October 14, 2010
On the 18 Express bus
Ballard, Seattle, Washington

“I’m going to get a tattoo, and a real piercing. I’m going to do everything you can’t do when you’re not 18,” she said.

“I’m going to tell my dad he has a grandson.”

January 2, 2010
Goodwill
Ballard, Seattle, Washington

Waiting in line to buy picture frames and old LPs, chatting with Anabelle and Robbie, when a woman in the next line interrupts us.
“I just had to say that you look so cute, with your little jacket and your hat. It’s adorable,” she says. I am wearing my leather jacket and a grey cabbie hat.
“Why, thank you,” I respond.
“Now that I’m an old lady, I just tell people whatever comes to mind,” she continues. Her hair is thin and gray, piled loosely on top of her head; her glasses Coke-bottle; she wears some sort of muumuu and leans on her cart.

“I hope it doesn’t ruin your day that some old lady thinks you look cute.”

December 16, 2009
15 bus to downtown
Ballard, Washington

He has two backpacks on the seat next to him, a sleepy expression, an unkempt mustache, and an honest-to-God rat tail. As I settle into my seat, he pulls a full sized bottle of some clear liquor, bare of paper bag, from inside his coat. Ducking his head slightly, he surreptitiously takes a swig.
A pasty, bulbous white man with thin gray hair and matching tuque and flannel shirt gives him a big thumbs up. Rat tail looks a bit sheepish as Pasty grins at him.

“Hey,” Pasty mouths with great exaggeration, “It’s Christmas!”

July 2, 2008
Bus stop at 15th & Market
Ballard, Seattle, Washington

A young woman, perhaps in her early 30s, in a pink t-shirt and stretch pants. She approaches me at the bus stop.
“Do you want to buy a $1.50 bus ticket for a dollar?”
My pass just ran out and I’ve yet to buy another, so I say yes.

As I pull out my wallet, she squints at me.

“Are you rich?”
I laugh a little. “God, no.”
She frowns. “Do you get SSI?”
I can’t remember what SSI stands for, but I’m pretty sure it involves the government giving you money. “Nope.”
“Then how do you survive?” she asks with some concern.
“I have a job?”
“Oh…”

She doesn’t sound convinced.

February 7, 2009
The bus stop at 15th & Leary
Ballard, Seattle, Washington

Working at 7am on Saturday is no one’s idea of fun. Walking to the bus just before 6, I see two men waiting there in the dark. One, tall, in a red windbreaker, perhaps 50s, early 60s, says, “Oh, I see how it is!”
I hear breaks, turn, and see the 15 coming down the street, right on time.
“We’ve been freezing here for an hour, but you walk up like it’s nothing and the bus rolls right in.”
I shrug and smile.
He continues, “I bet you got a watch. I should get me one of those.”
“They are handy,” I answer.
He turns to the short, round-faced, brown-skinned man next to him and says something in Spanish. The other man smiles as he responds.
Watchless continues to rant, though good-naturedly.
“One hour we been out here, and you just walk right up. Man. Not that I blame you,” he assures me. “I’m just a little jealous.”
The 15 pulls up, but it’s just a shuttle. We’ll have to wait.
He chuckles. “Good! Now you have to wait here with us!”
I smile. “Waiting for the bus builds character.”
He laughs. “I don’t need any more character.”
He’s close enough now that I can smell the beer that’s probably contributing to his joviality. Already drunk or still drunk at 6am.
We stand in silence for a moment.
“Yeah, I gotta get me a watch. It’s ‘the Nineties’!”
I’m not sure if he’s kidding, considering it’s not the Nineties and wristwatches became popular in the 1920s.
He continues. “Gotta keep up with the times.” Again, with exaggeration, “It’s the Nineties!”
He pauses. “Wait…no it isn’t.”
Now I laugh. “Hasn’t been the Nineties for ten years, dude.”
“But what do we call it now?” he challenges me.
I shrug. “No one seems to agree. It’s just ‘the new millennium.’ Not so terribly new anymore, I guess.”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m ready for the next one.” Now he guffaws loudly.

“In the next millennium, maybe I’ll get a watch!”