I often take the #17 bus home from work. It goes down Nicollet, turns right on 24th at the McDonald’s, and over to Hennepin. I don’t know what kind of SuperSized drinks they serve at the McDonald’s on the corner, but this Tuesday made the third time an Extrememly Drunk Guy got on the bus from that particular spot.
There’s no guesswork here — All three, I’m talking weaving down the aisle, shouting, stinking of gin, etc. The 5:30 in the afternoon kind of drunk.
Last time, a Really Drunk Guy sat down between me and another guy, put his arm around him, and struck up a conversation. I was a little miffed. The object of his affections was more traditionally handsome, I suppose, but I have a lot to offer conversation-wise.
Tuesday, a different Extremely Drunk Guy sort of made himself a spot between two women at the very back of the bus by plopping down in between and immediately saying “You’re pretty,” to one of them. The other one got up and walked down the aisle. The pretty woman said “Thank you.” Then he said that he was tired of “all this gangster shit.” The pretty woman said “I’ve had a long day,” and decided to stand the rest of the way home.
“Mother,” he kind of warbled. “I just killed a man.”
Whoa! Me and the people in the back shifted in our seats nervously and shared wide-eyed glances.
“Put a gun up to his head, pulled the trigger, now he’s dead,” he sang.
Wait a minute . . . was that Queen?
“Cause nothing really matters . . . anyone can see . . . nothing reeeaaaly matters . . . to me.”
Definitely singing. Sort of. Definitely “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Everybody likes “Bohemian Rhapsody.” In the back of the bus, we breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The back row he was sitting in was wide open. A woman newcomer with some shopping bags plopped down beside him and looked him over. He was swaying a little bit. She turned to the guy in front of her:
New Woman: I wondered why nobody was sitting back here!
Guy in front: You’ll find out in a minute.
EDG: I’m a king, I’m a king, I’m a motherfuckin’ king.
If only he had stuck with “Bohemian Rhapsody.” By the time he got to “scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango” he would have had us all caught up in a giant bus-shaking singalong, Wayne’s World style.
5 Responses to Why isn’t anybody sitting by that guy?
You should be a comedy writer. I’m serious. Well, I can also be funny, but I’m serious.
Compile these into a humorous life observations book. You’ll do well. Hey, does 12apostrophes have a ‘humorous life observations’ category?
I love the goofy array of behaviors that Bohemian Rhapsody brings out in people. I’ve witnessed some too. Well, your story was a little beyond that, but still. Long live Freddy!
First, I second dbay’s kudos on your funniness. Where’s that Minneapolis’s funniest people competition when you need it?
Third, I think you’ve stumbled onto a way to get clear out back of busses for your own personal use. What other songs could work just as well, do you think? I mean, I’m guesssing killing someone in Reno works, but maybe we can think of others. Plus, it if means you get to start drinking at 5:30…
“Puberty Love.” Hey, it kills tomatoes.
thanks for the props! I can’t take credit, though. That drunk guy sang Queen all by himself . . .
The only time I have been Extremely Drunk in the last year, I forgot an entire language that I am passably fluent in. The taxi driver was asking for more money and he was speaking in Hindi. I wanted to say “That is bullshit” but couldn’t think of “bullshit” in Hindi, so I decided I would say “That’s not what we agreed upon” and I couldn’t even think of the Hindi word for “that’s”.
So I said “Not cool, man, that’s not done” in English. That confused him enough for him to slash his demand in half – he said “give me fifty rupees more” in Hindi. And even though I just heard the word, I couldn’t say “fifty?” in Hindi. I gave him twenty and as he drove away I thought here is where I remember what I should have said to him, but I still didn’t.
Now I don’t know if I should give Kris’ guy props for remembering song lyrics or call him a poseur.