A Close Call on the 91 Bus

He was big, tall, with a hugely protruding belly, and he was so close I could smell his bad breath. I didn’t dare look up. I didn’t want to see his ugly mug. This is exactly the reason why Mister K prefers to walk or bike, instead of taking public transportation. I was musing about how to describe the unpleasant situation of being crammed into a packed bus, sharing air space with bulky individuals emanating noxious fumes.  Would I use the phrase “a miasma of stench”? Or would I use a different image, like “inhaling a cloud of germs from other people’s intimate parts”?

My purse was slung diagonally over my shoulder, hanging at my waist, and I felt a slight nudge there, faint as a whisper. I had the passing thought that nobody better be trying to pinch my bottom. The bus stopped, people got off, and some space opened up in the aisle near George. I moved to the aisle, towards George so we could be sure to exit together later, but there was a teenage girl standing in the way, chatting with her seated friend. I said “Pardon,” and was getting ready to move past her when all of a sudden the big fat guy lumbered into the aisle, pushed past me, separating the teenager from her friend, and then stopped right there, like a stolid elephant rooted to the spot. The teenager and I exchanged “some people are so rude” glances. In the meantime, other people had come onto the bus so I was now sandwiched between the fat guy and the invading mass of new passengers. Again, I felt a slight fleeting pressure near my waist, but it was so slight, we were wedged in so tightly, and I was busy thinking about how we had to get off at the next stop and I had to be sure to catch George’s eye so he wouldn’t forget to get off too. It was hard work wading through the crowd to get out, and as soon as I stepped off the bus, I looked down at my purse. The zipper was halfway undone, and I am absolutely 100% positive that it had been completely done up when we had gotten onto the bus. In that moment, looking at the zipper, I knew, I knew for certain, that the big fat guy had been trying to pickpocket me.

It explained everything, the odd microsecond nudges as he tried to push the zipper along, and his sudden febrile lunge into the aisle that ended so abruptly as soon as he was smack dab right next to me. Luckily, nothing was taken, my wallet was still there (too wide and bulky to lift out even with the zipper half undone), and no money was taken (wallet very deep, very little money in it, and the billfold area was stuffed full with junk like old receipts and coupons anyway). A happy ending!