The Seattle Metro System. An endless supplier of strange oddities. And that's just the people that ride it.
You wake up in the mornings somedays... after your dog takes a crap on your bed and you're forced to bleach the hell out of it... to board a bus filled with people who instinctively all want to punch you, or you want to punch them, square in the neck.
Again, there's no real reason why. It's just this feeling when you look at them, or they look at you. It's group misery. While the bus isn't all that bad, there are those days when it's all that bad and then some. Those are the days when you wish you could take a nerf bat on board and just start whackin' people left and right.
Or that you could just Jack-Bauer them.
Case in point: Sausage-Man.
Now you might think, hey, a man who gives sausages. (And if your James, you're thinking... "yumm, I want to eat his sausages".)
But no, it's not like that. He's no hot-dog vendor. He's a guy that smells like sausage. But not good sausage. Three or four day old sausage that's been left out a plate in front of a dingy window by the sink. Covered in its own oils. Even most forms of bacteria don't want to grow on it... just the smelly kind.
And he sits there, on the bus, talking to some larger woman, who's playing with some sort of decrepit old police scanner/radio that looks like it came from the 70's (you know, back when all the cool, hip technology came from). And you wonder, "Do they know each other?" and "How can she stand his sausage-smell?" and "Maybe she smells of sausage?"
Or, "Is he flirting with her?" - which is quickly followed by a prayer that they never have sausage-smelling kids.
Don't get me wrong, I don't care how big or small you are... fat, skinny... whatever. But you don't have to smell bad. Common courtesy... if you are going to sit next to me in public, try to at least bathe once in awhile.
Instead, I'm stuck feeling nauseated and sick because of Sausage-Man. And after over thirty minutes of this, because the bus was stuck downtown, I really did want to Jack-Bauer him:
You've Been Jack-Bauer'd! Enjoy a hole in your wife's leg!