1) This being winter, I usually take the bus to work in the morning. My stop is in front of a mini strip mall (African restaurant, gas station, cleaners, Laundromat) and next to a used car lot whose continued existence is some sort of miracle. There used to be a big green clothing collection bin in the parking lot, right by the stop. It was notable for being owned by a Dutch organization that may or may not be a cult, and for being the dumping place for many clothing and non-clothing items. It was removed this summer, and I did not miss the piles of dirty baby clothes, plastic cookie cutters, and other assorteds scattered across the pavement and sidewalk.
I came out to the stop yesterday morning and discovered the loneliest Crock Pot you ever saw. As in, someone had just left it sitting on the sidewalk. No lid; just a Crock Pot…on the ground. The best I can figure, its ex-owners planned to drop it off in the bin, only to discover, no bin no more. It was vaguely unsettling, like finding a wig on your desk.
This morning, it was gone.
2) Standing at the bus stop in the morning can be a bit bleak. It’s cold, it’s dark, the cars keep going by. And then, out of nowhere you hear, “Praise Jesus!”
It’s less welcoming than you would think. Because you were alone out in the cold; now it’s you and a very exuberant stranger, together in the cold.
When I dared peek over my shoulder after “Merciful Jesus!” I saw a woman standing in front of the Laundromat, hands outstretched in, uh, laundriful praise. If you’ve lived in a city for any length of time, you know this is Stop Looking and Pretend You Didn’t See Them moment. Because if you look too long, they might see you, and 10 minutes later you and Captain Kookoo are having a “conversation”--the kind where they do all the talking while you attempt to generate an invisibility cloak.
I looked back a minute later and she was gone. Maybe into the Laundromat, but I couldn’t tell. Maybe Jesus took her.
3) When I finally did get on the bus, it was the return of Crazy Hat Lady! Yay!
No, it’s not her real name. I just call her that in my head, on account of her Crazy Hat. Big, black, broad-brimmed, like a witch’s hat almost. What makes it crazy is the six inch spray of fake silk autumn leaves and roses she stuck on one side. Today, she had a completely different Crazy Hat: A black velvet newsboy cap, with a rhinestone brooch and a brown silk rose pinned to the front. More subdued, yet still kooky, if not crazy. Now I’m wondering just how many hats she owns.
