El amor en los tiempos del MARTA!

[Due to some…hum…complications shall we say, I’m going to have to postpone following up on the M series. My bad. But in the mean time, I have another bus chronicle story for y’all. Let me clear up the slightly messy predicament I find myself in and then I can pick up where we left off last week and finish that story. Enjoy!]

So now that I’ve made those vague statements, let’s dive into the latest bus adventure shall we. I was way too hasty in my dismissal of Atlanta and it’s potential for foolishness.

For those of you unfamiliar with Atlanta, MARTA is the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority. It’s supposedly a service that one can use to take the bus or train. It’s also a place where you can find tumbleweaves (so many tracks lost too soon. RIP), get the number for a weave-ologist or experience unadulterated ratchness “unique” eccentricities.

Exhibit A:

Granted, this tumbleweave is at the station and not on the actual train or bus.

Granted, this tumbleweave is at the station and not on the actual train or bus.

Exhibit B:

walk-in-weave-thumb

Exhibit C:

urine detector

I’m not even sure what to address first here: the public urination that’s gotten so out of control that it warranted this sign OR this so-called “Urine Detection Device (UDD)”. Sir/Ma’am, I believe those are called eyes.

(Note: I’m not actually sure what the word ratchet means. I can’t use the Urban dictionary version because apparently it’s the new way of saying “ghetto” and I hate the implications associated with the use of the word “ghetto”. So, ratchet is more of a feeling than a concrete concept in my book. You’ll know it when you see it. And if you don’t, you’re probably exhibiting ratchet-like tendencies,  you’re a better person than I am. Also ratchet is not race specific for some basics who might not have known that.)

So you can imagine the characters that one meets while using the services of this fine entity. And I, ladies and gentlemen, had the pleasure of meeting my future BROKE sugar daddy.

Excuseme

Yes, you read that correctly.

In order for you to understand how he  we came to that arrangement, I must explain our courtship.

I was headed to a BBQ and since my car was still in transit from L.A, I decided to take the bus. When I got on the bus to pay my fare and heard a voice in the back yell: “Ooooohhh…yes..(smacking lips sound) sweetie, I’ll pay your bus fare“. Naturally, since he is broke (which I only found out later on), this was more to express a sentiment than anything else. He only said it after I had successfully paid my fare. I sat down. Like a lion eyeing his prey, he looked around to calculate his next step. He moved to the row across the aisle to make his move. And boy did he impress me.

Below is the breakdown of the highlights of what really made your girl fall head over heels.

His opening line: “You shouldn’t have paid for the bus. Pretty people don’t pay for things. Only ugly people pay for stuff.”

Right off the bat he’s telling me that he believes I am attractive. Plus, he wants to me to be relieved of all financial burdens. I’m not sure who judges who the ugly people are and whether there’s an ugly-to-cost ratio but I want to know. Alas, I couldn’t ponder for long because he then hit me with this lovely 1,2 combo.

Metaphorically of course.

Metaphorically of course.

– Damn, you smell good. You showered today, didn’t you? 

AND

Oooh, you got nice teeth. Are those your real teeth?

Now, you may be thinking, “how did he smell you?” To which I respond, “You are clearly missing the point.” This man no only complimented my lack of body odor but he acknowledged my hygiene routine. Showering has become one of those unsung activities for a lot of us. We do it every day and yet no one recognizes us for it. He clearly does not take it for granted. He also knows good dentition. Judging by the missing 5 front teeth, he now understands the importance of oral hygiene/upkeep. Which also explains why he was a little skeptical that all 32 that I have are my original teeth.

Plus, he made an important social commentary that I’m only now realizing. I’m clearly living a life of excess with all of these extra teeth. Oh Leroy*!

it's not fair

 Sensing that I was still not convinced to be his woman, he followed up with:

You sound like you educated. Mmmm….You got big words and talk all proper. 

You real cute. You the type of woman to make a man [He said something else but it’s one of the words I promised myself I wouldn’t put on here] stay out of jail and work 2 jobs so he can afford you. 

Girl, you the type of woman to make these gay men [same word, still not typing it] straight. 

Leroy* clearly understands and appreciates the value of education. Plus, he reinforced what he thought of my looks, understood that I did not come cheap (because as a woman I am for sale) and has offered a solution to mass incarceration. He’s also found an “effective” conversion therapy. Is there anything this man can’t do?

(Disney)

(Courtesy: Disney)

At this point, I’ve seen the light so we got down to facts. He’d clearly demonstrated that he could bring the romance.

You like older men? I’ll be 59 next week. 

You looking for a sugar daddy? I’m broke though

The honesty. The confidence. Only a man of the highest caliber could not only offer such soul-piercing compliments but also offer his services as a broke sugar daddy. My life was forever changed after meeting Leroy and I have MARTA to thank. That should be their new slogan: “MARTA, no longer where you go to find or lose your weave. It’s where you go to find LOVE, packaged in broke, toothless, sugar daddies.” It’s a little long but I feel like we could make a catchy jingle out of it.

