Boy, do I feel suspected.

Dear Readers, I did not write on Tuesday because my Mom and brother took me to school. It was really quite a shame because I showed up really early and went to the student lounge where I watched some show called "The Herd" or something like that for an hour. I didn't have to watch it, I know, but there really wasn't anything else to do. I watched as some guy ranted for an hour about sports and people and it was quite annoying. I wonder if anyone knows what I'm talking about?

Today was simply ... frightening.

It by no means started that way, but it certainly got there. About two stops after I got on a man sat down near me. Now I always use the handicap seat because I can easily put my crutch underneath it and it's in no one's way. The man that sat near me was about 60 and still hadn't given up the 50s hair oil, slicked back look. First he glares at me for sitting in the handicapped seating and then asks me all suspiciously, "Is that your crutch?"

"Yes sir, that's my crutch."

"Are you using it as a crutch or just as a reason to sit in the best on the bus?"

I don't think it's the best seat in the bus. Everyone can see you sitting there, it faces people, and you face away from the window, and if the bus driver stops are starts to quickly you go flying with nothing to stop you. It's not the best seat in the bus.

"No sir, I have to use it."

"Well, uh, it would appear there ain't nothin' wrong with ya."

For me at this point I would usually explain that I have hip problems. But by now I was really fed up and he was being awfully mean about where I was sitting. I could have offered to move to make him happy. But no! I am a fighter.

"Well, sir, there is. I have to use this crutch and I will sit in this seat."

RUN, FLEE, HIDE!

A look of hate mutated his face. I was trembling a tad but looked him in the eye. There was no way under the sun I was going to lose this battle. Victory! He looked away and sat back in his seat. Moments later the bus was boarded again.

"She's a bird. Don't be scared. He looks like a scarecrow. Everyone stops in the river. Where's your wig? How often do the bees sleep? When will the flowers explode? Why is there no driver on this bus?"

A homeless looking Santa was now on the bus. He had a long, dirty white beard and even filthier clothes. He was evening wearing a very old, grimy and torn up Santa Clause hat. And he was talking a hundred miles a minute, to no one, about nothing. It was always in a loud, sharp voice that could have waked the dead. To my great relief he sat in the very back of the bus, I was in the very front. Nonetheless I could hear every word he was saying. Now he was talking to someone... that wasn't there.

You see every person on this public transportation vehicle get suddenly very uncomfortable. I look of dread filled everyone's eyes. I could feel my own heart racing. Even Seat Happy, who we already know is pretty crazy himself, was looking nervous.

It was the weirdest ride from then on. No one on the bus said a word. Even the bus driver wasn't calling out intersection names. It was like something had zipped everyone's mouth shut. Except, of course, Crazy Santa's mouth. I couldn't find it in myself to be amused by this insane person. Like everyone else I just wanted off the bus and soon. Finally my stop came up, it felt like I had been on the bus about a month at this point, but there it was. Sweet freedom. I enjoyed breathing in the fresh air and listening to the hum of the city.

I hope my ride tomorrow is different.