I was intrigued. So of course I attempted to sneak a stealthy peak. It was The San Francisco Financial Times. For reals? Not only did he have perfectly unkept hair and smelled like a room of rich mysterious sex, but he was also smart. Like really smart. There were all kinds of crazy charts and numbers and percentage signs and shit on that pink paper.

Now I was the one squirming in my seat. I could only manage to cope with the uncomfortableness I was feeling internally by forcing my uncomfortableness onto the outer world, for strangers to feel too. So in a panic of uncomfortableness, and in an effort to sound sophisticated, I squawked,)

“Do you read that for fun?”

(I swallowed. Hard.)

“Do I read this for fun?!?!”

(He turned towards me, paused, and lowered his glasses down his nose. He continued,)

“What kind of question is that?”

(He asked with genuine concern, as I started to regret my efforts immediately.)

“Of course I read this for fun. Everything I do, I do because it’s fun. Why else would you do it?”

(‘Why else would I do it, if it weren’t fun? Why else? Why else?’ I thought to myself, fumbling for an answer. Until I realized there simply was no answer. He totally one uped me. I continued pondering. I think he picked up on the fact that I was stunned by his answer. I think he felt a little guilty about being so blunt. Little did he know how beautiful that bluntness was to me. If he only knew how I long for every answer to a question I ask to make me think so critically about the meaning of life.)

“Sorry…”

(He said.)

“It’s just that the market right now is shit, and nobody sees it coming because they’re so obsessed with their god damn iPhones! Seriously, people are losing homes right now, and no body is paying attention. China is going to rule the world.”

(He said with equal parts passion and fear. I frantically pondered a response. Without success, I muttered,)

“Word.”

(‘Word’ was all I could muster up. I briefly questioned my entire existence on this earth. How could I be such a numb nutz. What I meant to say was, ‘Tell me more about the things you care about. Tell me what you’re feeling. Why China? Why Now? Why are iPhone 6’s so god damn addicting? What the hell is wrong with all of us? What THE HELL IS HAPPENING?! JUST IN GENERAL, LIKE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE PEOPLE?!’

But I didn’t. I sat next to him, speechless, sniffing up that lavender beard oil like there was no tomorrow.

It felt like hours had passed, and yet the Powell street stop came too soon. I wanted to say something, something poignant. I knew it was deep somewhere inside me, but I failed to spoon it out.

I filed off the 3 behind the cluster-fuck of iPhone 6s addicts wondering if they were hopelessly scrolling down to the next self deprecatory feeling because it was fun. I didn’t think so.

And to this day, I’m still wondering, why do we do things if it doesn’t bring us joy? Perhaps because sometimes fun isn’t always easy? Perhaps because we convince ourselves that suffering is normal? Perhaps we’re all a bunch of cowards, clinging to a societal norm because we’ve been told ‘it’s the right thing to do’? Or maybe, just maybe because people really can manage to to be selfless? Maybe people can make themselves happy regardless of their situation in life? I still don’t know, and I have a feeling you don’t either.)

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Stay curious,

Jasmine

“It’s all happening!”

P.S. I’d love your feedback. I’d also love if anyone could explain to me why that paper was pink. Or if you don’t have anything bad to say, I’d love if you passed this on to someone you think might enjoy.