News Story #3: Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys
A multi-generational, heterosexual interaction
So there I was on the bus. You know, daily commute, daily grind, yada, yada. Mindin’ my own business. Reading on my tablet. What a change it’s been the last few years, eh? I remember all that foldin’ and unfoldin’ of the daily newspaper. What a change. It took me awhile, but I tell ya, I like it now. Wouldn’t be caught dead without my tablet thing. Would rather lose my laptop than it I think. Yeah, I really would.
So anyways there’s this young woman — pretty young thing, gets on the bus see? Oh she’s a pretty young thing, but she’d be a whole lot prettier if she’d stop gettin’ all those tattoos and pokin’ earrings into herself God knows where. Anyways, the bus is crowded people goin’ ta work see? And wouldn’t ya know it, the only seat left is the one next ta me. Wouldn’t ya know it. So I moves my stuff all around and I says, Hear ya go Miss. Yous can sit here if ya like.
It was then I sees she’s on the verge of tears. About to cloud up and rain. You know how yous can tell that some times? I says Miss I says, What’s wrong? Yous look about ready ta cry. Oh it’s nothing she says ta me lookin’ me square in the face and we both know that ain’t true. Sos there we are just bumpin’ along and sure enough, she does start ballin’ and lookin through her bag for a Kleenex. I ain’t got one but I’m one of those old farts that still carries a handkerchief ya know? So I offers it to her like ya do ya know? She kinda hesitates, but she takes it from me. I think she mumbles thank you under her breath but I can’t say for sure. I says, You sure you’re all right Miss? You sure there ain’t nothin’ I can do for yous? She just shakes her head no.
Well OK I says. But I hate ta see a pretty girl cry, you know? All of a sudden she turns on me and I tell ya, if looks could kill. I mean them eyes came at me like daggers. I say All I’m sayin’ is yous seem so upset and sad. You knows you’d look a whole lot prettier if you’d smile. Well let me tell ya, all hell breaks loose then. She begins ta read me the riot act. I mean really lettin’ me have it but good. All about how shes ain’t been put on this earth ta fulfill my sexual fantasies and on and on. Where the hell did that come from I tells ya? I mean what the hell? The mouth on that little girl! My mother woulda takin’ her by the ear and washed her mouth out with soap good I tell ya. And she wouldn’t a cared if the little girl was twenty one or not either. No sir. Well on and on she goes not lettin’ me get a word in edgewise. I mean somethin’s really got a bee in her bonnet until I feels like everyone on the bus is lookin’ at us. All of a sudden she gets up and says, This is my stop. And stomps off without lookin’ back and without givin’ me back my handkerchief.
I tells ya what, I got no idea what was wrong with that little girl, but she was clean off her rocker. I pitys the man that comes home to that every night I tells ya.
Oh well, like my Polish grandma always used ta say, Not my circus, not my monkeys.
Glenn B Miller
