Bus Stop Changing Rooms

Jeffrey Shell, Wednesday, 26 May 2004

Apparently, bus stops are just fine for changing clothes.

I left the office in a fit of foosball inspired rage. Before I got to the end of the block I noticed an elderly man, shirtless, changing his shoes and quite possibly his socks on a bus stop bench. I ratcheted up the sounds of eX-Girl in my iPod, just in time. The old mans mouth and fingers were wagging and babbling in my direction. I kept to my resolution that old men changing clothes at bus stops during evening rush hour were not to be trifled with. Never has a coherent conversation, or even half of one, evolved from such an encounter.

I did, however, remember a time many years ago when I was a young man changing clothes at a bus stop. Two girls and I were heading from the southeast suburbs into the city to go clubbing and spontaneously decided to exchange parts of our outfits. Carefully avoiding all possible wardrobe malfunctions, exchanges were made until I found myself wearing a black silk dress as a skirt over my jeans, and Monica's shirt was replaced with false victorian ruffles (meant to go over a shirt) and black jacket, which may or may not have been mine. Brandi said the skirt looked nice over my jeans, but warned me to “never wear drag.” And while I agree it was (and still is) sage advice, I couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt.

I've spent so much time drunk this spring in bars filled with old drunks, that I can sometimes understand their language. Sometimes. As I hurried away from the old man today, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of fear for the future, when all this comes crashing down in a glorious roar and I fade into the streets - another lost genius amongst wolves.

This is Bus Stop Changing Rooms, © Wednesday, 26 May 2004. It is part of Perfect and Unbelievable Hearsay, which is part of euc.cx/ddec.

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