November 21, 2008

The Shark Eater

As a devilishly handsome employee of the University, I ride the busses for free. This works well for me since I live right next to a bus stop.

When I got on the bus this morning, it was packed. This meant I had to sit next to someone. A stiff price to pay, but at least the fare was free.

I took the first available seat, beside a wiry white man wearing a thick camo coat, jeans, and boots. Several days growth of scraggly white beard completed the wild look of a Bus Person.

As I sit next to him, I am assaulted by a reek of BO strong enough to knock out a buffalo. Indeed, this is a genuine Bus Person.

I immediately open my book, the Brothers Grimm, and begin reading. In my world, an open book and an intent expression is clear body language for, "Leave me alone, please." In the world of non-readers, however, this body language means, "Please, talk to me about the minutia of your life, I am very interested!"

So I am not surprised when the bus person directs an irrationally exuberant, "Beautiful day!" into my ear. I look at him, and see his teeth are yellowed and spotted with blackness as he smiles widely.

"Sure is!" I reply with a smile, and return to reading.

"I ate shark last night," he says.

Stunned by this turn of events, I hesitate. I glance at him, and eye his toothy grin. I decide "Wow," is a reasonable response. "Where did you get it from?" I add with all sincerity.

"WinCo.," he says.

Of course. WinCo. sells shark. How could I have not known this? The expression on my face was probably worth a thousand words, but I'm trying to keep this short. You'll have to imagine.

"I wish they carried buffalo," says the shark eater with another grin, "I would like to eat that animal."

Please don't eat me, I think with a religious ferverence. My eyes are wide and glued to my book as I avoid making eye contact with the shark eater. In Brothers Grimm, I skim past one of the many passages about cannibalism. Dark book, that one.

"I like venison, also. Hard to find," reveals the shark eater.

I say nothing. Unable to focus on my fairy tales, all I can see are his yellowed teeth snapping against one another, his leathery face hidden behind scraggles of white hair. I take a deep breath and imagine the stench is what rotten shark smells like.

"Hard to find," he continues, "unless you kill it yourself."

Wonderful. Now I have a new terror to add to my already impressive lineup of regular nightmares. It's true what they say: there's no such thing as a free bus ride.

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