oh, andrea, you know better

Yes, I do. I really do. And yet I ventured out in public without the blessed shelter of my blaring iPod covering up the inanity of the workings of other people's minds, as expressed through their vocal apparatuses. <--(I was reading some David Foster Wallace today; shit's about to get wordy in here.*** Ha!)

Let me give you the set up here: at Haymarket this afternoon, there was a lady with a sandwich board about Jesus and burning in hell and such trying to pass out pamphlets. I have never seen her before, but I assumed she was filling in for the guy with the anti-abortion and burning in hell sandwich board--c'mon, if you ever set foot in the city of Boston, you know the dude I'm talking about--who probably was taking a sick day or something. I ignored her, as I ignore all religious zealots and people who are unfortunately off their antipsychotics, and got on my bus, whereupon I remove my kindle from my bag and resume the stylings of Mr Foster Wallace (or Mr Wallace, whichever is correct, I dunno.)

Guy sits behind me. I take little notice. Other guy boards and sits next to him. They know each other. Guy1 (later to be known in this story as Black Guy) says--at this point I'm thinking jokingly--something along the lines of "Man, there's lots of empty seats and you gotta sit next to me?" Guy2 (who will later be known as Gay Guy) says something mildly joking back and comments on Black Guy having taken a pamphlet from Jesus Lady. Black Guy says Gay Guy should have taken one too, as he probably needs it. Gay Guy says he goes to church every Sunday, and confirmation classes too. Black Guy asks, "And they don't say nothing about your sexual orientation?" Gay Guy says that's coming up in confirmation class next week. (We never covered that in mine, but I was 11.)

Black Guy says, "Aren't you ever gonna change that?" This goes completely over Gay Guy's head and he starts discussing how, no, he's Catholic and he's gonna stay Catholic. The two of them talk at cross purposes in a who's-on-first conversation, to the point I want to turn around and say, "You moron, he's asking you if you're ever gonna give up fucking men, and *you* moron, it's not something you give up, like smoking." It's at this point I decide the iPod's coming out of my bag and why the hell hasn't it sooner?

But before I can get sweet sweet musical relief from this uncomfortable conversation, Gay Guy finally catches on and comments that he knew Black Guy was uncomfortable around him, and that is why when they're picking partners at school (ah! that's where they know each other from!) Gay Guy never asks Black Guy to work with him. Black Guy doesn't deny his discomfort, but does protest they have been partnered. "I worked on you. I did your back!" (Wait...do they...are they...)

I have my earbuds in at this point and crank the volume to 11, because, really I am so uncomfortable and I'm not even part of the conversation. But apparently the rest of it doesn't go well as Gay Guy gets up and moves his seat. To the sideways seat at the front of the bus, where I see him immerse himself in circling things he wants to buy in the Massage fucking Warehouse catalog. Yup, they know each other from massage school and I'm sure it ain't the one I attended 'cause Black Guy woulda had the homophobia skeered outta him by day 3 by our 80% lesbian teaching staff or quit. Or been thrown out on his ass for showing any signs he was unwilling to work with a fellow student because of sex, orientation, ethnicity, whatev.

Which, frankly? I wouldn't want to see either of these dudes with an LMT after their names. One's an ignorant bigot and one's apparently got the IQ of cooked cereal. But you know how it is. Some of these "career colleges" they advertise during Judge Judy will take anyone who can get a student loan they'll later default on.

So says the woman who didn't have her iPod cranked to 11 *before* stepping onto public transportation. Sigh. Who's got the IQ of cooked cereal now?

xoxo

***you ever find yourself doing that? semi-consciously drifting into someone else's writing style after you've just been immersed in their work? David Foster Wallace (in case you don't know) writes very very long sentences with convoluted clauses.