But replace JG Wentworth with MARTA. Marketing gold!

But replace JG Wentworth with MARTA. Marketing gold!

Obviously this post is supposed to be sarcastic. I’m not starting a life with Leroy*, as tempting as he thought his offer was. However, the discomfort I felt is real. I had to sit on a bus with this man and I as the sole passengers and listen to him make comments about my appearance. Me ignoring him or telling him that I wasn’t interested wasn’t enough. His right to tell me how/what he felt and to stare me down takes precedence over my right to a safe and quiet bus ride. Or at least that’s what society tells women.

That’s what we tell them every time we’re supposed to see it as a “compliment” when someone makes lewd comments about our bodies or harasses us. There was a driver and obviously there wasn’t much that he could have done. What he shouldn’t have done was smile or laugh whenever Leroy* made a comment and I recoiled in my discomfort.

Newsflash: Women being uncomfortable isn’t funny. And we have a right to use public transportation and put in our headphones to avoid conversations like normal antisocial humans. Plus, I don’t know about you but I know very few people who looking for broke AND toothless sugar daddies. You gotta bring SOMETHING to the table.

* Name changed because I was too busy trying to ignore him to remember his actual name. 

Bruh! Is that you?

Remember when I told y’all about the horrible LA traffic and how it led to discovering the asinine advice that Steve Harvey is giving to women and the confusion (from LA radio stations) about whether or not TSwift counts as hip-hop?  (She doesn’t!)

Well,  it also led to terrible road rage.

This was me most mornings:

road rage 2

(VIA)

Or

(VIA)

(VIA)

I mean… I know a large limited amount of curse words and I used all of them. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

So I was more than thrilled to find out that there was a bus line from my apartment to my job.  Clearly this was the solution to my problems. I could nap on my way to work, not spend as much money on gas and let someone else worry about the stupidity of LA drivers.

(via)

(via CBS)

Yeah….turns out there are some..ahem…shall we say characters on public transit. It’s extremely rare that I don’t get off the bus thinking:

(VIA)

(via)

From the White lady who kept yelling that she could be racist too (I must have missed the racism Olympics that day but apparently there was some stiff competition), to the guy who is offended that you think he shouldn’t take up three seats with his bags; this bus offers a variety of distractions from the mundane ride.

Last week, the bus offered some quality…hum… there are really no words to describe it. Let’s just say that it was a visual, auditory but most of all, olfactory experience.

I got off work after a pretty long day and was more than happy to see the bus pull up, right as I got to the stop. I took out my bus card, swiped it and smiled at the bus driver. I scanned the bus but there was only one seat available, near the front. I slid in the seat and nodded quickly at the guy sitting next to me.

After a few seconds, I started to get a whiff of an unpleasant odor. It was still faint so I didn’t worry about it. A few seconds later, smell was getting stronger. After a minute, it was straight up “funk town”.

Now I can’t lie and say that I’ve never forgotten to put deodorant on before heading to work. When that happens, I usually go full-on T-rex for the day and try not to move too much. Y’all know what I’m talking about. When you can’t lift your arms past a 90 degree angle because you’re afraid you might knock someone out with that natural musk?

You know..like this:

(VIA)

(VIA)

So I tried to do the subtle armpit check to see if I was the source of such a pungent smell.

Ok girl! Pretend you’re waving at someone. Oh no, I don’t think they can see you. Raise your arm a little bit higher and wave harder. Turn your head, like you’re smiling at them because the bus is driving away. Keep turning, keep turning, quick sniff, and stop!

There’s also the “pretend you’re listening to the most hype song and can’t help but rock out” move.

(VIA)

(via ABC)

That one is a little harder to pull off in a public setting though.

Anyways, my quick sniff move determined that I was not the source of the smell. I’m sitting there, thinking, “it might go away after a while.” Nope, it kept getting stronger.

At this point, I’m holding my breath and trying not to pass out, thinking “Oh Lord! I can’t go like this. If I go out like this, my family better lie and say I died saving some cats from a burning building or I’m haunting all of them for the rest of eternity”

Dramatic? Yes!

But y’all weren’t there. It was a full-on assault on all human senses and probably the 6th one that some people claim to have.

As I pulled out my phone to inform my friend of my predicament, homeboy next to me raised his arm to press the stop sign…

(VIA)

(VIA)

(VIA)

(VIA)

All I can say is…

she wasn't ready(I know Kevin has made an appearance here before, but it’s so relevant)

I definitely, literally  blacked out. 

I regained my composure, got up to let him get off the bus and never sat back down. I couldn’t risk going through that again.

Worse, I couldn’t tell if the smell had rubbed off on the seat.

What if the person who sat next to me after him thought that I was the smelly passenger?

bruh

Nah son! Non merci.