On the way home today, the bus was crowded, even though it was only 3:15 pm. I raced to catch it, and sat at the front near an old man. He had a cane, and was neatly dressed.As the traffic slowed on Lake Shore, heading north, he started to mumble under his breath. Then it grew louder. And louder.
Then it was full out talking to himself, or anyone who was within a mere 10 foot range.
But clearly he didn't want, or need, a response. Just an audience.
He was not pleased with the bus driver. He was disappointed in the sluggish traffic. He was not happy with the soggy falling snow. He was cranking about the woman to his left's perfume. He was not overjoyed with the salt truck weaving in our lane. He wasn't happy with the Bears' season. (ok, that was mine, but it seemed fitting)
I could really only make out every 5th word or so, but we all got the gist.
This guy was one grumpy old man.
My mom, sister and I made a pact over this holiday: we promised that if we ever got really sore and crabby and grumpy and crazy as we aged, that we'd just shoot each other. Get us (and, frankly, everyone else) out of the misery. Save us the trouble of ending up as that old person on the bus that everyone is glaring at, and that is oblivious to it all.
Did I mention he was wearing a clinical face mask?
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