I'm Nate Jones

Normally I wouldn't write about lunatics on public transportation because everyone's got these stories, but this morning was an acute reminder of why I avoid taking the 38 Geary.

I missed the 2 Clement by seconds. It's a longer bus ride, but without a doubt more innocuous. Mostly filled with downtown commuters and elderly Chinese and Russians going to Clement Street markets. Instead I was forced to walk the couple extra blocks to catch the 38L. All was status quo until we reached Divisadero.

You know that your commute is destined to suck when a passenger gets on the bus and the first thing he does is lock-and-load his mop. Yes, a mop. The sort with the plastic ringer that you slide up and down (that's what he locked and loaded). I looked up at this man and his jaw was trembling and he had crazy eyes. He was wearing fuzzy red socks without shoes, and his sagging sweatpants exposed about 4 inches of butt crack. Water from his mop splashed onto my shoes. Of course, he sat directly across from me.

The next half hour was an unrehearsed dance of passengers moving away from wherever this man sat or walked. He leaned over me to shut my window (I held my breath), and proceeded to shut every window on the bus within reach. The ranted and swore, each rant punctuated by a swift thud of his mop handle on the floor of the bus. My concern was that he might go off and whack someone with it.

He moved from my sight to the front of the bus, and his rants became more intense. Some choice excerpts:

"Hey, what's your name (to another man standing)?
Look I got these (pulls pack of AAA batteries from his pocket)
I sell 'em to you. I stole 'em from Walgreen's.
Sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars. Sixteen dollars..."

"Why you keep looking around? Are you a cop?
You in the military? Why you keep looking?
You a cop? You a cop? You a cop...?"

"Stop that beeping (bus makes beeping sound as it lowers). Stop that beep!!
Turn it off! Stop that beeping! Stop that beeping! Stop that beeping!"

"I'm getting off at Jones Street.
I need to get off at Jones Street! Jones Street! Jones Street!
I'm Nate Jones! NATE JONES! NATE JOOO-OONES!!!"

And finally this (as bus driver maneuvers through double-parked delivery trucks downtown):

"Man! You crazy! You crazy m'er-f'ker!! You crazy m'er-f'ker!!
You almost hit that woman! You hit that man!! You f'ker!!
You crazy m'er-f'kr!!! Let me off this f'ing bus! LET ME OFF THIS BUS!!!!"

Thankfully we arrived at Jones Street and breathed a collective sigh of relief after the guy left. Ah, those fleeting bonds with strangers over street person craziness.

(remove bazooka and shoes, insert mop)

The Far Side, Gary Larson