PORTLAND MERCURIES WINNER

In its tales of Trimet tales of True terror:
NO TICKET!
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 sure.
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.
Please run this story anonymously.
—Anonymous

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