A brief narrative
Her highwaters showed good six inches of polka-dotted sock. They were a serious 80's throwback, these tapered jeans of hers. I'm guessing she was around 50, give or take a few years.
I'm still not clear on why she rides the Far West shuttle every day. Maybe she's a "non-traditional student." Maybe she's a brilliant PhD candidate in Astrophysics.
I do know this: she's allergic to bees.
We're driving north on Guadalupe (that's pronounced Gwad-uh-loop here in Austin). A girl across the aisle from me gets a horrified look on her face. I realize shes just seen the bee I've been watching. I had sort of taken a liking to the bee.
Well, she notices the look on the girl's face. She sprints to the front of the bus as fast as her sneakered feet (attached to the aforementioned unfashionably clad legs) will take her.
"You have to stop the bus! There's... a BEE!," she said.
"Oh, kill it! Kill it now!"
The guy sitting next to the girl with the horrified look leaps up and smashes the bee. His look of triumph underscores my sadness at having lost this winged entertainment.
"They can still sting, even after they're dead, so let's just make sure it's taken care of, ok?"
Not, of course, that she's going to take care of it. So, the guy in front of me says "It's just a bee. I've got it." And with that, he scooped it up and chucked it in the rubbish sack next to the driver. As he returns to his seat, she hisses "Anyone who says 'It's just a bee' has obviously never heard of anaphylactic shock. Ugh."
For three minutes I listened as she extracted her Epi-pen and described its use to the girl with the horrifed look. Suddenly, I recalled something vitally important -- my headphones are noise-cancelling and I DON'T have to listen to her.
The joys of mass transit.
I'm still not clear on why she rides the Far West shuttle every day. Maybe she's a "non-traditional student." Maybe she's a brilliant PhD candidate in Astrophysics.
I do know this: she's allergic to bees.
We're driving north on Guadalupe (that's pronounced Gwad-uh-loop here in Austin). A girl across the aisle from me gets a horrified look on her face. I realize shes just seen the bee I've been watching. I had sort of taken a liking to the bee.
Well, she notices the look on the girl's face. She sprints to the front of the bus as fast as her sneakered feet (attached to the aforementioned unfashionably clad legs) will take her.
"You have to stop the bus! There's... a BEE!," she said.
"Oh, kill it! Kill it now!"
The guy sitting next to the girl with the horrified look leaps up and smashes the bee. His look of triumph underscores my sadness at having lost this winged entertainment.
"They can still sting, even after they're dead, so let's just make sure it's taken care of, ok?"
Not, of course, that she's going to take care of it. So, the guy in front of me says "It's just a bee. I've got it." And with that, he scooped it up and chucked it in the rubbish sack next to the driver. As he returns to his seat, she hisses "Anyone who says 'It's just a bee' has obviously never heard of anaphylactic shock. Ugh."
For three minutes I listened as she extracted her Epi-pen and described its use to the girl with the horrifed look. Suddenly, I recalled something vitally important -- my headphones are noise-cancelling and I DON'T have to listen to her.
The joys of mass transit.
posted by Audrey at 9:38 PM
1 Comments:
When i am having a bad day I re-read this post and laugh to myself- all the while picturing the really annoyed face you were making.
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