Semi-Habitual Strangers

I complain a lot about how big of a pain in the ass riding public transportation is. Anyone who follows me on Twitter or if you're friends with me on Facebook will know how much I loathe Port Authority. 

People who don't ride public transportation really don't understand or even try to understand the woes of it. I can go on for hours about how much it sucks. From the sad attempt of having regularity, to spending every single day on a mini itinerary, the list goes on forever and ever and ever and...well, you get the point.

So wasting all of this time waiting on the bus/T (that's the train for those uneducated on public transportation lingo), actually on the bus/T, in between connecting routes, my commute to college, or just walking around downtown, I find stuff to occupy myself with to prevent complete insanity. 

Other than listening to my iPod or reading a book, I find people watching to work wonders! 

For school I catch the 36 bus into town (because I really don't like trotting up a shit ton hills at 7 in the morning to catch the T. My body just can't handle it). By the time the 36 gets to my stop it's packed with people on their way to their jobs in the city, so I try and get a seat or just stand near the front door or the door closer to the middle of the bus. If I'm standing in the front of the bus, I can't really people watch. How obvious can it be when you're standing in front of everyone and completely turned around, just staring behind semi-tinted sunglasses. But when I do stand farther back or sit in a seat I can people watch allllllll I like (Wow that sounds really creepy). I could write an entire blog post about the people on the 36 bus in the morning, but I'll just give you guys a taste. 

There's the old man who usually sits in between two middle aged women in the seats that face inwards. I'm usually listening to my iPod on the bus, so I assume what they're talking. I stopped listening for a moment and it was politics this time, so I just hit play buttom for my complete apathy of listening to politics. This old man isn't creepy like my marketing teacher, at least from what I hear, but he always carries candy with him in a Shop n' Save bag. Off brand candy too, and hands them out to the ladies of bus 36. Sometimes he hands out little baggies with stuff that looks like drugs. Let's just assume it's herbal tea mix and not roofies or some other kind of crazy drug. I label him as the "old-man-who-is-past-his-prime-but-still-thinks-he-has-it-with-the-potential-to-be-that-stereotypical-creepo". But I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and just say he's a nice old man. 

Then there's the middle-aged woman who always has her blonde hair wrapped around in a hot mess of a, yet stylistic, bun thing kept together with twelve gallons of hairspray and an outdated hair clip. She keeps to herself, normally, or sometimes takes part in the conversation between the old man and the other women. Her white glasses are kind of groovy though, except they remind me of the kind Johnny Depp wears in Charlie in the Chocolate Factory, except thinner on the sides. The lenses are big and round and completely black. Surprise she can even see anything from behind those suckers. And her posture is tired and worn out almost. Like she partied hard last night and has the BIGGEST hangover ever trying to hide it behind a cup or two of black coffee and big tinted sunglasses. 

So there's those two people on the 36 bus, then there's the common homeless people wondering around Market Square. Kind of sad really, and I can't help to think how they got so homeless and down-in-the-dumps. Then I think to a few COPS episodes and quickly move on with my morning commute into Starbucks.

Jeez, you wouldn't even believe how pushy and rude corporate Pittsburgh can be in the morning, just waiting for their coffee impatiently. Sometimes (rarely anymore) I'm nice and let them go in front of me since I have time to waste before class. But I stopped that when someone thought that they could just cut in front because they were late for work. Yeah right. It payed off though! Got a free cup o' coffee. That's five or six dollars I'm NOT wasting every day for coffee from Starbucks. Luckily, for me and my wallet's sake, I got tired of their Pumpkin Spice Lattes. The manager remembers me though, always like "Hey! You're Vaughn, right?" I would normally be happy at the fact that she remembers me from every other time Starbucks thoroughly rapes my wallet, except that she remembers my name because of her drug-abusing cousin once removed that died was named Vaughn as well. How do you even reply to that? "Oh, thanks, you're so sweet." 

At the bus stop for the G2 or 28X, there's always the common public transportation user/tired civilian wanting to sit down, stretch their legs as far as they can across the sidewalk and get in peoples way or ask for bus change or change for, possibly, the only working payphone left in the world at that stop. Some don't look homeless, just comfortable, casual, or actually in business attire. But I don't care how you're dressed, I can't help thinking you are homeless sitting on the ground, sprawled out with a cigarette dangling out the corner of your mouth. Those people change every day, but it's a common acknowledgement I seem to find.

Writing this all out kinda shows me some regularity in my everyday life, I guess, if you stretch the definition of "regularity" out a bit...and throw pepper or something in my face. Oddly enough, I find some comfort in seeing the old man talk and give out candy on the bus to the ladies, the middle aged women with the killer hangover, the homeless people (okay, not so much the homeless), and the manager at Starbucks who remembers me from her dead drug dealing once removed cousin. Beggars can't be choosers. Except I didn't beg for anything, so, I don't know what you would really call it.

Too Much Information, Level: College Professor.

Before I get to the heart of this, I feel like I need to establish some crucial details. First, I’m a freshman in college. Community college, which to be completely honest, isn’t all that bad. It’s not the 13^th grade like so many people say it is and, depending on where you go, it’s much like a “real” college. It is real college. Except you go home every day. Not bad, right? And a hell of a lot cheaper than some of the “real” colleges. Legit, I have no debt right now. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Anyways, I have a pretty easy freshman schedule too. Luckily for me, the guy that I scheduled classes with helped me literally plan when I had each class so it was a win-win. I only have four classes; Math, Intro to Business, and hour break, Principles of Marketing, and English in that order.

