Something I Did?

Brrrrrrr. As predicted, winter is once again upon us, and with a vengeance. Unfortunately, yours truly wasn't quite smart enough to take my heavy wool coat (with fur collar, I love it so) to work with me. Why would I? It was almost 60F when I left; surely my iridescent London Fog raincoat was enough. Au contraire, mes amis. By the time I left work this evening, the wind was cutting right through any vestige of protection Ye Olde London Fog provides. Note to self: learn to predict the weather precisely and become billionaire.

I followed my normal path home. It rarely varies. It starts like so: walk around the corner to the right, down the block (crossing), then around another corner to the left, down 2 blocks to the Metro. This part varies only minimally, either by stopping in a store or two (notably, the Godiva store or Filene's basement, both equally dangerous) or in speed. Yesterday was a stroll, while today you would have been forgiven for mistaking me for a speedwalker. Arrive at Metro, down escalator, through turnstile, down another escalator, take subway 2 stops, disembark, walk through station and down another set of escalators, wait for next train, ride 5 stops and disembark, reading all the way.

Wait. How the hell did I get here? Somehow I made it all the way from my first station to my transfer station to my final station with no thought involved. At all. When did this happen? Does this mean I have finally become a real metropolitan? The naturalness of it all stunned me. I'm a farm girl from the sticks. My idea of "public transportation" growing up, if indeed I even knew the term, was a bright yellow school bus that came once in the morning, and took me home in the afternoon.

It was this feeling of naturalness that I contemplated instead of thinking of how the freezing wind was savaging my exposed heels (see pic in post below - could you wear shoes with a back in that state???). And, naturally, 2 buses on my line arrived at the same time. Being the savvy public transportation rider that I am, it was natural to get on the second, and more importantly, empty bus.

That was my big mistake.

Now, it is no secret that there is rampant poverty in this town. What is less known, because it is less visible to visitors, is that mental illness is also rampant. I'm not talking about depression or anxiety, either. I'm talking about people living in their own little worlds. It's virtually impossible to ride my bus line or walk in my neighborhood without seeing this kind of mental illness. Women and men, bent, shaking, wandering the streets or riding aimlessly on the bus, muttering to themselves, every so often spitting out something vaguely comprehensible, and staring . . . where?

There is one woman in particular whom I see most mornings on my way the the bus, walking the opposite direction to me, talking to herself. Normally I have no idea what she's talking about, and the wild gesticulating tells me she's in a rant, but the other day I did manage to hear "Drag Queens" as she passed me. I wondered for a minute whether I should be worried if she'd made some sort of judgment about my appearance . . . but I digress.

I wonder sometimes what these people are seeing, thinking, hearing in their world. Who are they talking to? What are they answering? Where are they?

Anyway, so I sat down toward the front of the bus, comfortable in my spacious two seats, close to the door so I wouldn't have to walk forever to get off. There was only one woman and one man near me; the man appeared to be asleep or passed out, the woman staring out the window mumbling to herself and rocking back and forth. Mmmm, okay, not a big deal. Well, not for 2 stops anyway. That's when apparently I caught this lady's eye, and the air turned blue. A veritable barrage of curse words burst forth from her mouth as she pointed and pointed and pointed her gnarled finger at me. As best I can make out, everything that ever happened to her in her life that was negative is my fault because I'm a rich white bitch. Doesn't matter that I've never even seen this woman before, and that she's older than my mother (would have been). It's all my fault.

Was it something I did? Nah, just another day on public transportation. But that just ain't natural, I tell ya.