In its tales of Trimet tales of True terror:
It's January 31, and I want to go to the zoo.
The bus pulls up to the stop and I flash the February monthly pass I
just bought. The bus driver explains to me that it's January. I go home
and get 40 cents and return to the bus stop. The bus is 20 minutes late.
I take an empty seat in the back. Two stops later, a filthy,
boisterous man boards. He chooses the seat next to me. He smells like
cigarettes, booze, and urine. He's in the mood for conversation. He
begins to tell me a story about his old landlord, the government, maybe
the CIA. It's not very cohesive. Spittle is raining down on me, and the
other people on the bus think that we are friends. The MAX station is a
few stops away so I bid my new acquaintance adieu and get on the train.
The MAX stops on the middle of the Steel Bridge and I realize I need
to take a shit. Badly. Fifteen minutes, and nothing. People are becoming
restless. My bowels are becoming restless. I am a grown man. I believe I
can hold it until the zoo. Another 20 minutes pass and I am not so
I begin to pray. The train starts moving, thank god. I clench until
the Washington Park station. As I'm about to disembark, a plainclothes
TriMet officer stops me and asks for my ticket. I show him my February
pass. "It's January," he explains as he writes me a ticket. There are no
functioning bathrooms in sight.
I get to the zoo and realize I left my debit card at home. I have no
money on me. Defeated and humiliated, I walk to Washington Park and take
a shame shit in the bushes. On the ride home I smell like poop and no
one sits by me.
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