The suggestion for today’s Daily Blog Post is “What’s the Strangest Thing That’s Ever Happened to You on a Bus.” Usually, I ignore the daily suggestions because they seem like too much work to figure out what/how to respond to them, but sadly, this particular post can write itself.
For those who know me, and many of you do, this post will not surprise you in the least. Some of you actually know this story first-hand. Nevertheless, I shall share my story as a precautionary tale to some and an utterly revealing testament as to why I am the way I am to others.
The most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me on a bus is that I maced myself. Yep, sure did. It’s like something out of a Fresh Prince of Bel Air show.
Once upon a time in the mid to late 1980’s, my brother, a summer security guard, gave to me a can of mace as protection during my evening bus rides home from the mall after work. One evening I was really sprinting for the bus home (1st mistake) as it pulled away from the curb, thus jostling my giant knock-off Gucci bag (2nd mistake) and giant 80’s hair. Once I made it onto the bus, I stuck my head down into my bag (3rd mistake), searching and digging for my bus pass, and accidentally (and idiotically) depressed the little red button on the mace canister. (Note Bene: Because the can of mace provided by my brother must have been at least a third-hand-me-down, if not fourth, the little protective flap that is usually positioned over said button was of course missing).
So, the bus driver and I were completely enveloped in a dense assaultive fog of pepper spray, tear gas and Ultra-Violet dye. I recognize that I am sharing this story in a fairly relaxed fashion. That is deceptive. When this happened, I was completely flattened. There I lay on the 242 Lakewood Blvd. bus, my face cartoonishly ballooned and my tongue four times its size. All I could do was repeat, “Aahmasedmusefff” over and over again.
Eventually, a group of people carted me off of the bus, mosh-pit style, to the nearest Union 76 gas station and dumped me on the ladies room floor (yes, I am still grossed out and traumatized by that). Maybe an hour later, after flushing my eyes and mouth with water, I staggered home to share this near-death experience with my family in hopes of some compassion and TLC. Of course, my family being my family, instead laughed hysterically and repeated the story over and over again to anyone who would listen.
Well, you knew I got this way somehow. Now, you have actual evidence as to why.
p.s. I never learned what became of the bus driver.