The Hot Question

After 30 minutes of waiting for the bus in the scorching hot sun, I was covered in a layer of sweat. The breeze that stirred up the exhaust fumes from the passing traffic was absolutely no relief. The August heat was oppressive, and still no bus.

Then a heavy-set, black woman walked up the bus stop and took a seat beside me on the bench. She was deep into a conversation on her cell, and didn't even acknowledge my presence. After less than a minute of sitting on the bench I hear her complain, loudly, "I wish this bus would hurry up and come. I'm hot as hell." (I actually heard the whole conversation due to the fact that the woman was speaking in a ridiculously loud voice the entire time but this comment was extra loud.) She went back to her conversation and I tried my hardest not to eavesdrop. Several minutes later the same woman whines into the phone, "Damn, I'm burning up. I wish this bus would get here soon. I can't take much more of this."

3 minutes. 6 Minutes tops the woman had been at the bus stop. Other peoples were there twice as long. I had been there for over a half hour! What's going on?

"You been here long? 'Scuse me, I said you been here long?"

I answered that I had, indeed, been waiting for a long time. She cursed to herself, in my direction and then went back to her phone call. She relayed the information to her caller, denounced the public transportation system, and then went on to complain for several more minutes. I, deciding I needed to find a way to pass the time and possibly shut her up, stood to stretch my legs. I then crossed to the curb directly in front of the boisterous woman, dropped my CTA card, and bent over to pick it up giving her a front row seat of the spectacular spectacle that is a man's sweat-soaked, swamp ass! I'd been sitting on the bench for 30 minutes, moisture pooling, cheeks clenching. It couldn't have been pretty.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"I guess that depends on how you look at it."