My math professor is pretty awesome (much better than any of my high school math teachers could ever teach). My business professor kind of makes me want to kill myself in the face (I officially renamed it to Intro to Doodling as of today). My English professor, well, I can’t really say anything other than all he really does is make us watch old, hysterically awful episodes of the “Real World” and a reality criminal show from, like, the 90’s. Last but certainly not least, the man who I am going to introduce you lovely people to is my Marketing professor.

Jeez, where to begin. Well, the first week of classes he introduced us to his likeness to women’s underwear. Victoria’s Secret undies to be more specific. I mean, every terribly stereotypical man likes Victoria’s Secret underwear. Not wearing it obviously. Unless if they do, that’s their business. But oddly enough he talked about shopping for pairs and pairs of lacy under-gutchies in the first week for his “wife”. Odd, me and my sort-of-friend Zack (we sit next to each other, so I consider that friends since community college gives little opportunity for any) thought at first. But hey, he shops for his wife or wears them himself, that’s his business. Personally, it was a bit forward to start right at the get-go for his...appreciation for the common lacy g-string or whatever.

My marketing professor also mentioned in the first week that he bakes. I love baking. The oven doesn’t work, but I do like to bake. No big deal. No cause for concern. Sort of. He told us, “I’ll be bringing in baked goods every Friday that I make...with my wife”. Sketch, right? Yeah. But still, not much cause for concern until I saw what he actually brings in. Call me paranoid or picky, but I don’t just pick up any cookie from any old man. I have standards people, and something about a guy bringing in baked goods that were an odd color or just looked off pushed me to stay away from the weekly baked goods.

Lastly (for now), and most scarring of them all, was today. I don’t get sick often and basically never when it comes down to someone telling a disgusting story. But this got me as close as I ever want to be. We started with different brands of toiletries (like deodorant) and how the knockoff brands are often made by the same company with the same quality. Sounds like a normal conversation in marketing right? Until he brought of the first stop; “One time I just bought Lady’s Speedstick because, hell, if it’s made by the same company but just gender specific, how different could perspiration be between the genders? Not much different”.

So what? He used woman’s deodorant before. No big deal, until he went into (without ANY segue whatsoever, not like you can really segue into this) “I shaved my armpits one time...for a contest. I don’t get how women do it, shave everything. Honestly? How do you do it?” He paused for a moment before unfortunately continuing, “I shaved my ass one time when I was in the navy in one of those giant shower rooms that you’d see at jail or camp. I was by myself,”...cause that makes it better...”And how I was doing it was I propped up a mirror against the wall, bent over and started shaving away with a one blade razor.”

By this time all I could do was try and, I’m not even joking with you, hold down projectile vomit onto Zack’s desk. Call it luck or some crazy twist of nature or whatever else; I didn’t have an appetite that day so I didn’t eat. I turned towards Zack, mouth gaping open in COMPLETE horror, and tried to forget what my professor just confessed to the class. Like, seriously? WHY does that need to even be said? This is marketing class, not Confession 101. Being horrified is an understatement too. I get indigestion just recalling that shit. You don’t even understand, like, it was sickening. That’s definitely number one on my list of things that should NEVER be spoken. Not just mine though. You know what, there should be a standard list of things never to be said. On the national level. Everywhere. Illegal.

So does anyone have anything else I can add to this list of “Things That Should Never Be Spoken”? Enlighten me people... -__-

"Firsts" are the bitch.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think “first” anything’s are the BIGGEST pain in my back. Literally. I’ve been sitting in bed for a good couple of hours looking back and forth to this sad empty laptop screen to the Food Network trying to figure out how to start this first blog. I was so desperate to look around Google for tips in starting blogs. Think about it though, the “firsts” are either really easy and catches quick (which has more probability of happening than being trampled by a small herd of sea turtles), or either more difficult than squeezing water out of a rock.

Every couple minutes I would have a terribly vulgar fight with my inner-metaphorical Debbie-Downer and a random African American church woman (who strangely takes on the likes of Tyler Perry’s Madea) at not even introducing myself to the stresses of blogging. It was a hot mess. But here I am.

So, in general, beginning is a pain in the ass. Think about it; first impressions suck. My Customer Services professor thoroughly beat the dead horse of the importance of a good first impression. After a week I wanted to find the nearest bridge and jump ship but she couldn’t have been more right. And after that week, I really respected her as a teacher and a person.

What about a first kiss? Truthfully, mine was in elementary school with a Venezuelan girl named Gabriella. Little-me had taste; she had an accent. But how awkward is a first kiss? You don’t know which way is right, your noses get in the way, and then it ends up being one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. That’s not from personal experience I swear. Do you even remember your first kiss? How completely awk was THAT?

And how about your first day at high school? Or college? Personally, I remember my first day at high school. I was with a friend walking down from the cafeteria and choral room when, here runs in between us, two guys dressed in football gear skipping merrily down the hallway are holding hands. I’m not talking goofy hand holding. I’m talking about hardcore, saucy, affectionate hand holding. I have no problem with it, truthfully, but it was a shock from the strictly anti-differentiating-from-the-norm middle school to the slightly more acceptable high school. Which as for being slightly more acceptable is not true WHATSOEVER. I didn’t figure that out until college. Everyone is okay with everybody at college (unless you say something that could potentially be interpreted wrongly and almost get shanked by a black man in an Intro to Business class). I’ll admit that the whole comment-taken-wrongly thing is slightly from experience. Let me tell you, having a MUCH bigger black man intimidate you from five rows forward would make any freshman in college want to shit themselves and melt into the chair. And cry for hours.

So, I think I can speak for everyone; general consensus is going to say that the “firsts” really suck. But what do you think? Whoever’s listening? How bad are the firsts?