I’ve taken the bus to work from Port Moody three straight days in a row now. It’s not bad in the mornings when it takes me about 60 minutes to get to work. That’s not bad considering where I live and where Backbone is.

The crappy part is going home. I’ve yet to go home on time all this week, so I don’t know what the commute is like around 6pm. For the last three days, I’ve been heading out of the office around 8:10pm and arriving home at about 9:25pm. It’s harder to make connections in the evenings when the buses run less frequently.

I’m going to drive for the rest of the week. Tonight was a prime example of why sometimes, it’s a lot better to have your own car. I get on the #160 downtown for the ride back out to suburban hell. I make my way to the back of the bus where I take my seat. A few seats away, some dude sits down. His friend, some girl, sits down across the aisle from him where they face each other.

For the next 35 minutes or so, he starts talking to her at an obnoxiously loud level. Unfortunately, this guy isn’t the most gifted orator in the world. So not only can most of the bus hear him babble on about crap, he proceeds to dish out nearly every detail of his life. From one conversation here’s what I now know about this guy:

– 23 years old
– works in construction
– makes $29/hr. apparently (mentioned several times)
– father owns some wrecking yards in Abbotsford
– father is involved with the Hell’s Angels in illegal activities that makes him lots of money
– got a girl pregnant after meeting her two weeks previously in a bar
– once owned a house valued at $500 000 in Surrey
– had the courts take away said house to give to the pregnant girl
– his baby is now four months old
– it’s a girl
– apparently a big fan of Penticton
– once did cocaine in jail
– once knew some Chinese guy that went to UBC
– once spent $700 in a weekend on alcohol
– is a big fan of the expletives

There’s more but I don’t want to think about it just in case it gets burned into my long term memory. I’m horrified that some of this crap will stay in my brain and push out some critical piece of information that I might have gleaned in grad school.

All my life, I’ve tried not to stereotype construction workers, but I think this was the last straw. I’ve observed enough of them now that yes, you can shine a turd all you want, but all you’ll get is a shit stained cloth with which you decided to use to shine that construction worker.

Enough of this, tomorrow, I’m driving to work.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *