There is a woman on the bus. Mid twenties maybe? Has one of those voices that makes you wonder how she has any friends.
Speaking of her friends, I think she must have called every single one of them during the trip from Bellevue to Seattle.
Because she is sitting right next to me, her screeching voice on a repetitive loop in my ear. I think something has ruptured in my skull.
I’ve had fantasies of grabbing her pink encased iPhone and tossing it out the window. Or cracking the screen and handing it back to her with a non-apologetic, “oh, I think you dropped this…”
Her phone deserves the reprieve. I would estimate that her friends do as well.
She says “or something like that” at the end of every sentence. Every.sentence.
…or something like that.
After making the entire population of Sound Transit 550 aware of her weekend plans, her cousin’s job, all the clients she has. Her sister’s kids…she did take a break from shrieking in order to liberally apply perfume.
Perfume.
On the bus, people.
The 550 now smells like a baby prostitute.

(I’m blogging this as it occurs).

She is now using the reverse camera feature on her phone to preen her eyebrows and is – I swear to god – making a duckface.

I may have to kick her where she pees.